Zumba Class and the Belly Scarf

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The alpha dogs in class wear these to Zumba. Frankly, I think they’re silly but then I’m a fat guy who smokes and occasionally drinks too much and goes to Zumba class so whadda I know. Besides, I’m a firm believer in “whatever cranks your tractor” is ok, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else and it takes a lot of colors to make a rainbow. But I had wondered if these belly scarfs had any other cultural or anthropological significance, but hadn’t found out yet cuz none of the alphas ever talked to me.

Well, once, alpha no 2 spoke to me, but I kinda thought it was in that “survivor island kinda way, while she was deciding whether to inflict a large number of small bites in my skin leaving me bleeding to death in the parking lot, or whether to let me live a few more weeks to see if I was of any interest to the pack.

Anyway, I must have passed, cause alpha number one strikes up a conversation today before class, when alpha number 2 comes up and says; “my other belly scarf wore out and I found a leopard print online I loved but didn’t get it, cause I need a consult”. Alpha no 1, taking the words right out of my mouth, says, “consult about what?” “About whether it’s too tacky?” she says? Then, my filter malfunctioned because I blurted out, “Girl, tacky left the station as soon as you started wearing those, if you’re gonna do it, get a reflective silver or gold one, with battery operated lights. Go big or go home, girl”. (In my defense, it was 8:55 am and I wasn’t fully caffeinated yet). I then asked what they were called so I could Google them and they said “Belly Scarf” asked if I was going to get one. I said yes. (I never said I would WEAR it)

They said http://www.bellyscarf.com was the best site. I’m not making this up, there is an entire site devoted to “belly scarfs”. So, I did some shopping, and thought I’d get some advice from my readers about which one would make my enormous ass look even more enormous and make me look even more ridiculous doing Zumba then I already do. First choice, camouflage: I think this is the clear “redneck-let’s do sum Zumba then go out and kill sumpthin” option…..

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Second choice: pirate skull: (the lets do some Zumba and go out and have a kegger – Hellz Yeah)

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It’s all about the hips. Belly dancing was introduced to the Americas at the 1893 Worlds Fair and “was nicknamed the “Hootchy-Kootchy” or “Hoochee-Coochie”, or the shimmy and shake. A short film, “Fatima’s Dance”, was widely distributed in the Nickelodeon theaters. It drew criticism for its “immodest” dancing, and was eventually censored. Belly dance drew men in droves to burlesque theaters, and to carnival and circus lots.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Belly_dance. I saw the recent attraction to belly scarfs blamed on Shakira.
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(Sometimes. The imagination provides a better punch line than anything I could ever write). Which brings me to my recent plan, to share the “bad” news that I was frustrated by seeming inability separate my hips from my torso or legs in order to participate in these “hootchie cootchie” dance moves which are part of the Zumba Ritual. (Something about watching the blurred lines video with robin thicke and T I pharrell and just thinking “hootchie cootchie” makes me laugh. However, the really bad news is that in the last two classes, I am starting to move my hips and I got a quick glance of that in the mirror today and thought “ugly Santa meets magic mike the movie redone as horror/porn”.

Speaking of “Blurred Lines”, some may have seen my FB post where I had e mailed the Norse Goddess asking her to add it to her Zumba playlist and her telling me it was already in her “choreography to do list”. She had it today, the choreography was great (although I noted it was actually nothing oNne could actually do on a dance floor) and the class loved it. She graciously and unnecessarily gave me credit for suggesting it and I received an ovation. So, while I am still as spastic at Zumba as a diabetic at a Krispy Kreme Free Hot Donut Saturday Special; my status as the best bad influence remains intact.

I think Alpha no 2 should get this one: image

Zumba and the Mt Pleasant Senior Center

Dale, the Norse Goddess of Zumba and Tango, suggested I sign up for the Mt Pleasant (Yes, I live in a place called “Mt Pleasant”. Apparently in the 1700’s “Mt Quiver” didn’t get past the Puritans) Senior Center so I could take her Zumba Class Monday through Friday from 8  am to 9 am.  Now, those of you that know me know that is NOT happening on a regular basis, but I did think I could manage that once, maybe even twice a week.  Ok, once a week, so I went by to check it out.  Holy shit, its the Taj Mahal of facilities!  So I went by this week to sign up.  It’s only a $100 for the year.

