The One Where I'm Almost 50

In case you were wondering, I'm still alive.  For now.  

I've just been really preoccupied with the fact that in just nine short days, I will be half. a century. old.

Half a century.

50.  

50.

That's, like, way the hell older than I ever thought I'd be.  

Even last year when I turned 49, it never occurred to me that I'd be turning 50 on my next birthday. I mean, it would be the logical conclusion... As a reasonably intelligent woman who can count past 49, I did know that the next number would be 50.  I've counted to 50 before.  Also, in the past, my birthdays have come in chronological order, so it's not like it would be reasonable to assume that this one wouldn't...

I joked about it and stuff, making references to the fact that I'd be dead soon because I'm going to be so flippin' old on my birthday, but it's not like I actually believed it.

God wouldn't do that to me... would He?

I'm his favorite.

Consequently, I feel like I need more time to get used to the idea.  Like, maybe 10 more years or so.  I didn't have enough warning.  I'm not prepared.  I have so much shit to do before I'm ready to turn 50.  

Like, have a face lift.

Like, not turn 50.

Okay, this might come as a shock to you but I may or may not be a little vain.  Not obnoxiously vain, like I'm always worried about how I look... More like, vain in the sense that I take it for granted that I look youthful and in no way, shape, or form anywhere close to 50.

I'm beginning to think that my mirror is a lying ASS.

Not that long ago (like, two months ago, even) when people would hear I had children in their 20s, they would gasp in shock and say, "No way!!  You can't be old enough to have kids in their 20s!"

Recently (and I can't even begin to tell you how much it pains me to even write this down because it may have possibly been the worst moment of my life) I was talking to someone and mentioned that I had three sons.  The person asked their ages and I responded, "26, 24 and 23."

There was no gasp.

There was no look of surprise.

There was no utterance of amazement that such a fresh young thing such as myself could have children almost as old as I am.

Instead, this happened:

"Oh, how nice!  Do you have any grandchildren?"

*blink*

*blink*

Grandchildren?

Grandchildren??  Excuse me while I eat my own face and ponder how you could possibly believe I was old enough for grandchildren...

(It's slightly possible that I looked over my shoulder at this point to see if they were talking to someone else... Someone much, much older than I am.  They weren't.)

I started getting philosophical and nostalgic one night last weekend (alcohol may have been involved) and was musing about all the amazing things that have happened in my lifetime.  

I said things like, "The world is a completely different place than it was 50 years ago.  Man walked on the moon..."

*long pause*

*embarrassingly long pause*

I couldn't think of anything else.

Because I'm old as fuck and becoming senile.

This is the only thing that happened in the past 50 years, according to my brain.

Anyway, so while my brain is having difficulty believing that I am, indeed, at the very least middle-aged, my body is having no problem believing it at all.

My body is like, "Oh, praise Jesus... we can finally take this Spanx off and officially fall apart."

Gray hair began growing from my hairline so fast that overnight, I went from looking like a woman with shiny brunette locks to Pepe LePew.

Hairs started leaping from my chin in a single bound, sprouting up to three inches in just a matter of hours.  (Possibly even minutes.)  

I began waking up every night sweating like a pig.

And without warning, the hot flashes arrived.

And in less than one week's time, I grew a second chin and my boobs hit the floor.  

Then I developed a slight tic in my left eye.

And I started my period.

"WHAT THE FUUUUCK???" I screamed at a box of tampons, "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT??? I CANNOT HAVE A BEARD, A MUSTACHE, GRAY HAIR, SAGGING TITS, HOT FLASHES, NIGHT SWEATS, AND MY PERIOD!!! "

Oddly enough, the tampons didn't answer.

(Karma, however, came through like a champ and delivered unto me a zit on my right cheek.)

Behold and rejoice:  FUCK YOU, MOTHER NATURE.

(I'm especially looking forward to the part where my teeth loosen and my gums recede.  Can I get that first, please?)

Dear 50,

I can't fucking wait.

Love,

Dani

So yeah... long story short, if you want to send me something for my birthday, this is all I want:

The one where I'm not thankful

I seem to have forgotten to blog all last week... what the hell?  It couldn't possibly have had anything to do with me coming down with the flu, Thanksgiving, having to babysit the nieces and nephew ALL WEEK (since when do kids need a week off for Thanksgiving????  When I was a kid, we only had Thursday off.  Up hill.  Both ways.  In the snow.  Bitches.  Okay, there was no snow, because I grew up in California, but you get my drift.  Kids these days don't know what it's like to suffer) I basically lost all my ability to think about anything other than homicide.  I also quit doing the whole "30 Days of Thankfulness" thing because let's face it, I wasn't.  

Today, however, as they've all gone back to school, I am thankful that I didn't kill anybody last week.  Because going to prison would totally suck.  The thought of peeing in front of strangers on a stainless steel potty in the middle of the room is the only reason some people are still alive.  Truest fucking story ever.

