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The thing about disappearing for ten years is: when you return it’s not so much that you are older, but that everyone else around suddenly seems to have a decade less mileage than you while you have no photos of your travels, and you’re unsure now where you went.
They say that the normal teenage male averages one thought about sex every 17 seconds; I know I’m getting old because sometimes I go 45 seconds or even a minute between such thoughts.
I sure hope my daughter meant “dye,” we were talking about my grey hair, after all.
It seemed like such a simple plan - a sleeping bag, a night sky full of stars, a head full of thoughts and dreams - and it would have worked, if it weren’t for his hip bones and a piece of hard ground that couldn’t seem to get along for just one night.
you shake your head at Good Charlotte complaining about “that noise kids listen to nowadays” and then you crank up AC/DC to clear your head.
i realize that age creeps up on little cat feet, but not upon our rodent; take a gander yonder, at 62: http://www.mickjagger.com/
It’s 2005, there’s got to be something better than Preparation H for these bags under my eyes.
Your life will involve a lot more running and a great deal less jumping from here on out.
I am offering a reward to anyone who can adequately explain how the hell it got to be 8/19/2005; 8/19/1999 I can accept, but not 2005.
In old men, sex has a way of becoming replaced by the pleasure of a fresh haircut.
Thirty years ago I used to run through the woods, avoiding leaves and twigs so as to not make a sound; I thought of that this morning as a big huff of air squeezed out of me, just because I was bent over, trying to put on a sock.
The gym attendant perkily asked my name and shook my hand and said, “Hi, I’m Miffy, it’s nice to put a name to your face as I’ve seen you on the way to work most mornings, you’re quite often asleep like me, and, wow, I’ve been seeing you on the train since I was 23 and I’m 31 now!”
when (exactly) did sex, drugs and rock’n’roll become ‘checks, prescriptions, and fixing the toilet bowl’?
In one corner of the room the women could be seen, huddled together, quietly dissussing elasticity, while across the room, in the corner furthest from the window, the men had also gathered, albeit more loosely, to fold their arms across their chests and silently worry about rigidity.
What did you with my body?!
they’d sold a piece, he said, and display is a constant rotation, as he hammered to the gallery wall the same colorful 45 rpms that last i’d seen some 30 years ago, summer in my burbank apartment, all piled up next to the record player; i should get mine out, i told him, how did i get so old?
Everyone always says that your eyesight is the first to go, or your memory, or your sex drive…I’m just hoping that the last thing to go is my imagination.
She spoke of being older, she said it was time to write about what it had all meant, her hands trembled slightly as she made the coffee, yet she clambered over boulders to bring you lemons from her garden, and hugging her goodbye felt like trying to hold a rose in your arms.
Scott stared down at the dry, aging hand that held onto his arm, trying to think of something nice to say, something appropriate or comforting, but the only thing that came to mind was that life was no cake walk, so he kept his mouth shut.
Over the course of his multi-year thesis study, Shapiro had discovered that 97.3 percent of women “strongly disagreed” with the sentence, “Nearly all women become their mothers,” and several had even reacted violently to the question, pummeling him with his own clipboard, yet only four percent of married men chose any response other than “agree” or “strongly agree.”
It wasn’t until late in life, after his skin had grown dry and loose and was beginning to sag, that Leonard really took notice of just how big his alligator bite scar actually was.
Is it the added years or the added pounds that make ice skating so much more difficult than I remember it being from my youth, because it certainly can’t be the blade itself - it’s as skinny as ever.
“No, this here’s just a regular ‘ol watch,” the man said, staring down at his wrist through watery eyes while he tapped at the glass with an old, yellowed finger, “but I had me one of those there love watches once, always lookin’ down at it, those hands spinnin’ every which way ‘til you didn’t know if you was comin’ or goin’, waitin’ on that girl thinkin’ you was goin’ bust, but not carin’ one way or the other you’re so happy; yeah, I had me one, back in my day, just like you kid, but it’s broke now, just plain broke and that’s all there is to it.”
“I’ve become a middle-aged marsupial, pouch and all,” she declared as she stood naked before the mirror.
Growing old reminded Henry of sledding as a child, especially the cold toes part.
“And now class, let’s give our special attention to Timmy’s father, who has been kind enough to come in today and talk to us about growing old, bald and fat.”
Jim was quite sure he’d live forever, or at least ninety or so years.
Jim, having read the latest study which proved that every minute spent walking adds one minute to your life, experienced a great epiphany about this fountain of youth, got up off the couch, tied on his sneakers and headed down the street, feeling good, feeling strong, hearing the chirp of the birds, smiling at the first tulips of spring, his step light and full of hope; he never saw the bus.
