10 Reasons Turning 35 Can Kiss My Ass

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.


This may or may not be me in about 10 years.

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.)


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