Get Off My Lawn

Old People And Stuff

There comes a point where you just accept that you’re getting old. After that, you really just start to own it.

Take, for example, our latest trip to a fast food Tex-Mex place. (I refuse to call it Mexican food. I grew up on the border eating Mexican food and while this fast food fare is good, it does not resemble anything on my plate as a child or teenager.)

We placed our order at the drive through and this scrawny kid in skinny jeans waited on us.

Skinny Jeans: Would you like salsa?

The Husband Dude: Yeah, man. That would be great.

Skinny Jeans hands us three small containers of salsa. This might be enough for some families of three, but really, two each would be better. Also, THD basically likes to eat food with his condiments, rather than the other way around, so more is more rather than less is more. You following me?

THD: We’re going to need more than that, Brother.

Skinny Jeans disappears back inside and returns shortly.

THD: What the…? Are you serious?

I hear laughter coming from inside the drive through window and look up to see THD handing me a fast food bag brimming full of salsa containers.

Me: What the…fuuuuuuuuck? Why did he give us so many?

THD: I don’t know…but we’re taking it!

He sped away from the drive through window like we had just robbed a bank and I was holding a bag of small, unmarked bills instead of salsa in plastic containers.

 

Did I just become my grandmother? It didn’t matter what restaurant we went to. She would not leave the table until she had cleared out the sugar packets, coffee creamer cups, and napkins. In her later years, this was truly the only reason she even carried a purse anymore.

But does it count as being an old lady jacking paper straws and condiments if the snarly teen at the drive through window actually hands you the stuff? I wonder if he considered it a joke because The Husband Dude had the audacity to ask for more? Did he think we would hand it back to him and say “no thanks”?

Well, the joke is on him, because that bag is now sitting in our refrigerator and we are enjoying our free salsa on pretty much everything. Never mind that we have an almost full jar of salsa also sitting in the refrigerator, or another one on the pantry shelf.

That’s not the point.

I consider it karma for all the times I’ve unwittingly driven away from a drive through window, not knowing they had failed to give me ANY condiments whatsoever. I’m being rewarded for all those times I had to eat dry french fries or they gave me mustard instead of mayo.

Balance is restored.

I suppose another sign you’re getting old is that you can’t keep up with the new lingo the kids keep coming up with.

Or you use phrases like, “the new lingo the kids keep coming up with.”

It was bad enough when I had to start looking up words and phrases in the urban dictionary just to understand things I heard or things I read on the internet. But you know it’s really bad when you look it up, and after reading the definition, you still don’t understand what you just read.

It would seem that I now need a “Urban Dictionary to Old Lady Speak” translation dictionary. Would someone please jump on that now?

Some signs of old age sneak up on you.

Sneaking in a dinner here and there at 4:30 p.m.

Refusing to leave the house after 8:00 p.m.

Saying you’re going to “sleep in” on Saturday, which means your eyes pop open just after sunrise.

These signs are so subtle, you can almost keep telling yourself that “I’m not that old yet”.

And then one day you hear yourself bickering with your spouse and realize that you have totally become your grandparents. You’re grouchy as hell with each other, you’re savage as fuck with your sarcasm, and then thirty seconds later you’re pouring him a second cup of coffee and he’s giving you a playful pat on the butt, like nothing happened.

And if I’m to look at my grandparents as the example of the stage The Husband Dude and I are at, then that means the next stage is where one of us is going to be turning off their hearing aid so they don’t have to hear the other one bitch about stuff and one of us is going to be sitting on the front porch while we water the yard to “make sure those damned punks don’t mess with my sprinkler”.

I can’t wait.

Read and Laugh!

Occasionally, I like to give a shout-out to my fellow bloggers so that my readers can find new and entertaining material. The two bloggers I’m sharing today have been incredibly supportive of Angel Who Swears and have shared my material on the world wide web, so I’m incredibly grateful and indebted to them.  

With all that aside, though, their blogs are really entertaining and well-written. If you enjoy the humor and style of writing I share on this page, you will definitely enjoy both of these talented writers:

Wayward Sparkles is a blog by M.L. James. Her writing is engaging and will make you laugh and think at the same time. I was drawn in by the title (what girl doesn’t love sparkles?) but her stories keep me coming back for more! M.L. (Mona) is much smarter than me and has a sharp wit that makes me wonder why she would ever admit she reads my blog. I feel very flattered that she does! Thank you for your support, Mona!

The Midnight Goose is a blog by Allen T. St. Clair, who I can only characterize as the male version of me, with the life I hope to have when I grow up. I will admit that his tagline fits me perfectly “A lifestyle blog…for anyone without a lifestyle”. Allen is a hilarious storyteller and I’m jealous of his status as a published author and full time writer. He definitely needs to be on your reading list and I’m really grateful I’m on his. Thanks, Allen!

I Think It’s Fixed Now

So a couple of weeks ago, I posted some “get well” hysterectomy cards and other gifts in my Zazzle shop only to discover they weren’t visible and people would follow the link to nothing.

It only took two weeks, but this old lady finally figured out the problem and you should now be able to view the collection at the link below. Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring.