When I’m 64

OK, OK..I officially turn 64 tomorrow, so let's try to acknowledge that without the cliche of singing the Beatle's song.

And I don't mean "Help!"

If you sing it, I might have to say what my brother-in-law says  to everyone who  makes a "hamster" remark after hearing our last name and say, "wow..you're the first person who ever went there!'

The lyrics to the song have always bothered me.

I'll never question Jim's love and fidelity if I lose my hair.

I won't wonder if we'll still exchange Valentines, because we haven't done so in years.

I don't care about a bottle of wine, and if I come in the house at a "quarter to three" , it'll most likely be after an ER visit, and he'd be with me.

And of COURSE I'd lock the door!!  Who wouldn't??

Also, if we're still scrimping and saving at age sixty-four, we'll have bigger problems than mending fuses or digging weeds.

 Vera, Chuck, and Dave sound like the names of entitled 30-somethings, not grandbabies to bounce on arthritic knees.

OK..I'll stop.

But not before I attempt to be creative and prevent all the parodies with my own:

Now that I'm older/check out that gut/in the present day/Will you still be takin' me on fancy trips?/Fancy cakes might stay on my hips!/If I get flaky/losin' my keys/let's blame menopause!/will you still drive me?/Will you survive me?/I'll guess "yes" because/...you have been a loyal mate/through thick and thin/I think that's great!/you tolerate SO much crap!/('cause I'm not a J.A.P.?")/We'll still laugh 'til we're on the floor!/When I'm sixty-four!/ Greeting well-wishers/deluged with mail/I'll check every one/you will fetch my glasses like a good mate will/you'll remind me: "Girl..take your pill!"/will I still feed you?/You bet I will!/Chicken parmesan!/Will I still need you?/why, yes indeed! You../Prove that life goes on!

Go ask Alice

and the month long celebration continues!

People who know me well know that I don't like events centered around eating and drinking(yeah, I know, I know..you wouldn't conclude that by looking at me) but I'll make an exception for the impossible to get into restaurant, Brando's in Asbury Park.

We made a reservation over three weeks ago--to this place rated the number one restaurant in Asbury Park--to this place recently visited by Springsteen and Bon Jovi and Governor Phil Murphy(all in one night) and even 'though we can't justifying going there more than once a year, it met and exceeded all our very high expectations. And broke the bank, but was worth every delectable calorie.

Beggars Purses sounds like an alternative rock band, but they are a delicious app.  And then I ordered the hanger steak with root vegetables..each forkful brought on a mind-numbing food-gasm.

Speaking of root vegetables and getting back to my original thought, I don't do "just dinner" so we crossed the street to see the only movie we haven't already seen, a documentary about ....mushrooms.

Yep..my fun guy and I sat through "Fantastic Fungi" and I felt like I was smoking some major weed.  Or killing off the rest of the Oxy I was prescribed last fall.  Or eating..mushrooms.

What a wild ride with time-lapse photography like you've never seen.

Watching mushrooms sprout in slow motion is a tripping experience...and a pornographic one if you have a mind like mine.

Getting old isn't as bad as I thought...and yes, I'm craving mushrooms.

Sauted in creamy butter..with garlic cloves and shallots...

I'm already high

The Saran unwrapping

I admire everyone who is making a New Year's resolution to eat healthy, I really do, and while everyone is saying no to carbs and sugar and dairy and meats, I'm saying yes to eating "happy"(because I am FORTUNATE enough to be HEALTHY) and  I'm sticking with MY personal  resolution, which is  to write something provocative and/or amusing every day. 

Or..every other day.

If I write too often, I'll become the dreaded "BUB".

 (To refresh those who are unfamiliar with my acronym, it stands for Brutally Untalented Blogger, those who pen those boring, self-serving and repetitious entries about nothing of any consequence, and..I'm doing just that, aren't I?)

OK..bear with me as I describe my weekend thus far.

Those who know me superficially and know me well know that I am pretty much a terrible driver.  I might not be quite as bad as I think I am, but I am pretty bad.  And I can't parallel park  or even regularly park without looking like a spastic three year old who has been heavily drinking.

So yesterday, I pull in between the two white lines absolutely perfectly.  As I exit the car, a cop approaches me, with an angry  frown, and asks:  "Don't you think you're a little too close to the line?"

I was bewildered..and on the verge of tears..when the cop started laughing, saying, "I'm only kidding!!"

WTF would he talk that way to ME?

I want to start a movement:  "Klutzes Lives Matter."

Spastic Acceptance!! 

But today was a better day. 

 We just returned from a "Friendsgiving" dinner, where everyone brought a dessert or  side dish(I made pineapple souffle and brussels sprouts--not together) and everyone was asked to bring a "Shove Under" gift, something one would "shove under the sofa and never see again."

Being the rebels we are, we bought NICE gifts..even going over the suggested price limit.  Everyone was supposed to pick a number and then pick  a random wrapped gift, with the option of swapping.  I drew a good number--9--the halfway number--when someone suggested the slips of paper weren't folded right and we had to choose again.

This time I got a TWO..

But I was okay with that.  This was only my second chance to unwrap a gift with the excitement and anticipation of a kid on Christmas morning.  (The first, if you'll recall, was a tube of lavender-scented hand cream from my eyebrow lady)

So while everyone else was swapping valued gifts like lanterns and popcorn poppers and Ghirardelli chocolates, I got..on the second pick..a wrapped box of..tampons and sanitary napkins.

I could so relate to Charlie Brown as he examined the contents  of his trick-or-treat-bag.

HE GOT A ROCK!

I GOT SANITARY NAPKINS!

And pity...

And  blog material.

Even 'though the night started off with a room-wide pledge NOT to discuss politics, everyone giggled a little when I unwrapped my consolation prize at the end of the auction  and said, "this better not be a MAGA hat!"

Because I could sooner deal with the tampons.

I really like fun silly folk who drink and laugh and get their jollies from something other than wondering who will be nominated for Best Actor in a Lead Role,  or how life-changing bidets are.

These folks gathered around a table with an enormous ball of Saran wrap and a pair of over-sized dice. The object of this silly but hilarious game was to unravel the ball and get the goodies tightly wrapped inside while wearing a goofy woolen cap and while working with cumbersome gloves before the person next to you rolled a double, marking the end of your turn.

Silly and goofy can be contagious and FUN, and I'm going to let my impossible hair down more often in 2020.

Because if I can't commit to writing and being weird and amusing , I might as well join a gym.

Up next:  The Golden Globes!