Well, it happened 10 days ago, and I’m still not over it. Yes, I’m talking about my 35th birthday and yes, I’m referring to the mid-life crisis I’ve been having in the months leading up to my 35th birthday that has only gotten worse SINCE my 35th birthday.
Bottom line — I’m just not ready for this shit. And by shit, I mean being a fu*&%ing 35-year-old woman as opposed to a cute twenty-something whose ass is still at hip level and who doesn’t start falling asleep on the couch if I’m not upstairs in my bed by 10:00 p.m.
Image via Smath./Flickr
Hell, even ages 30-34 didn’t have me quite this freaked out, and those weren’t really all that damn different from 35. But in a sense, they were, because I was still in my EARLY 30s. And now I’m over-the-hump, so to speak.
And to help plead my case, here are 10 great reasons why turning 35 can kiss my cellulite-ridden 35-year-old ass. (Bye, bye Mom Sexy.)
1. For the months of July and August, I pretty much ate and drank whatever I damn well pleased, and I didn’t work out, minus a kayak trip across Boothbay Harbor that left my arms feeling like jello. And you know what? I gained a good 10 pounds…which I’m having a bitch of a time trying to lose now. But what really sucks is that 10 years ago, I would’ve had every single one of those 10 pounds off simply by cutting the junk for a few days. But at 35, after over a week on the WADS diet (no wheat, alcohol, dairy, or sugar), I’m down a whopping 3 pounds. What. The. Fu&%.
2. Even though I bitched and moaned like a little brat because none of my dresses fit while I was getting ready for my husband to take me out for dinner on my birthday, I still went to said dinner (and ate a FAT steak) and threw on a pair of heels so I could at least salvage some shred of looking pretty. And the next day, I had foot cramp after foot cramp after foot cramp. All from wearing heels for two hours. (You just wait, Kate Middleton…your day is coming.)
3. I thought my boobs were saggy right after I had my son, and honestly, I didn’t think they could get any lower. But I was wrong. Gravity takes on a whole new meaning at 35 — and I’m only an A-cup. (Pathetic.)
4. Hot 20-something chicks with perfect bodies are even more of a buzz kill than they were when I was one of them. And if you’re 35 and say seeing their tight little tushes and flat tummies doesn’t bother you, try having a job where the majority of your day is spent looking at images of hot 20-something chicks with perfect bodies. You’ll start to self-loathe too…I swear.
5. Even though I’m old, I still have some shred of brain capacity left. Do the math — 15 years from now I’ll be 50. And 15 years ago I was in college, which seems like yesterday, which is a pretty good indicator of just how fast 50 is going to hit me like a ton of bricks. Fu&%.
6. Not only do I have problems losing weight and staying awake most nights…I totally can’t party anymore either. I tried it a few months ago and it was nothing short of a humongous train wreck — complete with the ugly cry, and one hell of a hangover the next day. (Man, I really miss the days when I could hang. I sure was a fun gal.)
7. It’s all over. And what I mean by “It” is all the good stuff you look forward to when you’re a hot 20-something chick, like getting engaged, having a big fancy wedding, getting pregnant, having kids, etc. For me, at 35, all that shit is over. I’ve run out of milestones…and it’s gettin’ to me a little bit.
8. The “responsible adult” thing has kicked into high gear. Nobody takes care of me anymore, which isn’t a bad thing, but it means I have to have my head screwed on straight at all times. Once in a while, it would really be nice not to be in charge of anything. But that’s never going to happen, because I’m 35 and being 35 means I have to act like a grown up. (Meh.)
9. I. Can’t. Remember. Shit. — And this really blows, because I’ve always bragged about my amazing photographic memory. But last night, I spent like 20 minutes looking for my son’s sneakers, and a couple weeks ago, I “lost” his school supply list, only to discover I had put it directly into a folder I’d made so I wouldn’t lose any of his important school papers. WTF???
10. It’s the beginning of the end. If I can’t lose weight at 35, how in the hell am I going to lose it at 40? And if I can’t walk in heels now, how am I ever going to pull off looking good at the upcoming wedding I’m in where I’m a bridesmaid for what will probably be the last time in my life? (Yay! A milestone!) And if I can’t remember where the hell anything is, just how bad is it going to be in another 10 years or so when I have even more shit to remember than I did before? Holy shit. I’ve HAD it with 35.
I think my BFF really summed things up best. Her exact words were, “Fu&% 35. Fu&% it to hell!!!”
(Amen, my dear. Amen.)