Also?  I'm pretty sure you don't get vodka in prison.

Spending a week watching my 15 year old nephew killed every ounce of originality and joy I've ever had in me, no lie.  (Every time he opens his mouth, a kitten dies and a unicorn loses it's wings.)  You'd think a 15 year old wouldn't need a babysitter, am I right?  Well, in this case?  You'd be wrong.  It isn't that he'd get into trouble or do anything horrible (I think...) it's more that left to his own devices?  He would have no idea what to do.

No. Idea.

So rather than coming up with something productive, he'd spend the day sitting in the living room watching Lizard Lick Towing (don't even ask because I honestly have no idea) and a variety of shows that I refer to as Stupid Hillbillies With Big Trucks And No Brains trying to remember the proper breathing sequence.  (Is it out and in?  In and out?  Exhale exhale inhale?  Inhale and hold it indefinitely?  Remember the joke about the blonde who went to the beauty parlor wearing a head set and the beautician asked her to remove it and the blonde said she couldn't, because if she did, she'd die?  So the beautician finally convinces her that she needs to take it off in order to get her hair cut and sure enough, a few minutes later, the blonde dies.  So the beautician puts on the headset to see what it is and she hears a voice saying, "Breathe in... breathe out... breathe in... breathe out..."  My nephew needs one of those.)  He'd eat nothing but cereal, drink nothing but soda, and it would never occur to him to let the dog out or feed his sisters.

(Actually, what would really happen is that his two developmentally disabled sisters would wind up taking care of him.)

Enter Aunt Dani.

Lucky, LUCKY Aunt Dani.

And her flu virus.

And her bottle of vodka.


Okay, that last part is wishful thinking.

I made a deal with my friend Lindsay that we would not drink vodka until Christmas Eve.  I'm almost ashamed to admit it was my idea.

I know, right?  What the fuck was I thinking??


Okay, here's what I was thinking  (please note that it's mostly Lindsay's fault.):  Lindsay pointed out that when she drinks vodka, her weight goes up.  (We're using the word "vodka" because pretty much, that's all we drink.  But I'm sure it holds true for other alcohols as well.  Not that I would know, because I don't drink other alcohols, due to the fact that they taste yucky.  However, if I go long enough without vodka, I may find it in my heart to give some of the yucky alcohols a try.  Because that would totally not be cheating.)

Coincidentally, my weight has also been going up, as has my vodka consumption.  (Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps my nephew alive.  True story.)  So due to the fact that I have no desire to outweigh Santa on Christmas Eve, I was all, "Hey... I know!  Let's not drink vodka until Christmas Eve!"  And since I hate to do anything alone, especially something that isn't particularly fun, I roped Lindsay into it with me.  (Plus, if she drinks vodka before Christmas Eve, that means I can, too.  It is written.  That's why you always do these things with friends... you get to blame your failure on them.  I love you, gurrrl!!)

If perchance you think that maybe I'm being a little too hard on the nephew and unfairly blaming my vodka consumption (and consequent weight gain... thank you, Dorkin) think again.

(I call the nephew Dorkin.  It's not actually his name, but it totally should be.  I started with Derk, went to Dork, and then Lindsay suggested Dorkin, because it's more formal and sounds better.  Did I ever mention that Lindsay has the best ideas?)

This is just one conversation I had with Dorkin last week (prepare to be amazed):


Me, to my 9 year old niece after she finished schooling me on Squanto:  "Where did the Pilgrims land when they arrived in America?"

Niece:  "England?"

Me:  "No, that's where they came FROM."

Niece:  "I don't remember."

(Which is fine.  She's 9 and developmentally disabled.  Personally, she knows wayyyyy the hell more about Squanto than I ever have.  For real.)

Dorkin:  "I know."

Me:  "Well, I would hope so.  Tell your sister."

Dorkin:  "Pennsylvania."

Me:  "You're kidding, right?"

Dorkin:  "New York?"

Me:

Dorkin:  "No wait.. Virginia!!"

Me:

Dorkin:  "Well, I know the name of the three ships they came over on."

Me:  "Three ships?  Oh please, do tell... I can't wait to hear this."

Dorkin:  "The Pinta, the Nina, and the Santa Maria."

Me:  "Uh huh... and what year did they come over?"

Dorkin:  "1942.  No wait... 1492."


You have no idea how much I wish I was kidding.

I thought he'd peeked when he informed me that his friend raises black widows to help make Kevlar.  I was sooo incredibly wrong.  (Refer to blog link above.)

The History Of America, by Dorkin

Now you know.


Moving right along, did I mention I have the flu?

I'm not usually a drama queen, because we're kind of at over-capacity here in the drama queen department and I need to wait for someone to die before there's an opening, but damned if I don't feel horrible.