I took a tour after signing up.  Nice fitness, music, arts and crafts room, café, kinda what you would expect.  Nice lady at the  front desk, ( who, by the way, took my membership application which I printed off as an Adobe PDF and filled out in pen and she then keyed in completely on the computer, because after spending 1.25 million on this senior center, nobody knows how to create a fill in the blank PDF form) gave me a sheet on their classes and events, which had the usual bingo, mahjongg, cribbage, canasta, arts and crafts, yoga, blah, blah blah, when it struck me!

My brothers, who are 10 years older, and in their mid 60’s came of age in the 1960’s.  In another decade, almost all seniors will have come of age in the 60’s or LATER.  We obviously need to update the offerings in senior centers for this new group.  if they expect these Senior Centers to continue to be so busy, they need to cater to the cultural expectations of the age group from the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s.   I have some ideas.  Maybe you have some suggestions of your own.

1.  Marijuana Varietals –  its not just you plain old Sinsemilla anymore!  Planning a trip to Amsterdam, Washington State, or Colorado?  know the difference between ogkush, granddaddypurple, bludream, jackherer, chemdawg, strawberrycough, purpleblueberry, girlscoutcookies, dutchtreat, sonomacoma BEFORE YOU TRAVEL!  Don’t go unprepared. Also, this is prerequisite for the advanced classes in wine pairings and pot; and prescription drugs and pot.

2.  Kama Sutra Seniors –  Topics to be covered include – “Arthritis – yes you CAN!!!”,  “Sometimes Parkinsons is a GOOD thing”,  and we share one outing with “Love may not be free anymore, but its pretty reasonable on the internet” class

3.  Prescription Potluck and Exchange –  Part class, part social event, why not learn while having fun and making new friends.  Bring your favorite Prescription drugs for recreational use.  (However, bring the rest too, because what doesn’t give a side effect for you, might be awesome for someone else, or slammin when mixed with the right drug)  With guest lecturers on recreational usages, best combos.   (Waivers required for this class)  Also,  alcohol may intensify the effect of the drugs, so cocktails will be served.

4.  Motorized mobility frisbee –  Bring you motorized wheelchair, scooter, etc plus a cooler of beer for a fun time of outdoor Frisbee golf.  We don’t keep score, but like the 70’s its all about fresh air and getting drunk.

6.  Succession Planning for Dying Rockers:   Fighting a little depression about your fav rock band dying soon?  Wanting to find a suitable replacement to take their place?  Come to the music room on Friday nights and we’ll help you find a replacement for your favorite rock and roll, heavy metal, blues, beach band, soul, you name it.  So when the Stones finally die, you’ll be ready.

Cant WAIT to take a Zumba class here.

“We all live in a yellow submarine”

Zumba class 10 and disturbing developments

I broke out dancing at the pharmacy.  I know.  I didn’t ease you into it.  No introduction.  Just hit you in the face with it.  I go to a small business non chain pharmacy, owned by a female pharmacist.  A lovely drug dealer who walked off the cover of Vogue.  She has all female pharmacy techs.  A Charlie’s Angel’s Drug Dispensary.  What’s not to like?  So, I had phone in a refill on Friday and another on Monday and stopped by there to pick them up but only one was ready.  I was waiting and Maroon 5’s “Move’s Like Jagger” was blaring over the speaker, which you may remember is one of Dale’s favorites on her Zumba playlist, and without even thinking, and with an expected feeling of joy out of nowhere I bust a move, right there in the pharmacy.  The hot, black, pharmacy tech, busts out laughing, and says, “you’re making me uncomfortable”.  I said, “Wow, you’re laughing at me”.  She says, “I’m not laughing at you,”  clearly laughing at me, “but you making me uncomfortable”.   “What about my dancing is making you uncomfortable”, I ask.  “No one dances in a pharmacy”, she says.  “I am”.   After I left, it struck me how at the time, I thought dancing in the pharmacy was ok… which was disturbing.  And then I though about the fact that dancing in the pharmacy WAS disturbing.  Zumba may in fact be a mental illness.

