Saturday, January 28, 2012
From my window…
the outside world is very colourful.
I love standing outside my little cottage, puffing on my cancer stick, in fresh air, with temperatures of 3 degrees celcius, and a gale gust freezing my fingers off as I hang on defiantly to my suicide stick. As it blows icily on my naked face... I sigh... ahhhh.... bliss...
Now, now, it is bliss, indeed it is for the fact that after 3 hours, I can finally come out for a quick puff of my "fag"... yes, what else did you think the "ahhh... bliss" was about... its flipping cold out you know...
As I exhaled out, I observed the smoke exude from my mouth, and thought, "wow, I am certainly getting a lot of smoke out". I wonder if English cigarettes produce more smoke? Hmmm… I thought to myself. And still the smoke kept coming out of my mouth ... "wow, I'm impressed with these English cigarettes" I smiled to myself.
Yes, you can stop smiling now.
Duh, it took a whole 1/2 minute for me to figure it out ... duhhhh... I had for a moment, forgotten it was mid-winter ok, and elementary science should have kicked in at this point but maybe I was having a brain freeze.
Maybe it would be cheaper, if I just stood outside and breathed in and out ... "smoke" will still come out of my mouth ... do you think I could trick myself into thinking I'm actually smoking... would that work? hmmmm....
So unlike when I was Singapore, when I would take sanctuary in my room, and in the cool air conditioning, here, I would need to get my air conditioning outside as its very warm inside and we are not allowed to smoke inside. New ruling from my other half. It really doesn't matter, as I still get to see the world go by and I am still in the cool... though perhaps I should say cold!
I still manage to observe interesting goings on around me. ;-)
Like the guy who zooms past me every morning, in his fluffy animal hat ... its the “in” thing this winter... it looks like a dead furry animal decided to die on your head ... seriously NOT CUTE! but the wearers think its neat, so lots of people are walking around smug and thinking that they are fashion innovators with this scary animal “hat” on their heads. Seriously, I cannot take such people seriously... picture this scenario:
Receptionist : you’re here for a job interview?
We’re hiring bunny wunnies right now.
*you wont make it to the interviewer’s room with that hat let alone get past the receptionist. She’s the front line for the staff inside the office – no mad people can go past her.
Anyway, back to my story … go back afew lines, and remind yourself eh …
This guy has the skinniest, flattest butt of all time, and as he speeds down past me, he's swinging his tooshh to the left, to the right, full swing ahoy!... seriously campy ... I'm tempted to tell him, he needs some meat on that toosshh if he aims to attract any kind of attention. An unpadded toosshh just doesn't do it.
To top it up, he wears a haughty look on his face too as he struts past ... Naomi Campbell on a good day would not be able to pull this look off ... I'm telling ya... I have this urge to run behind him and slap his skinny toosshh. But I am afraid that if I do that I might hurt myself on his skeleton.
They take to the pavements as if its a cat walk ... errr... runway... oh lord... that's it I stop here... you figure what I'm saying now and imagine what these cats are like.
One black furry monster, came round the other evening and mewed outside our door till we opened the door to it. It just stood there, and stared at me and then walked away. Just like that. Err... what??
Did the black cat know we were the newbies on the street and wanted to see who we were??? err...
Other neighbourhood cats have passed me by on the street too; and gave me nonchalant glances from afar. I guess word has gone around the cat community that there's a new lady on the street already. And none seem too interested ... ahhh well, I guess I will get used to it soon enough. Its not so flattering when cats don't pay you any heed though.
Cats can make you feel so unnecessary to requirements can’t they. But they have made more of an impact then any of our neighbours, mainly because its winter and you hardly see anyone, except for the skinny campy guppy with no toosshhh ;-)
And yes, I still love cats, even if they behave like doyans and prima donnas … and make you feel like a second class creature because you are not part feline.
Age: Fifty-two and adding up
When I first turned fifty, I became a little paranoid for the first time in my life. Age had not figured in my life. Never gave it a thought. It was just a number. What the devil was I to worry about. Blahh… I look good, and feel fine, so what’s the big issue right…. Wrong!
