Vindauga

The Definition of Middle-Aged

No better way to show you still have one foot in the first half of your life, while the other inches into the second.

I got my PMS zit on my nose, right where my reading glasses sit.

It's such a good look.

I feel like I spent a night with Amy Winehouse

This is one of the great paradoxes of aging:

It takes more to get drunk, but less to get hung-over.

Yes, I can hold my liquor like never before, but the next day I feel the effects of the smallest amount of alcohol consumption.

Last night we hosted Rory's class' 8th grade graduation party. Twenty-five kids, eight parents and very loud music. The closest anyone got to inebriated was when the helium balloons were sacrificed to create the voice of PeeWee Herman.

As another mother and I were cleaning up, around midnight, we each had a beer. I went to bed about 2:00 a.m. and the children woke me up at 8:00.Maybe it's the lack of sleep that does it to me.

I feel like I was throwing back shots with drag queens last night. Seriously. I feel like I stood on a bench and sang I Want to Be a Rock Star. Oh wait that part is true. But I was sober then, and I was just trying to get a good crowd shot.

I'm too old for this shit. I can probably drink you under the table and not throw up. But don't make me stay up late to do it.

The Purge Continues

I started on the real closet. It's a small walk-in, but lately there is no walking. Maybe leaning. Mostly shoving and grabbing and hoping for the best.

I was merciless. I had 40 pair of shoes. I now have 30. Imelda Marcos I'm not, but it's plenty. Most of the shoes are too cute to resist from Payless or Target. I have 7 pair of flip flops. They are my summer wardrobe. Winter is pointy toed flats or ballet flats.

How did I end up with so many empire or dropped waist dresses? So many of them out of corduroy or linen. Long past their late 80's or early 90's hay-day. What were we thinking wearing that stuff? It's not attractive on hardly anyone, though the fabrics were beautiful. I hung onto one jumper just because I love the rose print corduroy. I know I'll never wear it.

Oh lord, and the Birkenstocks. Mallory rescued the only decent pair, and the rest are going to charity or the garbage. Comfort and style don't have to be polar opposites. Witness the pointy toed flats. Cute and comfortable.

I held on to jackets and blazers, because I think the twenty year old navy one will probably come back. Maybe some others too.

What's the saying about you shouldn't wear the trend if you are old enough to have worn it the first time? I think that might apply here.

I also found the old iBook and old iMac. What the hell should I do with them? Are there places that can use them that won't scour my hard drive and find out my stripper name and banking information?

Yes Mama, Is Cleaning Out Her Closet

It's been a rather productive Memorial Day weekend. We usually get  a lot done on this three day weekend. Mostly because we are too broke to travel, I haven't gotten my shit together enough to go anywhere, and it usually rains.

So we do projects around the house. We've painted, landscaped, built stuff. This year is no different. We finished some landscaping in the backyard. Did a little more in the front. And we cleaned, cleaned, cleaned. I started to clean up our bedroom and realized that the reason the ironing board, night stand and ottoman at the bottom of the bed held piles of clean laundry was because there is nowhere to put clean clothes. I opened my armoire and saw the chaotic mess and wondered how the hell I got here.

I have the same wardrobe in many sizes and styles. I had to take a hard look at the 8 pairs of khaki pants and 12 pairs of jeans and realize that most of them were out of style or didn't fit or were a stupid impulse purchase. Some of them I've had longer than I've had children. Others were just too good of a deal to pass up. Yet, I never wore them. But I held onto them "in case". In case I lost weight, needed an extra pair, or suddenly realized mom jeans were back in style again.

I started tossing them in a big green garbage bag and felt the weight began to lift. Things sometimes weigh me down more than my big ass. I kept one pair of khakis and three pair of jeans. Everything else is headed to St. Vincent's. I went after my shirts next. How many black t-shirts does one woman really need? I decided three; long sleeved, short sleeved and polo. Oh, and the "Fussy" (yes, look around there, you can find my picture). Same thing with the white ones. I put ten t-shirts (most that I had owned 5 years  or more) in the bag.

Sweaters that brought back images of the early 90's joined the pile. That patchwork one I pull on once in awhile when I'm in a hurry was given away as self-intervention. It's ugly, it's over, and it's always confirmed when people with questionable fashion sense compliment me in it. The flag sweater purchased in a weird scared funk in the days after 9/11 joined it.

So now my cabinet fits most everything I usually wear, both summer and winter. Tomorrow I hope to tackle the real closet and my dresser. I feel more in control knowing that the four shelves I look at every morning and say "what the hell am I going to wear?" now hold only the things I can wear and want to wear. It's no longer the chamber of "woulda coulda shoulda" or the me I think I should be, but who I am. Those clothes are going to the museum of good intentions, along with the stationary bike, quilting supplies, and cake decorating equipment. It's the me I sometimes I aspire to, but not the me I really am.

So, am I losing my marbles?

Today I was moving furniture so I could vacuum under it. I asked Mallory to help me and said "Please move that suitcase."  Only there was no suitcase, I was asking her to move a couch.

This isn't the first time this has happened recently. One day I asked Rory to take a hairbrush and "put it in the fridge." I meant bathroom. It's happened other times too, but I can't remember the specifics of them. It's not just that I can't find the word I am looking for, I don't even try, I just automatically substitute some word that makes no sense.

I have no history of dementia on either side of my family. Unless you count what some of them experience when stepping into the voting booth.

So people that know me IRL are now convinced that I am losing it because

a) I was vacuuming under my couch and Bert's family is not visiting and we aren't putting the house on the market.

b) I might really keep my hairbrush in the fridge.

If you were me would you seek medical attention? (remember my deductible is $7500)

Or would you have a Bailey's and coffee and realize this was cleaning induced, and nothing to worry about?