Disturbing development no 2.  I’ve been embarrassed to mention for the last 4 weeks but I am physically incapable of hopping from one foot to another. You know, like a boxer would jump rope but faster. The first time they did this in Zumba, my brain sent the message “hop” to my right foot- nothing.  Then the message “hop” to my left foot – nothing.  Literally. Like paralysis. Except this wasn’t nerve damage. This was old age and fat ass damage. I stood there looking at all these women, easily hopping from right foot to left, in time with this music, playin at 156 RPM, even hopping twice on alternating feet. like some Peter Rabbit, hippity hop thing and I’m staring  at my feet.  Like Dorothy trying to get back to Kansas. After a couple of weeks of wrapping my head around this depressing realization, I decided to embark on my own personal hippity hop rehab. I started with shifting weight from one foot to another to an actual, but very sad, jump from one foot to another which is more ameliorated unfortunately by the gripping pain in my chest such cardio causes me than some previous inability to get my body to respond to signals from my brain

Disturbing development no 3.  I was told today that there is such a thing as Aqua Zumba.

“We all live in a yellow submarine”.

 

 

Zumba Class 9 and the Seven Deadly Sins

Gluttony and Sloth  (I try to stick to 500 words, so we’re taking some of these two at a time)  Walking into Zumba Class 9 today and Dale, the instructor, says, ” I saw your last blog about not losing a pound and you WILL!  You WILL!”   (So far so good, I thought; this sounds encouraging)  Then… “But you just have to change your eating habits; you can’t get a piece of pizza after class.”   OMG!  That’s it!  The Higgs Boson particle of nutrition information I’ve been looking for/searching for in my quest.  I’m guessing she means I should give up those triple banana splits from Baskin Robbins I eat for Breakfast every day?  Or those buy one get one free Pizza’s from Pizza Hut for lunch?  Or the 3 Big Mac’s followed by a dozen Krispy Kreme’s for dinner?  I’d tell you what I really ate, but it isn’t funny, its’ just sad and boring.  Juicing.  Salads  Veggies, Protein.  I’ve even flirted with vegetarians but they seem to have either self-esteem issues (defending why they are vegan/vegetarian/pescatatorian )(I thought keeping up with Muslim religious sects was hard) or anger management issues (why meat eaters are disgusting foul creatures).  (I was just looking for some recipes, honest).  Anyway,  all fat people are not suffering from gluttony and sloth.  Now don’t get me wrong,  I can “gluttony and sloth” with the best of them, and have in the past, (I did not get this size by accident, it took a tremendous amount of hard work.  And French Food)  But generally, when I’m in a five-year cycle of trying to lose weight, I try to concentrate on my other sins and addictions and leave the gluttony and sloth out of the equation.

Envy, Avarice and Wrath   On the day my daughter was born,  I will never forget marveling how her ass was so small it fit in the palm of my hand.  I don’t know why that amazed me more than the size of her incredibly small fingers, or toes, or feet, but the fact that I could hold her there in the palm of my hand amazed me and does still to this day.  I never thought I would see that again the rest of my life….until Zumba.  There is a girl in class who, I swear, has an ass that would fit in the palm of my hand.  She is lithe, agile, limber, graceful and does all the routines, steps and arm movements with grace, and perfect rhythm.  I mention this, not with the least bit of sexual attraction; nay, it is pure envy, avarice and wrath and  it because I want to club her like a baby seal.

