THIRTIES ARE THE NEW THIRTIES....

Age isn't how old you are but how old you feel.”  Gabriel Garcí­a Márqu

I am 37.

Thirty- Seven. 

THREE-SEVEN!

Just let that sink in a bit….

THAT’S 3 YEARS UNTIL FORTY! FORTY! FOUR-ZERO!!!!!!

So to say that I’m not taking this birthday well is an….ummm…understatement.  I’m soooo not adjusting well at all!  It’s so bad that it has taken me almost a month to write this birthday post.  Ya, it’s like that. 

It’s not that getting older bothers me.  Okay lies, the number does bother me.  I mean it just sounds old!  But it’s also how getting older feels.  And I don’t mean the aching knees and creaking bones.  I mean how it feeeeeel feels. Okay let me explain. It’s the “I’d rather stay at home and climb in the bed at 7pm” or the “I eat prunes for dessert and drink prune juice for breakfast” feeling.  It’s the “sign up for your 20 year high school anniversary” feeling.  The “you don’t look THAT old” feeling.  The “no ma’am, you can put your ID away, we’re certain you’re over 21” feeling.  The “please stop saying turn up, you sound like your mother” feeling.

Speaking of turn up, why can’t I let that isht go?  I’m soooo over the phrase “Turn Up” yet, I can’t stop from saying it! I think that was the first sign that I’m aging.  Okay I lie, I lie…the first sign was my gray hair and my tricky stomach issues aka the Notorious T.U.M.M.Y but the fact that I can’t let go of the phrase “Turn up” is a damn close third.  It reminds me of when my mom got a hold of “No Diggity” and for months, years even, she would end a sentence with “No diggity, no doubt” or how my father refuses to let go of “igging me” and even uses it incorrectly.  THAT’S ME!!!! I think I’ve turned into my parents and have forgotten when to let go of slang.  I mean at some point using the latest slang, blasting Lil’ Wayne, and going out to get faded has to get old and become cliché right??? Okay, noooo scratch that last one because a drink here and there (with a buzz included) is sometimes necessary.  *flips hair and sips Rum*

Ok well, let me stay on track.  The point is…well….I’m old y’all.  I turned 37, and I wish I could say I don’t feel a day over 25.  I’d be lying and I pride myself on being very truthful on here.  The truth is I feel every bit of 37-EVERY FUCKING BIT OF IT!

And to top it off, I have to now deal with real pressing old people isht.  No longer am I able to just ignore certain realities.  They are here and knocking on my 37 year old door.  The time has come to make some real decisions and to step into middleagedom (that’s a word damn it).  For example:

To have kids or not to have kids, that is the question:

Here is the dilemma.  I think I want kids but there’s a small part of me that thinks I was programmed to want kids.  Like no one has given us women a blueprint outside of having kids.  You’re born and raised to believe you get married, you have kids and THEN life begins.  So, of course I want kids I mean life needs to begin, right? Right?  I don’t know maybe? Maybe not?  Here’s what I do know, I definitely want to get married.  I’m totally great with kids, so if he comes with one, we’re good.  But do I want to have one….sigggghhh. I guess? I guess not?  All I know is this. I’m on the fence. And I don’t have enough time to be on it!!! If I want kids I needed to have started yesterday!  This biological clock I fear has run out of snooze buttons.  It’ barbeque or mildew time! Hoe up or Blow up (okay maybe that’s not approp here, but in Pimps up, Hoes Down” the two went hand in hand)

But then I’m like what would life look like for me if I don’t pull the trigger on the baby making machine?

What does life look like post biological clock explosion?  What does post-40 look like for those of us who opt not to have kids? Or consequently miss the kid mark?  Do we write our own story?  Are we looked upon like an anomaly?  Will we be the three headed monster folks like to make us be?  I mean if I had a dollar for every person that asks me when I’m having kids I could well…afford to freeze my eggs!

Insurance is no longer an option.   Don’t. You. Judge. Me.  Yes, you with your corporate job that matches your insurance.  You, the one who can’t fathom a life without insurance and 401K and are appalled that people don’t have either.  YOU!!!  Obama didn’t come up with Obamacare for no reason!  Insurance is expensive and as a freelancer it’s totally unaffordable.   But I can no longer ignore the need of insurance.   Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of free clinics in the state of New York and programs for the uninsured.  I’ve utilized some but it’s tricky when you’re not state mandated “poor”.  I’m sure that’s not the legal term for it, but that’s what we’ll call it here.  I’m what they like to deem “working poor”, Even though I wouldn’t own that title either.  But the logic is, you make a salary too much for the free stuff and too little to pay for it yourself. 

Needless to say, once I went to a free clinic.   Yeah I said it, I went to a FREE CLINIC! And it was a traumatizing  experience and that’s not just the bourgeoisie in me speaking, it really was! Girl Scouts honor.  Issue one, the clientele (no shade) coupled with the lack of cleanliness of the waiting room, I was certain if I didn’t have tuberculosis, I would when I left.  Secondly, I had a vicious cough that produced green phlegm. Yes, all of the signs pointed to a serious chest situation.  When I walked in the door, the doctor looked at me like in my direction and prescribed cough syrup with codeine and asked me if I wanted birth control pills.  She didn’t pull out nary stethoscope, not a chest x-ray, not one examination.  Hell she didn’t even try to find out if I was already pregnant.   Just something to suppress the cough and to stop babies. I knew then, it was only a matter of time before I would have to address this insurance situation. It’s only so many times you can go through one of those clinics and come out unscathed.

The art of losing weight.  Oh yes my friends, this is now an art, perhaps even a game.  Hell, perhaps it's even giving The Hunger Games a run for its money.  Yeah I went there with it because that’s what it’s become.  What happened to working out a few days, scaling back on pop and sweets and dropping 10?  I’ve been working out for months…..MONTHS…regularly, watching everything I eat. I’ve lost 5 pounds at best and I’m not even sure that’s not water.  What the eff is that about??? Please tell me I don’t have to work out this hard and deprive myself of everything that life is made of,  for the rest of my life???  I mean come the hell on!!!! My metabolism didn’t just slow down.  This shit died a tragic and painful death.  It disappear, never to be seen again.  It, my friends is not about this life. And when I mean this life, I mean MY life.  And it certainly wasn’t about this lose weight life, effin’ quitter.  Now, here I am at 37 desperately trying to shed 20 lbs and I’ve tried everything but a magic trick.  (Which I’m not opposed to if y’all know of someone).  So now I’ve convinced myself that it’s not about the weight, it’s all about working out and eating healthy and as long as I don’t gain, I win.  Yeah, yeah, yeah the lies we tell ourselves.

When I was little I used to joke my grandmother about her many diets.  I told her she was dieting her life away and when I grow up, I would NEVER diet like that.  Now I know why she laughed so hard.  Poor thing didn’t have the heart to tell me that life will be one big low fat cheese, low sodium, turkey bacon, skinless chicken, sugar-free diet.  Deal with it!

Well friends, now you know why I cry.  One day I went to sleep as a mid-thirty-something young spry girl with nothing but time and opportunity on her hands and the next day I woke up a late thirty middle aged lady with the shot clock speeding down to zero.  This can’t be life!!!! I promise as a kid it took a life time for my birthday around as I’ve gotten older it seems like time has sped up?! How the hell does that work??

Wooosaaaaahhhhh, listen I’m done venting for now.  I just had to get that off my chest so I can move on for the year.  But listen friends, if I show up with sextuplets next year don’t blame me…blame the clock.  *Nik shrug* What’s a girl to do, it’s game time right?

Mambo Nik Out!

“If you’re not getting older, you’re dead” Tom Petty