Leap Back, Fall Forward

First off, I highly recommend listening to the following video either before or during the reading of this post:

I just turned 27. As my brother likes to say: I might as well be 30. The worst part about this whole aging process is complete strangers somehow know I am 27. I use to look 5 - 8 years younger than my actual age. Now I look 27 which means (According to my brother) I might as well be 30 and -OH CRAP- I'm getting old.

Remember when you were young and all you wanted to do was grow up and turn that special age? My 9 year old niece recently told me she can't wait until she is 12. I asked her why 12 and she said it was because she would be cooler. ERRRRR--Wrong answer kid but we have a lovely tube of acne cream to give you as a condolence prize. In reality, you get very uncool and very lame between the ages of 12 - 14. Those are the awkward years but I guess my niece won't understand this until she is old like me.

And little does she know that when she finally turns 12, she will want to be 16. Why 16? Because 16 means you can drive. Then she will turn 16 and all she will want to be 18. Why 18? Because she will be a legal adult and can do whatever she wants when she wants. Then she will turn 18 and all she will want to do is be 21. 21 is the drinking age for all you dumbasses out there.

The award for dumbasses. I have 3.

But what the happens after 21? Everyone under the age of 21 forgets to ask themselves this. Everyone under 21 has their head so far up their pre-pubescent ass that they forget what all their teachers have been trying to teach them for all these years. And that lesson is:  Get your shit together and plan ahead for your future which involves wrinkly balls, saggy boobs, old fart, apocalyptic catastrophe! 

Where did my balls go?

I'm going to share the "what happens after 21" secret with all you beautiful, non-wrinkly, I-just-got-my-first-pubic-hair kids. After the age of 21-- you get fucking old. Newsflash: Every single birthday from there on out just means you are closer to wrinkly balls and saggy boobies. One more year means a year closer to actually having to be an adult and grow up and do grown up things. If you don't grow up, you risk being that middle aged women who still wears tight pants, shows way too much skin and hangs out with people in their 20s in the hopes that someone will actually think she is 20 as well.



Please don't be this person.



Once people start actually guessing your real age, you kind of feel ripping the skin off your face like the guys did in Poltergeist. When I stopped getting carded at bars and at the liquor store, all I wanted to do was cry and start banging my head on the bar-- But then the wood from the bar will probably give me wrinkles. It's sad that, for so many years, you dream about going forwards and then, out of nowhere, all you want to do is go backwards.

This is me peeling my face off after the bar tender neglects to card me. This dude would totally get carded.

My parents had warned me about this growing up thing. They warned me that one day all I would want is to be young again. I just had no idea it would start so soon. I thought I would at least be 35 before the plague of decrepitation began. And the funny thing is there was no middle ground really. There was never a point where I was "ok" with my age. I either wanted to be older or younger. I guess in the game of adding mileage there is a drive and there is a reverse but no park. And as we all found out from Ferris Bueller, using reverse does not actually reverse the meter.



See? He tried the whole reverse thing and he still looks old!



So in all my anxiety over my age I have started trying to do something about it. I drink water now instead of coke (It helps your skin not look so pastey and reduces wrinkles), I eat lots of fish and veggies (wrinkles and skin also), I floss so my teeth so they don't fall out, I buy expensive makeup that is not so harsh on my skin, I wash my face at night, and I use moisturizer and lotion as if my life depended on it.

But my god it's a lot of fucking work.

Oh and I stopped smoking, taking explicit amounts of opiates (doctor prescribed for my health problems of course), and drinking. Although, I really feel like I should be drinking more to deal with my age anxiety but, when I drink, I get anxiety and it becomes a vicious circle that will probably one day end with my jumping off a cliff.



The bear is a metaphor for a glass of wine and the sadness in my heart.



But no matter how much I change and try to stop aging, there is no way to reverse the aging I have already done. I will always look 27 unless I inject poison into my face. Is 27 too young for Botox? I really would like to look 19 again.



I imagine Botox injections being something like is if your doctor happens to be an Octopus. His other 4 arms are probably holding me down.



One idea I have to fix this problem is to make a fake ID. Yes, that's right--I want a fake. Not one that says I am older then I am but one that says I am 19 years old. That way when bar tenders don't card me I will whip out my fake and tell them I am an undercover cop and they just served to a minor. Then again--I might get my feelings hurt when they say "No way!" or "She looks like she is 30 something!".

These pictures never get boring.

Another idea I have is to start voluntarily giving out my age. Not my actual age of course but a much higher age. So the next time I am checking out at the grocery store and making casual conversation with the cashier I will say something like "Well if I wasn't 37 years old then I would most definitely let Justin Bieber do dirty things to me". Then I will wait to see the cashier's response. You might first expect the response of "Exactly what dirty things do you think Justin Bieber might like to do to a woman when his balls have yet to descend?" but the second response should be something like "Your 37?". I will happily tell her yes and wait for her to say "GIRL! I thought you were like 23!" But then what happens if the cashier says "Girl! I thought you were 30?" Guess this is a bad idea as well.



Yes, I actually typed "Justin Bieber Balls" into Google images to find this picture. I believe Justin might be trying to force his balls to descend.



The last idea I have is to just give up and go ahead and apply for my AARP membership. AARP is supposed to be for retired people over the age of 50 but I recently tried to apply and it never asked for my actual age. They just wanted $16 and within a few weeks, I have my official old fart card. Plus AARP members get great coupons and discounts.

And I shall finish this post with the world's smallest violin because someone, somewhere is playing it for me tonight. I imagine they are playing "Loser" by Beck--which would be really awesome on a violin.Or perhaps they will play "American Pie" by Don McLean. I'm sure good old Don has wrinkled balls these days and Beck is well on his way.



These pictures just get better and better.