Months into the 50th birthday, disaster hit. I had a lung and kidney infection.
Both at the same time too … I don’t do things in halves… its all or nothing.
I had a fever for 4 days running; was delirious and talked nonsense for a while, according to my nurse-maid husband.
Poor fellow, he tried to take me to the doctor, but I insisted that I had the flu and that if he pumped me with enough beechams and anadins, I would get better eventually.
By the fourth morning, my patient and by now, quite frantic husband could take no more, and disobediently dragged me to the doctors. Admittedly, by that time, I was too weak to object.
At the doctor’s, I sat up straight and confidently in front of him and spoke in a calm voice that it was probably some new virus or even my tonsils. When did I become a doctor you ask? That I should sit there and tell the qualified medical practitioner what was wrong with me. Pompous. Yes. That’s me.
Bless him, the doctor sat there and listened patiently with a little knowing smile too. ;-s
I call that good bedside manner. His medical school training has paid off. Good for him.
Besides, I must have fooled the poor doc anyway; as per usual, when you’re ill at home, you suddenly feel better when you arrive at the clinic. Sometimes, I think illness is out to get us you know. Make liars out of us. At home, you feel like you’re on your last breathe and by the time you reach the doctor’s surgery, hey presto, you feel better. Then you start to feel wimpy and really embarrassed for wasting the doctor’s time.
Within minutes, and in mid sentence, something happened; I was told this (my husband’s words):
“your eyes rolled back into your head exorcist like, and you flopped sideways on the floor. It was quick. So quick. The doctor and I both panicked. It was unexpected. You were talking away one second and gone the next.
The doctor hurried to your limp body and shouted for his colleague and the nurses. Everyone was in the doctor’s office in a flash. They were trying to resuscitate you. Then they tried to put a needle into you for something or another; but couldn’t find a vein. They all a go, first one arm then the other arm but no vein. (Maybe I’m an alien) Concerned, they called for an ambulance, as they thought you were about to die. That came within minutes and the medics managed to sort you out and haul you off on the ambulance to the nearest hospital.”
Wow! Drama!! I was impressed with myself.
I did the Exorcist thing with my eyes rolling backwards… yee haaa….I managed to create havoc in a doctor’s surgery… darn it though, I wasn’t awake to see it. Darn. Darn.
Admittedly I did hear voices while I was “out” – don’t know what they were saying but I felt amused by the panic around me…. Hee hee ;-) but apparently I was totally out of it. I don’t remember collapsing but I do remember hearing voices around me … I guess I must have been on the floor at that time. And I certainly don’t remember the hitting floor or what that felt like. Don’t even remember falling for that matter. Seems to me like I lost some seconds somewhere.
Do you reckon that I lost time, when my brain stopped functioning properly? Or maybe when my senses broke down, as it were. Hmmm…. How cool is that?
Apparently, I was taken to ICU and they did stuff … I don’t really know what… but whatever it was, after a few hours I was taken to a room on another ward, as I had stabilized.
In the ward, mostly I remember sleeping … and wanting to go to the toilet at some point … I had to struggle to get out of bed to get to the toilet … seemed to take forever … and I still hadn’t managed to even move from the bed; then a nurse came in and took me … I didn’t call for a nurse, she just magically turned up … which is good … I needed the help, I must say.
The rest is boring … its mainly recovering stuff and taking lots of tablets of sorts … I had to stay in hospital for 4/5 days … I guess they needed to make sure I was ok before releasing me back into civilization.
Talk about hitting my 50s decade with a bang… didn’t I do that with style eh ;-)
Since then, it’s been downhill all the way. I’ve been well all my life then I hit the 50 number and bang! It all goes to pot. What?? What?? Why aren’t we warned about this ?
