The Darwin Exception

because it's not always survival of the fittest – sometimes the idiots get through

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Boobs, Tattoos & Metallica – All Signs I’m Getting Old

Posted by thedarwinexception on July 11, 2007

I’m getting old. Seriously. Several things reminded me of this sad but true fact this past weekend. One was the “Live Earth” concert. I enjoyed the concert, but I didn’t know half of the bands, even the ones that held the microphone out to the crowd and screamed “Sing Along!” It seems like they must have been popular, or at least *known* bands, because most of the sheep people in the audience would sing along. I couldn’t sing along. Mostly because since I never heard of the band it was a pretty good bet I never heard the fucking song they wanted me to sing along to. And why is it that all these musicians wear dark sunglasses now, even indoors? You know, if Andrea Bocelli doesn’t wear them, neither should they.

What was even more annoying was that Paul was working out back and every half hour or so he’d come upstairs and sit down on the couch (with a snack, usually), and say to me “Who’s this?” and I’d have to look at him and say “Fuck if I know.” Finally, after about the 30th time of me telling him I had no idea who I was watching he said “Why are you watching this shit if you don’t even know the music?” And I had to answer “Because I’m part of HISTORY, Damn it!” Which is what the “Live Earth” people kept telling me. And after 10 hours watching the damned concert and hearing the same indoctrination message, I quite believed. Although I still don’t feel like “part of history”, I just feel fucking old.

And, it’s true, too, that the mind is the first to go, because it seems like not only do I not know the bands that are popular these days, I don’t even remember the ones I used to know. Paul was upstairs when “Metallica” came on stage, and, excited that there was finally a band playing that he didn’t have to ask me to identify he said “Cool! Metallica!” I looked up from my knitting, checked out the band for a moment and said “Hey! Where’s Tommy Lee?” Paul didn’t miss a beat and just deadpanned – “He’s decided to play with Motley Crue.” Me, ever the retard, said “For good or just for this concert?’ Paul just looked at me and said “You know, you’re the dumbest smart bitch I’ve ever known.”

Another thing that reminds me I am getting old is my body. I have long since given up the hope that I will ever have boobs. It’s just not going to happen. Although it would have been nice to just once wear a tank top and have that “cleavage” thing going on – you know, where your boobs are so full and lush that they meet in the center and push together creating a line down the center. I’ve always wanted that look – even if it was just one time, in a great low cut dress. Not going to happen. My boobs are just two round lumps that don’t meet in the middle, and if I squish them together to make cleavage, I just look deformed because then I have no boobs anyplace else but in the middle of my chest. It just looks like one big lump in the center of my breastbone. And that can’t be attractive.

But, the fact that I don’t have boobs isn’t the reason I feel old, I’m kind of used to that by now, and you know, there is an upside  – I never wear a bra – don’t need one. The reason I feel old is because a long time ago, I got a tattoo. It’s a black widow spider and it’s on the fatty portion of my upper chest that would be a boob if that tissue had decided to develop anywhere past “12 year old boy” stage.

So I’m taking a shower this past weekend, and as I’m getting dressed I notice the tattoo. In all honesty, I had quite forgotten it was there. It’s not like I see it a lot. So I see this red and black thing flash before me, and I think “What the fuck is that?” as I try to wipe it away, and then realize “Oh yeah! My tattoo!” Then I wonder why I’m seeing it all of a sudden, and I decide that maybe my boobs are getting bigger. That has to be it, right? If my boobs were bigger, I might notice something drawn on the top of one of them if I looked down. And since I’ve never noticed my tatto before – my boobs must be bigger!

So I run into the TV room topless and excitedly announce to Paul “Look! I think my boobs are getting bigger!” Without even looking away from one of the stupid “Pimp my Ride/Crib/Baby Mama” shows he’s so fond of he says “No they’re not.”

“Yes, they are!” I said – “Look, I can see my tattoo!”

Never looking away from the TV he says “Your boobs are sagging, that’s all.”

That’s all? Well, OK, if THAT’S ALL. So not only have I lived a life without boobs, now what boobs I *do* have are deciding they want to sag? Well for God’s sake. Why can’t they sag towards the middle so at least I could have a little fucking cleavage?

So now, I officially have saggy boob syndrome. Paul says so. That has to mean I’m getting old.

But, I really don’t care that I’m getting older – I mean, it beats the alternative, right? It’s just that my patience for people, which is negligible to begin with, is running out the older I get. I can’t stand ignorance, and it seems like the more people I meet, the more my patience wears thin. Paul had a friend over this weekend who was about as ignorant as a box of hair. And by the way – another sign I’m getting old is that everyone looks like a kid. I told Paul after the friend left “he’s a cute kid, but he’s fucking stupid” and Paul said “He’s 30.” Since when did 30 become “cute kid” to me?? But the cute kid said when he was here that he was looking for a girlfriend and not having any luck with that. He asked me if I had any friends I could hook him up with. After I got done laughing at the fact that he would think I had any friends, I told him to stop looking for women in bars – I told him to go to nicer places like museums, libraries, community gatherings, places like that. He said ” I don’t want to date anyone smarter than me.” And, being me, I told him “Well, I’d open myself up to the possibility, if I were you, just to give yourself *some* kind of pool to choose from.” He just smiled and nodded at me in that ignorant little way some people have.

I really should have hooked him up with the formerly dead lady next door. And you know what sucks? *SHE* has cleavage.

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4 Responses to “Boobs, Tattoos & Metallica – All Signs I’m Getting Old”

  1. Hank said

    Why don’t you try a Wonderbra or something similar? It allows Paris Hilton to look like she has cleavage, and she’s certainly not well-endowed.

  2. Paris Hilton is *way* more endowed than I am, and I don’t think a WonderBra would do me any good. See, the way it works is like this:

    A bra has these cups that your boobs go into. These cups can be padded and padded underneath the boobs to lift them up. And they can be tight in the front, to kind of squoosh your boobs together.

    OK, now, look at your forearm. Put a bra on your forearm. Do you think that would make your forearm look like it had cleavage? Even if it was a Wonderbra?

    That’s my problem. I have a negative cup size. When I was 16 and my sister was 12 she was handing me down her little “training bras” – the kind that have the cloth in the front. What the fuck my chest was in training for is beyond me, because whatever that bra with the cloth in it was supposed to be training at – my chest failed. Probably because my mother got us cheap ass Woolworth’s training bras. If I had been handed down expensive training bras, maybe the instructional values would have been better.

    And now, I could still buy training bras and wear those and get by quite nicely. If I wanted to wear a bra. Which I don’t. Because it just reminds me how worthless it is to wear one.


  3. Julie said

    “He’s decided to play with Motley Crue.”

    I can’t breathe! Oh, dear lord… I think I peed a little. Good one, Paul!

    And the saggy boob syndrome? Oh, I hear you. I swelled to a sideshow freak 42F when I was nursing Katie, then shrunk after stopping the nursing, and now after just having lost a bunch of weight… Well, let’s just put it this way:

    In high school, Seventeen Magazine told us about the “pencil test”, where you’re supposed to put a pencil under your breast and everything is so young and perky that the pencil will drop, right? Uh huh. Now I’m 36 and saggy from being so big and then shrinking so little that the “pencil test” I pass is the one where we see how many BOXES of pencils I can carry without using my hands, if you get my drift. I’m thinking 2 under each breast at this point.

    I’m considering a lift. Or something.

  4. mary said

    You sound like Rosanne Barr—you should be writing comedy shows or books!!! I love your blogs.

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