Good Morning and Happy whatever day it is... Monday, I reckon. I hope everyone had a great weekend and is ready to tackle this work week. I am about half prepared for it. This particular morning was kind of busy for me and that is a good thing. I like coming to work and having a list of things to do and get them knocked out handily.
Anyhow, I had a bit of alone time this weekend. When I get that, I get the opportunity to think about a lot of things. This weekend, it was about getting older. There are signs now that weren't there in my 30's and most of my 40's. Most are little things, but that doesn't mean they aren't important.
I used to have a memory. I could remember everything. This isn't the case any longer. For instance, I was hanging some cabinets in the garage this weekend and I lost my tape measure. (For the record, I think I have 5, but I found one and chose to use that one.) So yeah, I just lost that bastard and spent the better part of an hour looking for it. I never left the garage, so I knew it was in there. At about the end of an hour looking for it, I sat down to retrace my steps. I felt something in my hip pocket.... You guessed it. Tape measure.
I can walk into a room and forget why I walked in there. I can go to the store for one item and then come home with 4 items not including the item I went to the store for. This can potentially be a game of Russian Roulette if it was the wife that sent me to the store for laundry detergent and I come home with a new pair of pliers, beer, The National Enquirer and butter.
These aren't even the things that are starting to worry me. Pain, just random pain. In my 20's, nothing hurt, ever. Rub some dirt on it and walk it off. In my 30's, my ego was still just large enough that I wouldn't let any pain get me down. In my early 40's, I started to have a couple "What in the hell is that and why does it hurt" minutes, but they too were fleeting.
Now I am in my mid 50's. I can (and have) blown my back out sneezing. I held a cough in and passed out, hitting my head on the toilet (and breaking it) and got a grade 3 concussion... from holding a cough in? Yeah, that shit is a thing now! My hands... bastards hurt every day. They don't look like they hurt. In fact, if it weren't for the age spots, they look like they are my 30 year old hands.
I'm not as strong as I used to be. I am far less tolerant of bullshit. I am way more cynical than I thought I'd be. I guess paying attention did that. I can still pay attention, I think. I'm not as "peopley" as I used to be. The bar business cured me of that. Being in a crowd is no longer something I am fond of. Hate it in fact.
(Side story) Back when I was in the bar business, I had one of my doormen walk up to me and say, "Hey boss man, a couple of dudes followed an old guy down stairs and I think there is going to be a problem." I asked, "How old is the old dude?" Doorman said, "Like 35 or some shit." I looked at him and said, "Jack ass! How old do you think I am?" He said, "Uhm, I don't know." I replied, "36 years old and lets go get these guys."
To his credit, there was a problem. Turned out that the old guy kicked the shit out of the 2 other guys and we just had to get the ass whooping stopped. We did. And for the rest of this door mans employment, I kept reminding him about how old and fragile I was... JM, if you're reading this, perhaps you can tell the story differently.
Back to what bothers me. My health is okay but there have been some changes. Like I mentioned, the memory stuff. That's actually a blessing in some regards. Some shit happens that I wish I could forget and sometimes I do. That is helpful.
Do you know what is not helpful? I can sit on my balls now. Oh yeah, and without warning. Just plop down and the package is out of whack and I get to sit on one of both of my balls. Seriously, I thought that was about the end of the line. Now I have to be mindful as I sit???? Yes, yes I do.
Speaking of balls, why are they so long now? They used to be in a useful pouch, hanging out where they should, never in the way. When a 56 year old man goes to sit upon the throne, he has to evaluate the lack of elasticity and the length of the package. Sometimes, they are going to get wet and the feeling of that is alarming! Toilet water should never touch them. Never, but it happens now. Not on the regular, mind you. Just enough to keep you guessing and wanting to learn some sailors knots to tie em up and keep em out of the water.
The strength of my gut is the biggest issue. It used to be, if I had to eat the ass out of a dead skunk, I could do it. Cast iron stomach. Nothing affected it except too my whiskey, and you always bounced back after a good puke. No, this is quite a bit different.
I've always had excellent control of my guts. I used to think, "Well, I'd better go poop in an hour or so." Yeah, I could hold a poop for a more reasonable amount of time. You know, Like on a road trip and you see the "Next Services/Rest Area 30 miles". Never, ever was an issue. I could hold it until it was time to release the beast, drop the kids off at the pool or whatever you call it.
Now I have to be cautions about a fart. Farts used to be funny and now all of a sudden they are serious business! You totally can fart and shit your pants. I didn't know that. I heard stories, but I thought that was people just trying to be funny. No sir, its a thing. Sooner or later, you are going to muscle down and try to fart and you are going to royally shit your pants. Trust me. It'll happen.
I had a shart experience not too long ago. Embarrassed? Hell yeah I was embarrassed and there was nobody around! Nobody, and you wouldn't even know about it if I hadn't brought it up! I'm only doing this as a public service announcement. Your day is coming... You be sitting there and feel the urge to "blow off a little steam". It will then hit you that this could be the funniest fart of your life, so you bear down, knuckle up and let her rip! BLAM!!!! Shit your pants!!!! Just like that. A flash back to your diaper days and you weren't even trying to shit your pants. It just happened. Never used to, but now its possible.
I shit my pants so hard that I almost had to enter the Shitness Protection Program. I mean, I looked into it and had there been a witness or two, the Shitness Protection Program would have been my only hope.
I don't know. I'm glad that I am getting older. I made it through my teens when a stiff breeze made me get a boner. I'll probably get through this too. And for the record, the phone number to the Shitness Protection Program is 1-800- I SHIT EM.
You're going to want to keep that number handy. Put it on your phone, write it on the back of your hand or remember it.
Please take care of yourselves and never trust a fart. Never.