Mom used to keep sweets away from me by putting them somewhere up high, where I couldn’t reach, but now that I’m older, she just puts them down by my toes.
After the ugly, troll-like creature with bags under its eyes stared woefully at him from the other side of the bathroom mirror for the third day in a row, Juan decided to remove all the mirrors in his house.
You will turn 40.
I’m never going to fall out of love with those lines around my eyes that I can feel wrinkling up when I smile.
Patsy watched daily as her eyebrows disappeared but her chin hairs grew more pronounced.
All alone except for a bed pan.
Now, because of those beautiful crinkly eyes, I have to find ways every damn day to make myself smile right up around the eyes for the rest of my damn life.
“When that day comes, I suppose I’ll be one of those dirty old men, white-bearded like Whitman, poking around in the stacks of derelict libraries, caressing the spines, perusing the neglected volumes, and contemplating how his desire for books only increases with age.”
God, I’m old.
Just when I start hoping I’ll die of old age some day, a letter arrives to remind me that the cause will be banking complications.
I don’t really mind being past my prime…I just wish someone would have had the decency to point out when I was peaking.
As another year of life came to completion, boot stood at her front gate and forlornly waved her ‘age with an 8 in it’ farewell.
Muriel selected a tasteful pair of reading glasses, smugly happy in the knowledge she’d avoided bifocals for one more go-around.
I’m counting the greys, two-three-four-five, I’m feeling my age, glad to be alive.
Some days, I swear I can feel the wrinkles forming.
Remember the heady, carefree days of the [insert nostalgiac item here]...?
“I must be getting old,” Henry said outloud as he wiped the Cheeto crumbs from the corners of his mouth just as his dad used to do.
Once he realized that resting on his laurels was no longer an option, that everyone in the nursery home either didn’t care or simply couldn’t remember what he’d made of his life, Martin knew he’d wasted his time, and that if there was any hope left of squeezing in just a little bit of fun before the end, it somehow involved the patting and pinching of the new nurse’s butt.
I find it easy not to think about gravity, although from what I saw in the mirror this morning, I’m still heavy on its mind.
As the old man and I stood watching the deer in the meadow nibble on whatever it is that deer nibble, he muttered, almost imperceptibly, “Deer today [takes long hard pull off of a bottle of sweet pain-canceling whisky], gone tomorrow”.
Rufus told my friend Schuster that he thought people lived too long these days; Schuster agreed completely and told Rufus that he’d help him out as soon as he got his gun out of hawk.
Rufus says he’s glad he’s not a dog, but my friend Schuster told him he’s wrong, because given the 7 to 1 time ratio, if he could get away with humping the neighbor’s leg for only ten seconds, it’d be like having sex with her for more than a full minute; this was a perspective, Rufus admitted, that he hadn’t considered.
Differs depending upon whether you’re asking my body or soul.
Sidran tells me that 40 is new the 20 but I don’t remember making those funny old man noises when I got in or out of a chair when I was 20 and this is only one of the many small indignities thrust upon my aging carcass that is now being overrun by hair (except on my head).
“This is what grandma meant when she said grandpa went to seed,” Henry said aloud as he trimmed back the tiny, scruffy little hairs growing out of his ears and nose like so much coarse alien prairie grass.
Finding himself suddenly surrounded by old men at the market, Peter felt both scared and relieved; the idea of aging frightened the hell out of him, but the old men’s comfortable slacks didn’t look half bad.
Feeling like he did as a teenager buying condoms, Sam placed the “just for men” hair dye on the convenience store counter.
A baby was born with a shiny bald head, He suckled a bit, then went straight off to bed;Days turned to weeks, then months and then years, He swapped breast milk for pop, and then finally beers,Until eighty years passed and he was left tired and weak, His eyes watery and lost, his dreams now oblique;“A pair of fine breasts and a soft comfortable bed, Those are the things I’ll miss when I’m dead.”
Every second I continue to be alive is an unmitigated bonus.
“They call people in their 40’s The Sandwich Generation,” said Gibson, “because between caring for our kids and caring for our aging parents, it’s all we have time to make for dinner.”
As I begin aging I hoped for grey hair – I would look distinguished – but instead my lips are getting thinner and deep crevices are forming at the ends of my mouth where food particles and other crust gets lodged for hours on end.
The complicated process of my aging is not something I understand, but then, from what I’ve been able to observe, understanding is not actually a necessary part of the process.
