I am having a very hard time getting over my denial that I am getting older. Here is a list of reasons that I know I am aging…
1. I have noticed that my ears and my nose are enlarging. I heard this never stops!!!
2. I see many, many fine lines around my eyes, so much that I believe a spider could get lost in them.
3. I get irritated at teenagers for doing the same things I had done.
4. My thick locks are not as thick as they used to be or as think as I still think they are.
5. Instead of 2 weeks in the gym to get back into shape it takes me an average of 3 months. (P90X)
6. Never getting I.d.’d for anything is a constant reminder.
7. Thinking about my fiber and eating all of my fruits and vegetables. (started looking at Ensure for the vitamin factor)
8. The hang overs seem to be more catastrophic, takes days to get over them now.
9. I need glasses now to watch TV and read.
10. My shoulders, knees and back are now my worst enemies.
11. My golf game is getting a hell of a lot better.
12. I am no longer looking for acne, I am looking for age spots.
13. The sun has become an enemy. If I wasn’t so damn cool I would take an umbrella outside to block th UV rays.
14. I am too old to wear shirts with designs on them although I never did before.
15. Your more apt to find me at the bookstore than the dance club.
16. I call it a dance club
17. Eight hours of sleep just never seems like enough.
18. I am seriously considering time share.
19. My annual physical keep getting more elaborate as the years pass ( a couple more years, I am gonna be a lot ‘closer’ to my Dr.)
and 20. I can make it to number 20 without stopping and wonder if I should take this list to fifty.
Feel free to add your own on the comments.
Me being the poop sensitive man, that I am, I had a very hard time potty training my daughter. I at one point wanted to take her to the doctor because I was afraid that she pooped way too many times during the day, I thought that it was abnormal. When she was an infant it was always scary opening the putrid smelling wrap that kept the demon of the bowels contained. I was more times than not utterly surprised that a butt, more than half way down the body could magically shoot poop up to my daughters hairline. I think they called this explosive diarrhea . A box of crayola could not compare with the variety of greens that I have seen in these wicked times. Bathing was never a fun voyage with a tiny human that did not have the capacity to “hold It’. I don’t know that anyone that does not have a child, has seen diarrhea in a roman tub, but it is something that you can live without.
I do not think that I have ever had a normal diaper changing episode, It was always either my hand somehow finding its way dab smack into the middle of the diaper or her hands somehow getting a mud mask when i went to get some new wipes. There was one time that was ok, and it was only OK because about ten seconds before hand when I was taking off her onesie and fate decided that it was time for the residual from her em-biblical cord to get stuck in the fabric and ripped out. So the overwhelming shock of thought that I just accidentally yanked off my daughter’s life line, I wasn’t paying too much attention to the poopy diaper.
It goes on after just getting your child to poop in the toilet, at this point you have to show them how to wipe. It puts it in a whole different perspective when you see theses giblets floating in a toilet and not a diaper. It makes it more human I guess you can say. The calling out from the bathroom, ” Daddy, I went kaka can you come wipe me” always put a chill down my spine, just to hear poetry like “see daddy, I went big kaka like Mommy” (information that I neither need or wanted to ever know), not letting me off the hook until I inspect the lot of it. Throughout the entire evolution of my daughter, potty training was the part that I could have done without. Again having the gag reflex of an inebriated man who decided to take one more last shot of tequila, I have also been in the vicinity of my amazingly gorgeous daughter as she farts louder than I ever could, without ever even batting an eye, ( I may need to get her ears checked because she doesn’t seem to hear them) like an old woman.
Everyone knows the popular saying, “The cart before the horse”. As it turns out I have lived most of my existence with this exact ideal.
Such as this blog, one of my most infamous acts of outrunning my horse; I am in the process of writing a book and a friend of mine turned me on to blogging. “It will be a great tool to help you in writing techniques”, he told me. What I am sure that he did not realize how ambitious I am with new ideas. So as it goes by the end of the night I had my first blog site started with Word Press. I loved it so much that by the end of the week I had three blog pages, after two weeks I had four blogs, one video blog site, bought my first domain name and started building a ten page web site. All before even putting finger to keyboard on the writing front.
