I’m Miserable, Lamenting On My Birthday

miserable

 

(Something I pulled from the attic, dusted off and adapted. Apologies if you already heard this shit)
So like yea, today’s my birthday and I am way past a half century old. Damn, when I say it like that it sounds downright ancient. Okay, I’ve been alive for more than six decades. Fuck man, that sounds even worse! So what do you do when you know you have more yesterdays than tomorrows, more of the hill behind you than in front, and you worry you are becoming a Grumpy Old Man? Why you bitch of course…..

I’m miserable, right? So I down a glass of vodka…. I’m still miserable, right? Although not quite as miserable as before. So I down another vodka. I’m still miserable, right? Well maybe not miserable but I’m still uptight. So I down another glass of vodka. I’m still mizabell rightio? Well not exactly mizzabrell, I feel kinda okay. Matter of fact I’m feeling pretty shitty good. So’s I have another vodka. Now I’m feeling it. Matter a fack I may actually be shhhhhh-happy. My oh my that vodka helps me forget. Onliest problem izzz, when I wakesh up tommorry, I gun be mishabelll all over again. So why’m I so doggone angry alla time these days?

Well to tell ya the truth it began the day I received the letter. Oh yes my brothers and sisters, the letter is coming in the mail for all of us if y‘all haven’t received it already. That dreaded piece of shit envelope with my name on it from AARP. Say what? AARP??? You must want my damn father because I ain’t ready for no bullshit Retired Persons mail. That would make a a goddamn freaking SENIOR! Thinking she was being helpful my baby girl daughter pointed out that it would mean bookoo senior discounts, like at movies and ice cream stores. While she saw savings on really cool things like Netflix and Ice Cream Chill I viewed it as an insult to my entire generation. WTF? We aren’t seniors! We’re still vital. Not oldies but classic rockers who had the real music, the good music. We are the generation that had to walk barefoot in the snow uphill both ways just to buy rolling papers at the stationary store. And then we had to clean our weed and through out all the stems and seeds before we could even roll. Not to mention we needed to glue two small Zig Zags together to roll what Y’all call fatties. We had chamber pipes collecting reinated buds for those weed free days. Speaking of which we lived through the drought of 76 when we went three and a half weeks without any weed in town. Anywhere! Not even homegrown. Some hardcore puffersa even smoked those stems and seeds. Gave me such a headache! So we are far from ready to cash it in and get on the senior tour bus, we’re still digging the psychedelic tangerine flake hippie tie-dye bus tour. Anyway, that’s what started it all, when I got an AARP card reality hit me like a glass of prune juice on a backed up day. That’s when I came to understand that I have become the ripped up pair of jeans that are no longer worn but were so comfortable back in time that Ithey just can’t be throw away. I am those old comfortable shoes that went out of style years ago but still take up room high on a shelf way in the back of the closet. Damn now that I put it that way I’m miserable again.

I was never really a big fan of reality but when it knocks you have no choice but to let it in. And here is the reality….I’m not getting old, I already am fucking old! And so it became that my new angry path was the golden road to grumpy old mandom. My sarcastic wit was far too quickly morphing into cynicism and distrust. I was becoming grumpy about everything so I took stock of myself and let reality come in for a visit. Reality entered my abode like a bull in a china shop, it was like a cannonball of facts. Crows feet? I got damn ravens legs. WTF are those wrinkles? That’s just because my skin don’t fit as tight as it used to even though it’s covering twice the mass. The ever increasing midsection of my body went beyond pear shape straight to an amoeba like glutton. Exercise? I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a rep of sit up’s today. The most work out I get is carrying the what I bought at the liquor store into the house. Even my license lists my hair color as transparent and my weight as a work in progress. Okay, so getting old sucks and being old is worse but that’s really not a reason to be miserable. No one ever said life would be fair but giving me the knowledge I could have used thirty five years ago just ain’t right. No, that’s not what made me miserable on this particular occasion, it was the culmination of all that reality combined with a recent visit to a local bakery that broke the dromedary‘s spine. I went to get some rolls and a loaf of French bread to bring over to some friends place that had invited us for dinner. The sweet young counterperson said to me, “Have you seen our discount? Twenty cents off on Wednesday.” Well another part of aging is I’ve become far more aware of diascounts and coupons than I used to. Just like my own father I have become a horder of Sweet and Low packets everywhere I go. Never have to buy them anymore, they are in the drawer with my soy sauce ans duck sauce packets. So hey man, twenty cents is twenty cents so I thanked her, paid and left. But when I got back to the car I began thinking she gave me far more than a twenty cent discount so because of another one of lifes little practical jokes I put on my reading glasses and stared at the receipt until it made sense. A half hour later I realized it said Senior Discount Wednesdays 20% off. Puzzled because of the oncoming storm of senility it took me 10 more minutes to realize she hadn’t said have you seen our discount, but We have our senior discount, and it wasn’t twenty cents, it was 20%. As I left the bakery I went straight to my happy place, the liquor store. Why? To get some vodka because now once again I’m miserable right? Happy fucking birthday to me……..

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3 thoughts on “I’m Miserable, Lamenting On My Birthday

  1. Oh my gawd, what winning. Let me try to put your tender age in perspective young man. You cannot complain about being old until at least 70. That’s the point at which you realize that your days are numbered in months or years, not decades and your mind switches on the memory banks to conjure thoughts you hadn’t considered for scores of years. You’re body starts to complain in ernest, as in every day everything hurts, you don’t concern yourself with what you look like to others because no one cares and as far as sex goes…well there’s always the memory banks to look back on.

    Happy Fuckin Birthday Keith!

    • LMAO…. In the words of Hubie Blake, or Micky Mantle, or whoever else gets the credit, “If I had known I was going to live this long I would have taken better care of myself” and BTW, I preferred winning to whinning

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