(no subject)
My whole life, old ladies have told me two things and they've told me these two things ad fucking nauseum. Given my fear/hatred of old people these two things have stuck with me and managed to flutter about my giant skull for most of my goddamn life.
They are:
1) "You have Paul McCartney Eyes."
2) "You have an old soul."
The first references my puppy dog eyes. And fuck those old bitches for that. Sure, the puppy dog eyes got me laid. Sure, the puppy dog eyes help me fake emotion and get mortgages. But damnit, have you ever been about to get into a fight at a bar with some knuckledragging mouthbreather with swastika tattoos that you just goddamn had no way of winning and you knew the only way to get out of it was to intimidate the ever living dogpiss out of this fucktard by seeming tough and violent and absolutely the last motherfucker in the world to fuck with? Who hasn't? Then, imagine being in that exact situation and remembering, "Shit, I've got puppy dog eyes." Now you're sucking on the bad end of a beer bottle, Sir Paul, and the Third Fucking Reich has won this round.
The second statement I used to take as a compliment. I just thought they meant I was wise or that my nature was that of the Dalai Lama, but slightly more fuckable (perhaps due to the Paul McCartney eyes.)
I was born old, apparently. This is why my childhood sucked. I hated other kids. I wasn't shy, as my parents would explain. I knew from a very early age that I was beset on all sides by simpletons. But now, at 33, I'm spiritually, emotionally and mentally older than blowjobs. Christ, I hate even bringing it up due to it being such a goddamn cliche thing to ruminate on. But, that's getting fucking old for you- one goddamn cliche after another. And I haven't taken it easy on my beautiful, potbellied body either. Drugs. Booze. Fucking. Violence. Quarter draft night in 80'd dance clubs. I'm bald and grey and when I wake up in the morning, I feel every fight, car wreck, skateboarding accident, orgy, steel-working incident, stabbing, mosh pit, hangover, lead pipe beating, Thriller re-enactment and ruined love. I groan and mutter to myself without even a hint of irony throughout the day. I've got arthritis. I have gray pubic hair for fuck's sake. I worry about retirement. I look forward to my television shows. I play acoustic guitar almost exclusively and I sing about loves lost and hard times and hard living. On Friday nights, I stay in, drink a few vodka tonics, watch a DVD, go to bed around midnight usually and look forward to sleeping in until 8:30. Everyone I grew up with is dead, crazy or breeding.
But, the funny thing is I don't mind all the physical, emotional and life changes that come with growing old. I don't mind the lack of hipness. I don't mind the existential crisis that comes with every funeral and every chest pain. I don't mind the fussing over financial responsibility and the fear that one day, no matter how charming, witty and well read I am, not only will I die, but my dick may very well just stop functioning without medical assistance sometime prior.
I only mind that everyone was right about everything about growing old. And I hate for anybody other than me to be right about anything.
Still, I bet I outlive Livejournal.
They are:
1) "You have Paul McCartney Eyes."
2) "You have an old soul."
The first references my puppy dog eyes. And fuck those old bitches for that. Sure, the puppy dog eyes got me laid. Sure, the puppy dog eyes help me fake emotion and get mortgages. But damnit, have you ever been about to get into a fight at a bar with some knuckledragging mouthbreather with swastika tattoos that you just goddamn had no way of winning and you knew the only way to get out of it was to intimidate the ever living dogpiss out of this fucktard by seeming tough and violent and absolutely the last motherfucker in the world to fuck with? Who hasn't? Then, imagine being in that exact situation and remembering, "Shit, I've got puppy dog eyes." Now you're sucking on the bad end of a beer bottle, Sir Paul, and the Third Fucking Reich has won this round.
The second statement I used to take as a compliment. I just thought they meant I was wise or that my nature was that of the Dalai Lama, but slightly more fuckable (perhaps due to the Paul McCartney eyes.)
I was born old, apparently. This is why my childhood sucked. I hated other kids. I wasn't shy, as my parents would explain. I knew from a very early age that I was beset on all sides by simpletons. But now, at 33, I'm spiritually, emotionally and mentally older than blowjobs. Christ, I hate even bringing it up due to it being such a goddamn cliche thing to ruminate on. But, that's getting fucking old for you- one goddamn cliche after another. And I haven't taken it easy on my beautiful, potbellied body either. Drugs. Booze. Fucking. Violence. Quarter draft night in 80'd dance clubs. I'm bald and grey and when I wake up in the morning, I feel every fight, car wreck, skateboarding accident, orgy, steel-working incident, stabbing, mosh pit, hangover, lead pipe beating, Thriller re-enactment and ruined love. I groan and mutter to myself without even a hint of irony throughout the day. I've got arthritis. I have gray pubic hair for fuck's sake. I worry about retirement. I look forward to my television shows. I play acoustic guitar almost exclusively and I sing about loves lost and hard times and hard living. On Friday nights, I stay in, drink a few vodka tonics, watch a DVD, go to bed around midnight usually and look forward to sleeping in until 8:30. Everyone I grew up with is dead, crazy or breeding.
But, the funny thing is I don't mind all the physical, emotional and life changes that come with growing old. I don't mind the lack of hipness. I don't mind the existential crisis that comes with every funeral and every chest pain. I don't mind the fussing over financial responsibility and the fear that one day, no matter how charming, witty and well read I am, not only will I die, but my dick may very well just stop functioning without medical assistance sometime prior.
I only mind that everyone was right about everything about growing old. And I hate for anybody other than me to be right about anything.
Still, I bet I outlive Livejournal.