F**k I’m Old!

by POPSIE 1956

As of this writing, I’m a few days away from another birthday, this time number 59.

They say age is only a number, but that’s a pretty big f*c*in’ number bub!

I’d like to think I’m still youthful and vibrant as I was at 21.

Wait a minute, I was an old fart at 21..scratch that.

Here’s the problem, mentally I am far from 59, many will say I’m lucky to be 13 in that area, but that’s still OK.

I still love fart jokes, laughing at people slipping on the ice, and shoving various objects up my nose (note, ONLY my nose) to make my grandkids laugh.

Odds are, most of you don’t know a guy my real age that still does that right?

So does that make me unusual? Eccentric? Off my nut?

Or just a free spirit who doesn’t give a damn?

I like to think the last one truly applies to me.

Until the day I am in the box I choose to be Mr. Bad Taste and Inappropriate Humor, the one people shake their head at and say “What an a**hole,” but if I make them chuckle, snort or laugh out loud then mission accomplished.

Being my age actually put me in that perspective.

Let’s go back a few years;

True story as well.

1995, I hit 39 and start freaking out about the big 4-0.

I’m my mind, I’m thinking “Damn Mike, you’re supposed to be mature and have it together by 40, fix your sh*t and FAST!”

So starting on that birthday, I tried a lot of things, changed my wardrobe, cut my hair, eased up on the beer and other “enhancements,” even tried to cut down on the naughty words coming out of my mouth.

Between 39 and 40 was the most difficult time of my life.

Oh I tried, I really really tried. Then I started doing some actually research on the topic.

I discovered there were a great many people, many more than I had thought, at 40 years of age and VERY beyond, who were themselves free spirits, free thinkers, who weren’t..uptight…or to put it another way, didn’t have sticks up their a**es.

What a fool I had been, I tried to change myself into what people THOUGHT I should be, when all along I KNEW what I should be…

Just me;

Little old me;

“Hey pull my finger” me!

Sure, I could turn on the serious, business like professional when called upon, or I could be a fool and light my farts, depending on the situation.

(Note-I don’t advocate that lighting thing, especially if one has a body that’s quite hairy in that neck of the woods.)

What added to my crisis was spending the bulk of my professional life as a broadcaster/performer, mine is not the business of mellow people.

Even in the News Room, I can be serious as can be when called upon, but my co workers will tell you, Mike still ain’t right,

We have a running gag where, when someone does/says something “inappropriate,” they are sent to “The 28th Floor,” where the Imaginary Offices of Human Resources are.

I’m told I have a wing on the 28th Floor named in my honor.

The next revelation hit me somewhere in my early to mid fifties, I’m still me, but I take stock at how much time I potentially have left around here.

I make a guess that about two thirds of my life has gone by, and in the time I have left, who do I have to impress? Who do I have to suck up to? Who do I have to be nice to, even if I can’t stand them?

No one.

Not a soul.

Do I have to go up to my employers and do a “That’s a lovely dress Mrs. Cleaver,” or “That’s a great tie Mr. Cleaver,” in order to validate my employment?

F**k no! I do my job, I do it well, base my employment on ability, not suck up factor.

Do I have to tolerate idiots at the checkout counter when they can’t pull off a simple transaction?

F**k no! Nobody got no time for that, I call for the manager.

I live by saying EXACTLY as I feel, without fear of hurting one’s feelings.

It’s NEVER my intention to do that, but rather I tell people how I really feel, cuz time is short, and I want what time I have left to be enjoyable to ME..

After all this time, I believe I’ve earned it.

Let’s go back to the beginning? Do I FEEL like I’m 59?

Hell, on some days I feel like I’m 99!

Physically, I can really tell that I need to slow down a bit.

I ache more.

I need to pee more, especially during the night.

I hate long drives, and detest night driving.

On the good side, however, I dare you to find just one little blue pill anywhere in my house.

(OK, that’s TMI,  but I did say I shoot straight…I’ll give you a moment to catch up on that one).

If dreams could come true, when the time is right, I’d love to have my brain removed from my body and placed in a robot.

Not the “Danger Will Robinson” kind, but the “Kiss my a** Will Robinson” kind.

As for the body? I actually have it in my will that my daughter Megan will have me stuffed and placed in my recliner, she will have to keep me around for 10 years before she gets my inheritance.

I just hope that five bucks will be worth a lot more after 10 years.

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