I used to walk down Telegraph Avenue here in Berkeley, and guys would try to sell me pot; later, they changed to scalped Cal football tickets; and now they just look at me and hand me coupons for Subway sandwiches.
“For the locks may bleach, and the cheeks of peach May be reft of their golden hue; But mine own sweetheart, I shall love you still, Just as long as your eyes are blue.”
I smile all the damn time, because the lines are a-coming like it or not, so they might as well be ones of laughter instead of misery.
With age seems to come the ability to see certain types of people as nothing more than irritating gnats.
The problem with growing old and losing one’s short-term memory, Juan discovered, was that his kids would take advantage of it to collect their weekly allowance far more often than once a week.
The streets of her aged mind.
It’s easier than you might think and far more unpleasant.
“She was my first love, or at least the earliest one I can still remember.”
I have slowly come to the realization that everything I thought I was as a young man…I’m not.
The cashier asked me if I was 21—old enough to buy the beer—so I told him he could cut me in half and both pieces would still be old enough to buy beer, except, I added, depending on how he sliced me and considering the wallet issue, one half probably wouldn’t have any money and couldn’t afford beer.
The life of skin: wrinkly, pimply, saggy, wrinkly, and brittle.
Afraid he was fast running out of things to be when he grew up, Ferguson bought an English-to-Dutch dictionary and considered taking up clog dancing.
There was a time when I could drink Guinness in endless quantities, as if they were been fed to me via conveyor belt and my liver cried out, ‘HAVE AT YOU’ at each successive pint, but last night proved that those heady days of carefree consumption are over, that either age or lack of practice has relegated me to mere mortality in the realm of Guinness consumption, and that sometimes gravity is fickle with its love, proclaiming sneakily, ‘Have you met the Earth, because it’s just right here and I think you two should meet’.
If I got a tattoo it would have to be a picture of Dorian Gray so that it would do the aging for me.
As Patsy got older, she realized there were times when the Emperor actually did have clothes, but she was the only one who couldn’t see them.
Remember, when you find it’s time to trim your fingernails, it’s also time to take a bath or shower, even if it’s not the first day of the month.
Like you, it’s important to remember that the woman’s body also ages, and that the only thing you really need to know about this process is that you should never mention it.
He’d not once imagined his skin looking this old, he thought, and suddenly—yikes!—he realized he’d never imagined being run over by a bicycle riding bear, but no doubt that was in his future, too.
“Show some respect for your elders,” the taskmaster barked at the small group of octogenarian slaves, “and get those weedeaters busy cleaning up around the tombstones.”
Apparently, as we age we’re all losing collagen and you have to wonder where it all goes.
Henry told his turtle how looking at their wrinkled skin made him reflect on his lost youth; the turtle said nothing, but staring up at Henry, found himself oddly recalling the time he’d eaten some bad carp.
The ear hair of aging men can be spun into a coarse yarn that is suitable for any knitting project that requires obstinate durability, such as horse blankets or shawls for women you dislike.
I may just be showing my age here, but damn, CCR sure sounds good even after all these years.
Some days he thought about co-ed sleepovers, but other days about his dead grandmother’s false teeth that had once soaked in a coffee cup next to the kitchen sink at night, and he would ask himself, “Where did they go?” regardless of which one happened to be on his mind.
Age 33: when a hamburger, onion rings and a milk shake all in the same meal are no longer a good idea.
A little while ago, I started to wonder if I was becoming jaded, but now I just don’t care all that much.
It’s not the years I mind - these I embrace - it’s the way the gears and joints seem to gracelessly decay.
I just discovered that I can anticipate living to at least 96 years old; I can't possibly afford to live to 96 years old.
I just discoverd that I can anticipate living to at least 96 years old; according to the same calculator, my wife is supposed to live to 98 so I can't anticipate even one moment of peace before I die.
When the discussion is about albums and you assume vinyl, not photo, you know you are "of a certain age."
As a child I waited impatiently for puberty, a driver's license, a car, emancipation, college; as a college student I waited impatiently for a job, money, drinking age, car rental age, self-determination; as an adult I wait for pets to die, children to grow up and leave home, inevitable accidents and illness, ever-more-infrequent moments of joy; as I stare at 50, I wonder what it is that am I waiting for?
Henry's larger than life ideas eventually slipped from his head and settled comfortably in his belly.
Something is definitely broken in my mirror; that guy in there is older and saggier and sadder looking than even my father ever was.
Henry's only regret about time was that he hadn't removed the minute and second hands from his watch when he was a young man, and even though they now moved so fast that they were only a faint blur that barely registered when he looked down at his wrist, he knew they were still there, taunting him like...
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