 

Pride.  Gem showed up for class today.  Gem is Dale’s friend from Connecticut.  He comes here a few times a year to help teach tango workshops.  Gem has dark hair, dark eyes and a dark beard, and dances tango like the bastard child of Mikhail Baryshnikov and Fred Astaire.  In warm ups for class, he can slightly bend one knee and while standing on one foot, do kicks, and ganchos, and swings with the other foot, then order out for coffee, all the while encouraging us to do these exercises at home because we need strength and balance to do tango, while we wobble, bobble, and all the blood drains from our faces.  But, even Gem didn’t, let’s just say, look so fresh, in Zumba Class.

You’ll notice I left out Lust because I swear this was a Catholic Conspiracy and that Lust was originally in the Cardinal virtues.  Well, it is for me.  😉

“We all live in yellow submarine”

Zumba Class 8 and the Heart Rate Watch

Driving over to the Isle of Palms I was behind a Chevy Cruze  with the license plate “05 Lbs”.   Clearly a sign the universe was laughing at me.  Logically I knew out of context, this could mean anything.  I considered following the car and beating the answer out of the driver with a tire iron, but I’d be late to class.

One of the things I’m enjoying most about Zumba are the comments before class.  For example today.  my classmate says,”Monday, we had 8 people from Ohio – a dad, mom and their 6 kids and friends”.  “Wow,” I said, “those Ohio people really know how to have fun at the beach”.  Or Saturday.  “Are you in Dale’s Tango Class?”  ‘Yes”.  “How long have you been taking tango?”  “About four years”.    “How long would it take me to get the hang of it”, she asked?  “About 20 minutes,” I said.  I don’t think she likes me.  I could tell cause she gave me that look.  You know, that look.  That look a woman gives you when she wants to find the rustiest chef’s knife she has in the kitchen, wrap it in barbed wire and give you a prostatocystectomy rectally.  ( “prostatocystectomy   (PROS-tuh-toh-sis-TEK-toh-mee)    Surgery to remove the bladder and the prostate. In a radical prostatocystectomy, the seminal vesicles are also removed.  Also called cystoprostatectomy ” http://www.mskcc.org/glossary/P/prostatocystectomy)  Any guy who has a wife, girlfriend, daughter, mother or female coworker knows “that look”.  I just thought you’d like to know how to pronounce the procedure.

(Disclaimer:  All the women I’ve met in these classes are warm, friendly, positive, outgoing, lovely souls who have been very welcoming and charming.  Any reference to my classmates are totally fictionalized and a function of hyperbole for the purposes of humor and any relationship to any reality herein is strictly no reference to anyone living or dead)

But there is a little bit of a Lord of the Flies vibe going on in there, but I  haven’t put my finger on it yet.  My estrogen meter hasn’t gone off the scale yet  (you know, that little gland every man has in the base of his brain that tells him when the level of estrogen has reached life threatening levels in any room).  You know, you’ve all seen it – a guy enters a room full of women at home, work wherever, and spins on his heels like he just realized he both won the lottery and is late for his first tryout at the Indianapolis 500.  Yep, that’s right, his estrogen meter warning buzzer has gone off in his head and he realizes entering that room is taking his life in his hands.  So, I’m just mentioning it because if my body is found anytime soon stuffed with every blade sold at William Sonoma, remember you read it here, it was the Zumbaronians.

Anyway, have been aware of some time about training at the maximum effective heart rate for weight loss so thought I’d pick up one of those heart rate watches this weekend and give that a try.  Did that and am wearing it for class.  First five min, good, heart rate shoots up to 186, which is on the high side so I figure I’ll cut back just a little.  Go to check it a couple of minutes later and the watch explodes like a cheap firecracker overstuffed with gunpowder and a short fuse on a hot fourth of July.   And they all turn around like, wow, the fat guy blew up a watch.  Holy shit.  I was thinking, “look at what’s left of the watch, not at me!”

I’d like to tell you after 8 Zumba classes, and two months of working out 5 days a week  I have:  1.  learned the foot moves;  2. learned the arm moves;  3.  put 1 & 2 together;  3.  lost 1 pound  4. my clothes fit better;  5.  I have discovered this fountain of boundless energy  but…. I got nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Except this Blog.  and some really hot new Nikes.  (which make no difference in my Zumba-ing).

