Next month I have one of those fun “milestone” birthdays as I will turn 40. SOMEONE BETTER BE ORDERING A TIME MACHINE FROM AMAZON OR SCIENCESTUFF.EDU! So, I have decided to do some blogs related to that over the next several weeks until the Logan’s Run people put me down or my wife sends me to a home where I can eat pudding and watch Judge Judy in my wheelchair during social hour.
Today, I’ll cover the good and bad about this dark, miserable time and what it means for my withering husk of a body, so you younger kids (now I’m calling everyone younger than me a kid) know what’s coming and can shudder with fear!
Yesterday I found a hair randomly growing from the side of my neck that was two inches long. THIS IS MY LIFE. My eyebrows at this rate will look like this by 50.
Amazingly, my back is still looking like that of a 35 year old. #blessed. In other words, my back shaver and wife keep me from being shot with a tranquilizer dart through the window when I remove my shirt.
What other fun changes await you whippersnappers? Sorry, older people, I should have made the font bigger so you can read. That’s right, I can’t read my phone or menus with contacts. At 30, it was a struggle, now it’s impossible. Hairline? I’m OK up front, but the back has been thinning for a decade. All I had to do was sacrifice live chickens to Baphomet to salvage that much – some agreement about my soul also, but I couldn’t read the fine print, my glasses were dirty. I also hurt my shoulder last month. Sleeping on it. It still hurts.
GET READY TO GET FAT, MILLENNIALS! I eat better than I have since that summer in college when I didn’t have money to buy food. I workout more that, well that summer also. One bad day? It’s over Johnny. Used to be I eat like hot garbage for three days, go run around the block three times and back to what I was before the bender. Now, I have one bad run to Taco Bell, I’m going pants shopping or entering a half marathon. Oh and hangovers are a whole other life change. A hangover used to mean, “Gee, I’m a bit fuzzy after drinking for seven hours and sleeping four.” Now it means “Call a squad and get me IV’s now, I’m dying. I only slept six hours after having two shots and an IPA. Someone put me out of my misery.”
It’s not all bad, though, in fairness. For example, peer pressure doesn’t work on me anymore. I don’t argue with people on the internet. I have a real job now. I don’t mind waking up early (at this rate, I’ll be at the Shoney’s buffet at 5 am by mid-40’s). I can buy stuff I want (but really can’t because the family gets priority, forget that one). Plus, now I’m officially old enough to shake my fist at people and yell. For example: Get off my lawn, you damn kids with your skateboards!
COMING NEXT WEEK: Music since I was born is getting worse and you’re going to hear about it: a blog from every single person 40 and up that has ever existed.