I  have been trying to live my life and not obsess over any kind of diet. Which has left with me just obsessing about my size, while eating whatever I feel like. My Mom said she doesn’t like to buy me clothes because she is never sure of what my style is. I told her my current style was anything that could possibly cover my sausage body in any way shape or form. I generally tend to feel like I’m busting out of almost anything I wear now. And then today happened. As the bus pulled up to my work stop I got up to go out the front door. Everyone else was headed to the back door. The bus driver stopped, saw me coming and then LOWERED THE BUS FOR ME. Like was he concerned my joints might buckle under the weight they were trying to hold up while going down a tiny step? Did he think I was planning to roll/shuffle off the bus due to my obesity? Like wtf buddy! I am chubby and can’t step a foot down? GAWD! Day ruined. 

I have taken great interest in the legal pot shops because I am familiar with the industry these days and I find it totally fascinating. The day they opened I took my brother Ben to the one downtown. We were greeted by some over zealous millennial, ID’d and then walked into the store that 100% resembled an Apple store. Ben and I openly cringed. I ran to the product on display to check it out while Ben sort of looked around, unimpressed and uncomfortable. After we left I asked Ben what he thought. He said the whole experience was upsetting. He said if he were going to buy pot he wanted to get it from a weird dude, in a dark alley, with no idea whether the product was an upper or a downer or just garbage. Just anonymous ditch weed really. A couple weeks later I went to check out another pot shop with my colleague. We walked in and the guy asked my coworker for ID. I wasn’t sure if he had asked me as well and I had just missed it, so I asked if he required mine too. No he replied, no, that’s ok. Ummmm rude. This shop was cute and fun and retro diner chic but when I left I turned to my friend and said, man we have come a long way from buying pot out of garbage bags in someone’s trunk, right?! Like it’s cute but it really takes the fun out it. 

Everyone who knows me, knows that I have a pretty decent work ethic. Like yes I’m a bit of a joker and occasionally a space case but I get shit done. Since I am at a new job, I still feel like I have to prove myself. We have discovered a family of Groundhogs that reside next to our office. Naturally we have named and each adopted one of the babies. So one morning I was kneeling on my desk, staring out the window watching the babies outside, while moisturizing my face and drinking coffee when my boss comes in and walks by. I just look at her defeated and as I open my mouth to explain myself, she stops me and says you do not need to explain a thing to me, smiles, and keeps on walking. I think that means she trusts me to get my work done and that I may just be on a groundhog baby, face moisturizing, coffee break. You know. Those. 

My friend Katie and I recently went to Nineties night at House of Targ. Nineties music is my happy place. I try to get to Targ for these nights whenever I can. I know all of the songs, I know all the lyrics (Editor’s Note – Actually closer to 50% but bless you for trying on the rest) and they remind me of a simpler, more emotionally confusing and exciting time. My youth, really. The crowd age range was quite large but we definitely were on the top end of that scale, especially with our wine spritzers. Every time I go to Targ they make fun of what I order. I guess that’s why I love it. I know, I’m old. I think it’s funny too. Let us laugh at the fact that when I order my drink I take into account the sugar content, the gluten content, how much heart burn it will give me and to what degree of hangover it may cause. Let us laugh. The band that played that night was amazing. They played the best 90s alt hits and even some amazing gems I had forgotten about. I was in my element. I was a bit drunk, I was with my bestie, the music was loud and I was right in the middle of the crowd sing/screaming and dance/headbanging. It was the best night out in a long time. I was dancing so hard some girl offered me a hair elastic. When the evening ended we went outside to get an Uber. It was then that we realized we couldn’t hear each other. The ringing in our ears was so loud we literally had to yell at each other and mime everything out to get ourselves sorted. When we got into the Uber I screamed at our driver to confirm if in fact we were yelling at each other or speaking in a normal voice. He laughed…so yes. The next day I texted Katie to tell her I was doing a demo at a store (my side hustle) and still had very intense ringing in my ears. This was leading to a very aggressive demo of me yelling at people to sample veg burgs without realizing it. I had also completely thrown out my neck. I basically couldn’t move it. As I thought back to the night before I realized part of my nineties dance moves is a like a full upper body head bang while occasionally throwing up the odd devil horns. While speaking to Katie I embarrassingly mentioned that I think I had pulled something in my neck. Her response was to tell me she has popped out one of her knees but they both were in pain. So this is it team. This is aging. All nights of extreme fun are followed by DAYS, even weeks of recovery. No wonder aging is depressing. I can’t dance all night without needing 2 massages, a visit to the chiropractor and 5-7 days of intense epsom salt baths and cold neck pillows every night? Kill me now. A few weeks later I was at another concert, dancing away and then stopped and yelled to my friend – “fuck I just saw my massage therapist! She would not be happy with this!” I stopped and heard myself and then followed it with “said the oldest person here.” I rolled my eyes and then continued wrecking my fragile, decrepit body. 

Since swearing off diets I have noticed that I have developed weird back fat. I imagine this is also due to my age. I have decided they are back boobs and I think that it is time that someone constructed a bra that lifts the girls in the front and contains and flattens the sneaky ladies on the back. I am currently seeking investors. 

My birthday is this week and as like most birthdays I am just try to cruise through it in a gin haze so that I don’t spend too much time thinking about my life. As my friend and I were lining up for drinks the other night at a concert, I was trying to explain to him that aging is very different for a woman. “Like, my uterus is looking up properties in Boca Raton and I just have no idea if I am ready for the Florida track suit life yet!? Ya know?”

Next blog – stay tuned for the trip to the COTTAGEEEEEEE.