I'm almost positive that this is what Death feels like, when you're going to Hell.  No bright light, no friends and family waving you in, no St. Peter standing at the Pearly Gates... just you, your narly-ass breath, and some shlub that kicks puppies for a living waiting to take you downstairs.

I usually get a flu shot.  In fact, five years in a row I not only got the flu shot, but I also got the flu. (ROCKSTAR!!)  I even got the H1N1 vaccine and immediately came down with the Swine Flu.  (I had to sit in the ER wearing a face mask so that I wouldn't infect other people with my disgusting pig germs.  Thank you, flu shot, FOR NOTHING.)   Anyway, I figured that since I get the flu shot every single year and also the flu, why not remove one step in that equation and see what happens?  Since I can't remove the flu virus, I decided to go with "not get flu shot," assuming that maybe it's actually the flu VACCINE  that gives me the flu.

Right???

Right???

Imagine my surprise when I came down with the flu and discovered I was... wrong.

Wrong.


So very, very wrong.


Apparently, it was the FLU that was giving me the flu.

Who knew?


Curses!!  Hoisted by my own petard.  (As it were.  Okay, I have no idea what a petard is, but I'm pretty sure Shakespeare said it, which means it's an actual thing.  Off to Google "petard"...)


Petard:  A petard was a small bomb used to blow up gates and walls when breaching fortifications. The term has a French origin and dates back to the sixteenth century.


(Now you know.  You're welcome.)

Anyway, this particular flu has been very creative.  It started with fever, aches, and general blah-ness.  I had no energy, no appetite, no will to live.  Then it morphed into all of the above but added a sinus infection, which then morphed into all of the above plus sinus infection plus nausea and, er, potty problems.  The potty problems went away but left the rest, which then morphed into all of the above plus sinus infection minus potty problems plus a dry cough that won't freaking go away and only hits after I've gone to bed.  So from the moment my head hits the pillow until I get up in the morning, I cough like a freaking TB ward.  My ribs ache, my chest aches, my stomach hurts, my head hurts, I can't breathe, I can't taste anything, I'm not hungry, and the only thing that sounds good is a vodka collins.

Which I can't have.  Because of Lindsay.


Dear Lindsay,

We're officially fighting.

Love,

Dani



The bright spot of my week happened the day after Thanksgiving.

I woke up to snow.


I couldn't wait to get up and go outside and catch snowflakes on my tongue.

Because I'm a dork.

Unfortunately, I still haven't quite figured out dressing myself for snow.

My idea of dressing warmly:

sweatpants
socks
Uggs
long sleeved shirt
sweatshirt
gloves


Snow's idea of dressing warmly:

More clothes than that.


I froze my ass off.

No lie.


But did I learn from it?

Did I?

Oh HELL no.

Because I did it again.  And again.  And again.

Day 4 of Snow and I still have no idea where my winter coat is.

I'm dressed okay, right?

Long story short (or is it too late for that?), I barely survived the week.

Which is why, apparently, I forgot to blog.

Oh, and also?  I may or may not have gained 10 lbs.  Because even though I had no appetite and couldn't taste my food, I kept eating it just in case.


Sad but true.

You never can be too careful.

The Epic Tale Of Ninja Squirrel

*Author's note:  My computer turned itself off and needed to be rebooted twice in the writing of this blog posting.  Coincidence??  I THINK NOT.

This just in:  Northern New York is being invaded by squirrels in a secret subplot in which those fluffy tailed little bastards take over the world.

I'm totally not kidding.  Take a look outside, people, and see for yourselves:

Those little terrorists are everywhere.

E V E R Y W H E R E.

And they're gunning for you.  They are going to have sex with your boyfriends, knock up your daughters, eat your food, steal your internet, and mock you relentlessly from the tree tops while they do it.

Okay, maybe not, but still... if they could?  They totally would.

It's not enough that I dream about them attacking me at night, or that when I look outside, they're always there... Nibbling on something, looking adorable, laughing at me...

That's right, bitches... SUPER SQUIRREL.

But now?

It's personal.


A few days ago, Dan and I were outside watching our dogs cavort around the yard.  The trees are almost bare right now, the ground is covered with leaves... It's very Tim Burton-esque and it makes me soooo happyyyy.   All in all, autumn has been very kind this year (if you look past the whole Superstorm Sandy incident.  Which I'm not.  I'm just saying in general fall has rocked my socks off).  I'm constantly charmed by the bird life of this area... every time I see a cardinal I practically wet myself with joy.

It's a bird!  And it's RED!  A RED BIRD!!  *SQUEEE!!*

You know what the world needs more of?  Red birds.  