On my next big adventure I whizzed past as my Clydesdale still lay sleeping on the sidelines; I love the sound of a guitar, so much so that I decided to take up learning how to play one. I bought a mid level Yamaha that sounded great with the intention to teach myself to become the next Eric Clapton. One just wasn’t enough so I bought another and another and, yes, another. I have four guitars, one of them being a visual and acoustic masterpiece. I now own more guitars that most seasoned guitar players. Don’t forget the accessories; the amps, picks, books, metronome, and the pointless thumb pick. This all sounds great, you might say. Problem is that I know only about ten chords and can play songs that only my three-year old loves to hear. On a positive note I started playing daily and I have my first appointment for lessons with a guitar vet this week.
Maybe it is not that my cart is too fast, I may just need to check my horse for a pulse; Next comes Pod-casting. A great friend of mine and I decided that it would be a great idea to start a podcast. So of course the next day we had our first mic, our headphones, and even some pod-casting software. You can check us out at We Interrupt This Broadcast. We are now on our 23 episode and out of all the buttons that our software has, record is the only one we seem to know how to use.. Our next step on our escapade in entertainment is a cartoon pilot. We are in need of animators and of course we have already got the software.
I think I need a horse whip ’cause this pony wont budge; So now I decide that it would be fun to start mountain biking. Of course once again I now have the bike, the helmet, all the accessories and yes with much harassment from friends I bought that little mirror that clamps on to the side of your helmet. I probably will not use it from fear of ridicule. I will risk that sharp left hand turn without that little masterpiece of an invention. Funny story, my friend and I decided that we should take them out for a test ride. So off we go, us and our fresh off the showroom floor bikes. Wouldn’t you know it the first HILL we found my friend decided that we would all enjoy a stint at the hospital when this little joyride became a funniest home video. Now a broken collar-bone four broken rib and a punctured lung is all that has become of that biking expedition. Now the furthest height that my mountain bike sees is the upper balcony.
I am sure that by later in the week I will find a new niche to start, maybe bungee jumping, maybe piloting an aircraft (damn, that would be costly), or maybe even a wedding planner. All in all i have a love for trying new things. Maybe it is bass-akwards but you can say this for me, I am ambitious.
The event that changed this young mans life…
I assume it was the alcohol or the pressure from his peers that made him feel that he needed to impress the lot of them. It started out as a place to test your fear by jumping off some high rocks, that at the time was a death-defying experience in itself. To evolving to the bridge that lay 100 yards away. Always having to up the ante was the straw that broke the boys back. Tying a rope to the bottom of the bridge wasn’t enough, jumping straight off the bridge, although intimidating, seemed elementary. Where else to go but up. The scaffold, standing on a five-inch beam above the crowd, cheering, egging, pressuring. It seemed safer to jump than to climb back down.
Learning to fly comes easy to birds, with a bit of schooling for pilots, but not the case for a teenager with no other agenda then to impress. One foot is all he needed for gravity to take its revenge on stupidity. A four-second journey toward demise seemed to take hours. Enough time to be enlightened about the fact that he was not immortal. Enough time to meditate on how dumb this act of bravery was.
Most know that they have hit rock bottom when their bank accounts have dwindled or when the only time they can function is when they have had a couple of beers. For this young man it was literally when he hit rock bottom, his head still peaking over the water line. At first he believed that all was good and that he had escaped the rigged jaws of death.
A civilian should always have a marine present in the clutches of danger to pull you out from a swift current. On the other side of the token one should never have a comedian at his side during times of peril, for the simple fact that at a cold temperature and with a crushed vertebra, a woman can never make it better by playing around in the dominion of shrinkage, but that’s another story.
It seemed like an eternity for the medics to arrive, enough time to watch a great friend rush from the other side of the river to your aide, with two thoughts in his mind: 1 help your friend he is in pain and 2 make sure the forty ounces of grade-A beer does not dip below the water as he swims to his side. Time to watch others jump from the same altitude with no knowledge that a boy lay on the banks with a crushed spine and a world of embarrassment. Finally after a nauseating capade with the paramedics trying to make it down a steep cliff with a stretcher and an even more frightening rise to the top finally he was transported by who had to have been a student driver to the first hospital that seemed about two states away.
For your information, there is a certain height you can jump from before it becomes an act of suicide, so remember to allow a certain white lie of altitude if ever in this situation. This young man had never been blessed with this jewel of info, so beside the fact that he had lost a couple of inches in height due to three vertebrae being compressed, he also was given the gift of the psychiatric ward after being strapped to a wheel chair with what can only be explained as a suit of armor to prevent him from being in any comfortable position he was in the midst of bonified lunes.