I can’t wait till the next class…..

“Good judgment comes from experience.  Experience comes from bad judgment.”  Bob Packwood.

“Packaging Feedback” from Amazon.com?

Here’s the email I received:

Dear Lawrence A Laddaga, Thank you for your recent purchase from Amazon.com! Did you know that you can help improve Amazon’s packaging by leaving feedback for your recent purchases?  It’s very easy–just click the “Leave Packaging Feedback” button below. Amazon’s Packaging Feedback form is now optimized for your smartphone and mobile device.  Please leave your feedback today!

When I got the first one, I admit I was speechless.  I’ve gotten several now.  Let me start by saying I LOVE Amazon.  Great prices, unbeatable customer service, I could go on and on.  So, to write this blog, I actually LOOKED at the feedback.  It is actually “answer a few questions, yes no multiple choice kind of thing” BUT, they do have a comments section at the end.  I’m a little at a loss to imagine what exactly they are looking for with packaging feedback?

1.  Dear Amazon:  I know books aren’t “breakable” but on slow days, we really like getting stoned and snapping bubble wrap.  Could you wrap our book in bubble wrap next time?

2.  Dear Amazon:  I had one of those containers with the opening strip that starts with a tab?  You know, where you grab the tab and its supposed to tear all the way across the package but then the tab just tears off and the rest of the strip just sits there.  Yeah, that package is still unopened and I can’t get to my stuff.

3.  Dear Amazon:  I got a box from you, but it didn’t say which end I should open.  Can you please send package opening instructions?

4.  Dear Amazon:  Like, we went to the junk drawer where the scissors normally are, but they weren’t there and we looked all over the house, like for an hour, till we finally found them in the sex toys drawer.  Don’t ask me how they got THERE.

5.  Dear Amazon:  Why is all the packaging cardboard colored?  Is that a color?   Could it be prettier?  Then I’d be happier when your stuff came.

6.  Dear Amazon:  Hallmark has cards that when you open them, they play music.  Can you do that?  I’d like mine delivered with “Pour some sugar on me”.

7.  Dear Amazon:  the boxes I get from you are sealed with tape.  As professional packers,  I’ve always wanted to know:  cut the tape?  or peel the tape?  (I’m a cutter by the way.  the tape, not an emo kind of thing)

8.  Dear Amazon:  Why always square or rectangular boxes?  Circles, triangles, and other geometric shapes would also be very cool, please see former color feedback comment.

9.  Dear Amazon:  Every once in a while, could you send me someone ELSE’s order?  I like surprises.

10  Dear Amazon:  The other day, I got an e mail from you to answer a question from one of your other customers about  a product I reviewed awhile back.  I actually did it.  You opened a plan in Lexington county, about 100 miles near where I live.  If I drive by there, do I have to stop in and sweep up?

“We all live in Yellow Submarine”

Zumba Class 7 and A Hangover

Sometimes a title is worth a 1000 words isn’t it?  You are already laughing, aren’t you?  I know you are.  Hell, I could just stop right here.  Because,  you immediately flashed back to a time when, in a an exercise  (pardon the pun) of extremely poor judgment, you got up one morning after a spectacular bender and went off to exercise.  Or at the proverbial convention, had an 9 am tee time, after getting in from drinking all night at 5 am.

My college roommate, Vince, was a tall, slender, athletic guy with piercing blue eyes and the longest blackest eyelashes you’ve ever seen.  Every woman who every saw, met or walked by him said, “you have beautiful eyes”, or “I love your eyelashes”, or “I’d kill for your eyelashes” or “OMG, your eyes”, or you get the idea.  I was jealous for about two weeks,  then I could see it could really be annoying to be that good-looking.  We saw each other a few months ago for the first time in 30 years.  He was here to see a client of a company he’s CEO for in California.  We meet at Big Billy’s burger joint.  We sat down, the waitress came up and said, “OMG, you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen”.  I digress.  So, we’d stay out drinking till 3 am, and he’d get up at 8 am to play basketball.  When he got back, whatever time that was, I’d still be asleep.  He’d suggest I get up, which I pointed out was not a good idea.  I preferred not to see daylight on the weekends.  I liked to get up AFTER the sun went down.  We’d make breakfast for supper and then go back out drinking.  I found it easier to stay up all night drinking that way.  Exercise in the morning after drinking seems counterproductive.