Don’t know when but at some point or another, my middle finger, you know the biggest fattest finger on your hand, that one, it has started to ache on my left hand. What? Is this ? Rheumatism? Arthritis? No! bloody way. I kid myself, it’s just a little ache, I probably twisted it somehow. I wasn’t totally convinced by my own excuses really, but…
Anyway, then the back starts to play up if you do something unnatural, not that I am in the habit of doing anything unnatural mind you. And sometime later, after working non-stop for 10 hours and climbing stairs etc… my knee starts to act up. So I do what any normal person would do … I take it easy for a day … making sure it’s a Sunday of course. But by Monday, it, being the knee still niggles. And this perseveres for months and months. And it’s a mystery why and what made it hurt in the first place. Doctors are mystified, after having done blood tests, x-rays and checks. I’m the new mystery … hahahahahaaaa
OH and lets not forget the weight … once you reach 50 and are a sedentary type like me; although I prefer desk bound, which is more true in my case; you suddenly find that you are no longer a cuddly size 14/16 but have somehow ballooned to a size 18/20 almost over night. But unlike a balloon, you don’t bounce gently but you ploink around heavily … more like a concrete block.
But lets be honest, after 16 hours exercising my brain cells, the body does quite feel motivated to aught else really. Some image conscious 50something health freak may want to go to the gym or run 10 miles, not me though, I’m easy to please, I would rather lay on the sofa and exercise my fingers on the remote control. Hey, thinking is hard work you know.
Seriously, you have no idea how you got to this size either. You haven’t changed your eating habits nor have you increased or decreased your physical activity in any significant measurable way that is. So it must be the genes. Yes, it has to be the genes. You search for evidence from your family history.
Ahhaaa … GRANDMA, she was short and fat … very fat in fact. And then there’s the mother –in – law, she was huge. Oh, hang on, I don’t have her genes.
Ok. Let’s try again. Ahhaahh, mother, she has thunder thighs and a floppy paunch too. Dad? No, he had skinny legs. But grandma, yes, yes, I have grandma’s genes. It’s her fault. She gave me the FAT Gene. There you go, one problem solved. At least we know where the fat gene came from now.
All kinds of other things sneakily creep up on you, a little at a time, so you don’t notice it. You discover little anomalies, like that bloating double chin, and the disappearance of the line that used to be the divide between your face and your neck. You used to have definition between the two areas. But no longer. Its now a republic.
And the sunken dark circles under your eyes, which no amount of cream or foundation can erase or conceal. I am now cousin to a giant panda.
Or the deep deep deep lines that circumvent either side of your face from the nose to the mouth. Seems to me that as you get older, you cheeks get heavy and start to sag. I used to have a slim face and now I have a swollen face with deep gorges to separate my nose from my cheeks. Down with segregation!
And the boobs! That’s a whole chapter on its own. They are getting bigger but flatter somehow, and they definitely hang like a cow’s udders. One word description: SLOPPY
And how come I have a beer belly that starts immediately beneath my boobs, when I don’t even drink beer, ever! That’s not fair – not fair I tell you.
Talk about boobs… well my boobs anyway, don’t know what yours are like. Mine have never ever met. Yes, you read that right. They don’t know each other. Even when I wear a bra, they still cant see each other. They are strangers to each other. Why? Well, One boob points to the left, and the other to the right. So how can they possibly know that the other exists eh. Cleavage??? What’s that? Never Ever had one. Talk about having a valley with two mountains on either side … huh! … I have only ever had a landing strip bigger than 2 airport runways running side by side with no mountains in sight. My mountains may as well be in another country. Push up bras don’t help either, the bra pushes up the boobs, but they still don’t meet. So no, I have never had sexy boobs. Men, even when I was younger were not attracted to my boobs.
My arms know my boobs well, they keep bumping into them.
My boobs and my belly are the same size: 38D except that my belly is more generously spread around.
Thank goodness, after a certain age, boobs cease to be sexy. If you’re fifty and don’t have any wrinkles on your chest, then consider yourself lucky. It could be worst. I will say no more on that subject.
Then there’s the water retention, the wind (not the gentle breeze that blows through your hair type either) and the constant indigestion (the type that makes the most horrendous sounds that makes everyone turn to glare at you).
The body begins to malfunction – slowly but surely. Oh yessirree.
And its always a surprise to you. You never seem to anticipate it. One day you’re cute and the next, you’re old. HUH??? When did that happen???
