Tag - middle-aged

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Will You Still Love Me?
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Madonna MaDON’T

Will You Still Love Me?

So. Turned 62. Funny thing is, I’ve been telling people I am 62 for the past 9 months or more. Not sure if I was rounding up or what, but only a month or so ago, Bradley finally corrected me on it.

Brad: You know you’re only 61, right?

Me: What? That can’t be. Lemme see…1955, 2017…holy shit! I just gained a year! Or lost it. How did I screw that up? Am I going senile?

Brad: I thought it was weird. But at one point I figured you did it intentionally.

Me: You figured? And you never once thought you might MENTION this in passing?

Brad: I’m mentioning it now?

Me: This is so crazy. I seriously convinced myself I was 62. Now it’s like I’m not really going to have a birthday at all.

Color me gobstruck.

My actual 62nd birthday turned out to be one of my favorites. Very pleasant. Top to bottom. This one truly felt like a get-out-of-fail-free card. I was feeling love all over the place. Phone calls. Text messages. Facebook salutations. Old photographs. Music videos. Poems…

There once was a lady named ame
Humor was her claim to fame
She wrote from her home
None as good as my poem
But still such a funny old dame
~Elicia M Viola

Looking at my life and the friends who have made it livable and glorious, I realized in the most peaceful way…it’s been a life well-lived. The best part being, I look forward to keeping that standard going until it’s over.

(Friends who don’t know me at all. In Italy. Mr.Unibrow is the real MVP.)

I can’t predict how long this sense of satisfaction, dare I say, “pride” may last, but what a relief today was from never being enough. That daily internal dialogue saying I failed at reaching some impossible standard put upon myself like a weighted diving suit.

Today, I rose to the surface, buoyed by loved ones, and gasped with awe at where I had come from and where there is yet to go. Full blown gratitude.

You can’t get a better gift than that. Thank you everyone who has touched my life in positive, unconditional ways. And thank you for your kind and funny posts on my wall. [The only wall I am in favor of, btw.]

Christ I hate mushy sentimentality. Is it time to go towards the light?

Not a fucking chance. Unless that light is neon and blinking, “Food.”

So thanks for the feels everybody. I’ll leave you with this question: Will you still love me, will you please tell me, when I’m 63? Seriously, tell me.

Checking for a pulse?

Inspiration found at a TJMaxx…
…I don’t pay for shitty clichés, btw.

That’s all folks!

Madonna MaDON’T

Women are unfairly judged for aging and that is a damn shame. That being said, I am fascinated by desperate women who can’t face the natural order of things. They do everything in their power, along with science, surgery and Satan to stop it. My favorite example of this is Madonna. I love a good a freak show.

Madonna Live

Body Exhibition

Who doesn’t admire a living person who can star in the museum exhibit of cadavers that are preserved to show the inner workings of every muscle, organ and blood vessel?  ‘Creepy’ is the new fifty.

Photo courtesy of Andreas/Getty Images Europe

'Body Worlds' Exhibition

Madonna is so proud of her physique, she parades it on stage with abandon. Too bad she abandoned looking in a mirror.

Photo courtesy of Getty

MadonnASS

Her recent display of butt droop hanging down the backside of her thigh is my greatest treasure. I’m embarrassed to admit how much time I have spent studying this picture. 

I imagine the rolling heads when she saw her photo and began screaming:  “Why didn’t any of you f’n morons tell me what I looked like from behind? And where is my soon-to-be ex costume designer? You’re all f’n fired, you ASSHOLES! I am f’n MADONNA! You can all kiss my flabulous ass on the way out!”

It delights me to no end, that someone as desperate to look hot as Madonna is, pulls the biggest MaDON’T in a live show. Her latest ‘assgaff’ is worthy of The People of Walmart photo site.  The Empress Wore No Shame should be her next children’s book.

Having just celebrated my fifty-seventh birthday, I am tuned in to what women my age look like. I’m all for trying to look current, but dressing like a barely legal lingerie model is not sexy at this stage of life.  I don’t care how in shape a woman is, when she’s past fifty, she’s PAST exposing herself. There is, and always will be, a difference between a fit twenty-five-year-old and a fit fifty-five-year-old. Allow me to introduce you to ‘juicy’ versus ‘jarring.’

Clothing courtesy of the Tog Shop www.togshop.com

Mother Madonna

I’m taking it upon myself to show this diva cougar how to dress her age.  She’s a mother for God’s sake. It’s time for her daughter to shine. Madge should encourage her by offering words of wisdom while passing the torch before her flickering flame has been surgically manipulated into an LED flashlight that is bright, harsh and totally unrealistic. Let people remember you for the hottie you were, instead of the tortured ‘nottie’ you’ve twisted yourself into.

Why’s it so hard to move on, Madonna? You’re not even close to being like a virgin, your mental health is borderline, and you need to learn to express yourself without exposing your privates in public. 

For crying out loud, show more class than ass!

 

 

 

Copyright © 2014 Amy Sherman

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