I went to Zumba this morning with the hangover anyway.  It actually wasn’t so bad.  It was like coming to after surgery while your still “enjoying” the effects of the anesthesia.  And, while I would never say “I’m getting the hang of this Zumba thing,  I think the Pavlov effect is starting to work.

Now I’m limited in actually talking about musical selections because the two times I’ve actually talked about a particular song, (and they were my two favorites) Dale immediately took them out of her playlist.  I thought the first time was just her changing things up, but the second time I had some major “mother issues PTSD”.  I’m gonna sneak my phone in there and Shazam some of the songs I hate and blog about one of those and see if it gets canned.

The first thing I noticed today was my feet.  Last week, my spectacular Goddess of a daughter Rachel said she was having trouble finding me something for Father’s day.  (because I have everything I want and need and because I am, generally a PITA – Pain In the Ass).  At first I said the standard, “nice card”, but then, I thought about how bad my feet hurt last week, so  I said I needed Zumba shoes, but was too lazy to do the research so if she’d find what shoes I should get, I’d to buy them.  Which she did, and I did.

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FYI – “The foot and ankle contain:

None of which apparently, get worked out when you are sitting in a recliner,  so despite the plethora of geometric shapes on the bottom of these trainers, most of which I haven’t seen since tenth grade geometry, my feet still hurt like hell today.  While I’m neither a podiatrist nor a orthopedist, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess it’s not because I have the wrong shoes for lateral movement, but it’s because Zumba is working at least 84 foot muscles that probably have not been exercised since I was 8 months old.  (Oh, my feet just piped in and said, “Oh yeah, and you’re a fat ass”)

Named another step today – you step/run in place while doing jumping jacks just as fast as you possibly can with your upper arms PINNED TO YOUR SIDES.  I call this “Sorority Girl at rock concert college football game needs to pee really really bad but line at girls bathroom is 100 yards long”.

“We all live in a Yellow Submarine”

 

Yoga Fifth Anniversary Part I

Reflecting on my five-year anniversary of yoga classes coming up the end of next month, I noticed last week I attained a major milestone which, after five years of faithful class attendance and constant effort, I had not yet been able to attain.  Yes, that’s right.  After five full years of rarely ever missing a weekly class, last week, for the first time ever, I was able to, wait for it…. injure myself.  We were in Warrior One,  right foot forward, left foot back, leaning forward from the waist, and doing a hip opener on the left side,  Apparently I have finally accomplished the flexibility, strength and ability to breath through pain enough to pull/strain my back muscle on the lower left side.  (this is not exactly it, but will give you a general idea….)

I had been kinda hoping for a milestone like a head stand, or a graceful shoulder stand,  but hey, a milestone is a milestone.

They asked me in class the other day if I had any observations after five years of practice. I said I had no idea why the Bush administration risked such a public outcry over waterboarding terrorism suspects when there are thousands of yoga instructors in this country.  Wow, even after five years, at the end of 90 minutes, if they threatened to go on for another thirty, I’d give them my social security number, my bank account number and my ATM Card.  Another hour, I’d sell out my mother.  They could have taken those guys and put them with the right yoga teacher for 6 hours in pigeon or chair pose and they would have had Bin Laden’s address in 2002.  I suppose many yoga instructors would have a philosophical objection to “forcing” people to perform yoga poses to get information out of them but I’m sure the whole saving lives thing would get some past the moral dilemma.

