It's true. One day after many years of what is referred to as a "low stress, low satisfaction" marriage, I finally chose to leave and go begin at again at mid-life. If you are thinking this is the same plotline as about a gazillion Lifetime Movie Channel sob stories featuring strong and courageous middle aged women transforming their lives with grace, dignity, and age appropriate hair and you enjoy that sort of shit, then you should probably exit now. Thank you for stopping by.
A little about me (fuck, its a blog, so its all about me):
I'm emotionally immature and revel in it. I am totally "in touch" with my "inner child". It got a tramp stamp at 44 (expired, but still can be used if the lights are low enough), a nose ring at 45, nipple rings at 46. Those are actually useful. If I run a string through them and tie them around my neck I have an instant breast lift.
I listen to hard core rap music. If you are in traffic and the car with the middle aged woman next to you is vibrating, that's me. The bass is pumping, the station wagon humping, bitch be jumping, and don't forget to spay and neuter your pets.
I've never done anything with grace, dignity, or tact. In fact I think tact kills. Not stress. I think all the pressure of politically correct speaking and worrying about damaging someone else's self esteem if one should say something even slightly provocative is what causes people to bottle up what they are really thinking. All those bottled up thoughts expand, which causes cellulite and middle aged spread. Then you get stressed because your clothes are too tight. So you buy Spanx to compress everything. That in turn causes your blood pressure to rise, gives you constipation and varicose veins from all that mental and physical constraint, you walk around looking very tense, and then you die. You don't believe me? Look at Hillary Clinton.
That's a Spanx face. She's probably had them on at least eighteen hours, judging by the tendons protruding from her neck. I never want to hear men complain about ties until they spend a day in spanx and an underwire bra.
As the most tactful woman that every came from my family, I am proud to say we live really long lives. We outlive everyone around us. Or maybe they just fake their death, move to an undisclosed location, and get new identities. But we set them free by telling them the truth or however that adage actually goes.
As for dignity, fuck it. A hundred years from now no one is going to remember me unless I do something so mind boggling bat shit crazy that my former home becomes a tourist attraction, and I become an icon for other disaffected senior citizens who can't remember what I actually did, but want a tee shirt of me to look cool in front of their other old friends.
So I packed my copy of "On The Road", "Catcher in the Rye", and "Feng Shui for Wealth and Success" and moved to downtown Gainesville so that I could attend massage school and get in touch with my inner employed adult by living amound college kids.
To go with my new life, one must have new hair. So I got out my huge sewing shears and x-acto blades and gave myself this really cool shaggy, anime sort of hair. And dyed it jet black. I was going for that so cool Suicide Girl look. So far no one has told me I look like Kris Kardashian or (gasp) even worse, an aging Adam Lambert. I found some ripped old jeans and a few .25 cent t-shirts featuring a rasta guy smoking a huge blunt. I bought scarves that match nothing to top it all off with.
I decorated my very first apartment as an single woman. No boyfriend, husband, children, roommates.
I know what freedom tastes like. It's a chocolate cupcake, with raspberry filling, topped with cream cheese frosting, and sprinkled with coconut from Sakara Sweets bakery.