Even though I'm a firm believer that nature belongs OUTSIDE (and I belong INSIDE) I can't help but hope that one day, a cardinal loses a feather so that I can keep it.  (One time, I saw a dead owl on the side of the road.  I was driving my kids to school and in a hurry so I decided to stop on my way home and snag a feather.  You think that's weird?  Well, here's what's even weirder:  SOMEONE ELSE BEAT ME TO IT AND THE OWL WAS GONE WHEN I CAME BACK 15 MINUTES LATER.)

(Shut up.  That's a totally valid thing to wish for.)

Anyway, I have been thrilled beyond belief this year with the changing of the leaves, the bright fall colors, the geese flying overhead (even though they still sound like turkeys to me... at least I've only commented once or twice this year about hearing the turkeys fly south for the winter).  We even had a herd of wild turkeys sauntering through our yard.  (It was awesome.)  This is truly my favorite time of year.  The hideousness of east coast summers has made me even more thankful for the glorious cooling of autumn and all it's trimmings.


Where was I?

Oh yes.

So Dan and I were outside enjoying the brisk fall sunshine while the dogs cavorted through the leaves.  Nonchalantly, Dan pointed upward to the branches of a leafless tree and said casually, "Cool... you can see the squirrels running around up there."


*cue horror film music that implies death, destruction, murder, mayhem, Great White Sharks, and impending doom*


I glanced up nervously and saw...

nothing.

Huh.


Me:  "I don't see any squirrels..."

Dan:  *giving me the look he gives me when I say something that is apparently so stupid that it embarrasses him to even know me*  "Dani, they're right there."

See???

Of course they are.

Throughout the afternoon I would occasionally glance up at the trees, expecting to see squirrels wearing frilly little aprons, nibbling on acorns, and living their happy little lives amongst the branches, only to see...

nothing.

A trickle of anxiety nestled itself in the back of my neck and I began to avoid getting too close to the trees.

You know, just in case a squirrel fell on me.


Dan:  "Oh for God's sake, Dani!  Squirrels don't fall out of trees and land on people!  Pull your head out of your ass!"


So he says.

But still, I remained cautious.

Because here's one of those things I know with absolute certainty:  If a squirrel fell on me, I would freaking die.

For real.


I. Would. DIE.



Being me, as soon as the day passed and I was safely indoors, I promptly forgot about the squirrel threat and went about my business.


As we were watching tv a short time later, Dan pointed to the front porch and said, "Oh how cute!  Look at that!"


Me:  "Look at what?"


Dan:  *in exasperation because I never see what he sees and it's all my fault*   "A squirrel, Dani... look!  On the porch!  Jeez, that's a big one!"


Me:  *looking*  "I don't see anything..."


Dan:  "Oh for God's sake... Well, it's gone now.  It was one of the biggest squirrels I've ever seen!  How could you not see it?"


Me:  *sarcastically*  "I dunno, Dan... maybe it was on a secret mission."

And right that minute, somewhere, in the distance the faint sound of squirrel laughter floated through the evening air.

Me:  "Did you hear that?"

Dan:  *because he's Dan*  "Hear what?  Did you fart?"

*cue sound of obnoxious manly laughter because men never stop thinking that farts are the funniest thing in the world, bar none*

I know for a fact those little bastards were laughing at me.


I made a mental note to be ever alert to the presence of squirrels.  Because they're sneaky.

And dangerous.


And then?

I forgot.


The following day I was hanging out in the yard with the dogs.  Maisy was snorting through the leaves like a little truffle pig, Javi was peeing on every blade of grass he came across, and I was absent-mindedly standing under a tree watching a chickadee bounce from branch to branch and thinking about absolutely nothing.


This is what the inside of my head looked like at precisely that moment:

And that's when it happened.


Suddenly, without any warning, a squirrel came plummeting out of the trees and sailed past my line of vision about four inches away from my nose.

BONZAIIIII!!

I inhaled so hard I choked on my tongue.


My natural reaction, when something falls from the sky, is to start beating myself on the head because my fear of things landing in my hair is legendary.

LEGENDARY.


(I may or may not have beaten a baby bird to death one time when it fell out of the nest and landed on my head.  I've also killed a leaf a time or two for impersonating a bat landing on my head.  Bottom line?  STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE TOP OF MY HEAD.)

As I stood there panting and hyper-ventilating and slapping myself stupid, the squirrel air-lifted itself off the ground and scampered back up the tree, where it high-fived it's cronies and laughed itself into a pants-wetting asthma attack.

At my expense.

Motherfucker.


My dogs didn't even pause in their individual pursuits for grass to pee on and leaves to look under to protect me from a squirrel invasion.

Apparently the squirrels have been intimidating my dogs.


Either that or paying them off.  I can totally see Javi accepting a bribe and then strong arming Maisy into going along with it.

I am now ever on the alert.  I know they're out there, and I know they know that I know they're out there.  And they know that I know that they know that I know.


And now YOU know.


Stay safe, my homies.