As my five-year anniversary approaches, I had been thinking that with the material available to me after only 6 Zumba classes, that there was an unlimited well in five years of yoga classes.  For example, in part II,  how yoga has greatly improved my internal profanity.  See for example…pigeon.

“We all live in aYellow Submarine”

Aging gracefully or like a rusting septic tank?

I’ve been thinking a good deal lately (“lately” at my age meaning the last 20 years) about aging and what it means to “get old”. I’ve also been thinking a lot lately (“lately” at my age meaning the last 20 minutes) if I could write something funny besides humiliating myself in an exercise class.   Here’s an opportunity to kill two birds with the same assault rifle.

I started thinking about this the first time I heard someone 50 called “middle-aged”.  Check  the mortality tables lately?  That train left the station at 40.

The second thing that got my attention were the famous and (not famous) actors, politicians, fitness gurus, granny’s graduating college, 90-year-old owner of the clothing store we all know, who despite their being well into their advanced years, just don’t seem “old” at all.

How do I get there? What does it mean to be “old”?  I did a little research. (Ok, VERY little research) Here’s just one website I found on “aging”. http://ask.healthline.com/galecontent/aging#1.  Here’s  one example why conventional medical science doesn’t clearly reflect what  we all see in the real world. Here’s the symptoms listed under “Diagnosis” on page two:
diminished, or lack of, desire for food
increased confusion
failure to thrive
urinary incontinence
dizziness
weight loss
falling

Seriously? Ok, if weight loss and diminished desire for food are symptoms, call the National Enquirer, I’m destined for  immortality. As for increased confusion, failure to thrive, dizziness, falling and urinary incontinence: frankly, that just sounds like my twenties. Wow, if I’d known that was aging I wouldn’t have cut back on my drinking.

So, I’m developing my own “anti aging” prescription list. Screw a bucket list, I wanna be Morgan Freeman, who turned 76  June 1,2013. Make EVERYDAY a bucket list day.

1. Keep up: if you can’t/won’t/don’t wanna use-learn cell phones, computers, social media, technology, you don’t only LOOK old, you are old. in general, KEEP UP. When you hear the “20’s”, “40’s”, “50’s”, or “80’s, s each decade evokes a certain menagerie of fashion, politics, technology, media,  design, and culture. I find this harder as the years go by. I admit I rely on my girlfriend to insure I don’t dress like its 1985. I’m constantly scrambling to listen to bands who have clearly gone viral for awhile. Vampire weekend? Yup, their third album is out. You get the drift. Keep up

2. Do NOT join the AARP. Does this really need any explanation? It’s a cult. I know they have kool aid. I’m not drinking it.

3. Aches and pains. If you’re over 50, shut the hell up about them. If you’re between 9 and 49, bitch away. I hear my friends between 9 and 40 bitch about their migraines, bad backs, discs, constantly. It’s ok, if you’re “young”. Over 50, you sound 80.  That ’cause, that’s ALL old people talk about.   If it hurts, suck it up and shut up. Unless you got a scrip for hospice, don’t tell nobody.

4. Aging “gracefully”. I admit I succumbed to false vanity and struggled with this a bit but the bottom line is that you cannot hide the outward physical effects of aging. Translation- every bottle of scotch from 30 years ago is proudly showing up today on my face and saying “whee- look at me”. While I heartily recommend a good dermatologist, increased exercise, healthier eating and lifestyle in general, (along with your addictions and bad habits of choice) you all have that image of the “she’s had too much plastic surgery” and “who’s he fooling with that comb over”. Be comfortable in your own skin is good advice for any age.

5. Hang out with young people besides your grand kids. This is also an aging test. If you are a PITA (pain in the ass) they won’t hang out with you. Grumpiness is a sure sign of aging. See, e.g. The movies GRUMPY OLD MEN I,II,III, IV & V.

I’m happy to die today or 40 years from now, that’s inevitable. Aging? That’s optional

“We all live in a yellow submarine”. (This is a lyric from a song by a band called the “BEATLES”, which had a flash of popularity 50 years ago).