If I was a car, I would be thinking about getting a newer model by now and selling this one off to the scrap merchant.
You begin a journey of many little discoveries about your body that you never knew before. You also realize a few home truths about your grandparents that you were mystified about when you were younger, like how come grandma had a moustache, and why grandma and grandpa had so much wind. And why they always belched so much. Why they always talked about constitution and eating of greens. And why they always rubbed their knees obsessively.
I can now appreciate why they always talked about their lives when they were younger. Methinks perhaps they miss having younger bodies and the agility and health that came with being younger.
Now I understand, why it was so difficult for grandma to bend down. Her big belly blocked the way, preventing her from bending further down.
Also, I think I understand why my father used to grab hold of his paunch and shake it like it was an alien baby. I guess he was trying to shake it off somehow.
And now I really see where my mother-in-law was coming from when she said that “as ye get older, big breasts are a mighty nuisance” and “what would I be without my corset”. A square blob. She was a wise woman indeed.
Saying all this, you may think I don’t like being older, but I do, I actually do enjoy being older! Yes, I know that sounds weird. But think about it, I can change my lifestyle and get slimmer, eat better to control the downward slide of ill health, and do lots of good things to feel generally better.
So I can overcome some of the physical minuses of old age, though not the wrinkles, or dark circles, but that does not matter really, there is always good make up out there.
You know what the best part of being older is?
This is my list :
- It’s being able to walk slower than the rest of the crowd and really see what’s around you, especially when you’re on a zebra crossing, and the driver is in a hurry. Or on a pedestrian crossing and the lights have changed. Go on I dare you to drive into me.
- Its being able to look at a teenager pathetically until they give up your chair for you on the bus or train
- Its being able to mutter to yourself in public and no one would think of it as being odd
- Its being able to chat up hot young men/women and they think you’re a friendly old person, and chat back to you and even volunteer to carry things for you
- Its being loudly opinionated in public, and everyone gently tolerating your “accusations” because no one wants to hit an old person in the mouth
- Its being able to fart in public and not feel embarrassed – your logic is that it is a natural biological function afterall. You spent years of your life holding in your wind, its now time to be loud. Who cares?
- Its being able to pretend to forget people’s names – just because you didn’t like them and blame it on your age “ooo I’m sorry my dear, but my memory isn’t what it used to be” – whilst in your deepest mind, you’re thinking “biatch”
- Its being able to sit with your legs apart at last, even if you are wearing a skirt … sod it … who’s looking anyway… your older age is your license to forgiveness and tolerance.
- Its having the freedom to talk loudly in public just for the heck of it, and blame it on your hearing or lack thereof.
- Its having the luxury of sitting back while your children, your grandchildren or anyone else’s grandchildren (I’m not fussy) fuss around you and serve you with tea and biscuits… oh yeah… that’s my favourite
- It’s the sweetness of being able to talk for hours without interruption, because our young people have been programmed to respect and listen to their elders … for a change we get to talk and talk and talk and talk to our hearts content and not be asked to shut up or be called talkative or self absorbing … yup I like that
- It’s the fact that I don’t need to colour my hair anymore because now my face and body have caught up. My hair decided to age first and before its time too.
- It’s being taken out by younger family members to dinner and not having to pay for your share … oh yah…
- It’s the fact that you don’t need to follow fashion anymore because half your wardrobe is already back in fashion anyway
- It’s the smug feeling that you get when you look at young lovers and think to yourself – “just you wait”
- It’s the gratitude you feel when you return a child to its mum when you have made it hyper, knowing full well that it will take the mother an hour to calm her child down again
- It’s the almost evil tinge of contentment that you feel when you see your most hated enemy get as old as you but her wrinkles are deeper and her neck multi- ringed and dry as a raisin past its expiry date. Old age catches up with everyone…. Snigger snigger …
- Its having the lusciousness feeling of knowing that you have been there, done that and still survived it all … to tell the tale and bore the hell out of everyone with your stories. Are you bored yet? Hahahahahahahahaaaaaa