Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Where's My Diaper?

Last night I went to bed before 10 pm for the first time since 8th grade.  I think something is seriously wrong with me.

For full effect, download "People My Age" by John Gorka and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

Seriously though, I think Father Time is catching up to me.  And that is starting to make my undies a little bit soggy with trepidation.  THERE! I DID IT RIGHT THERE! I SAID THE WORD UNDIES! WHO SAYS UNDIES FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, JOAN RIVERS?! Who says soggy either?  That's an old person's term too.  Same with the phrase, "for crying out loud." What is happening to me?

And I'm not saying that just because my bedtime was before the sun went down yesterday that I am automatically qualified to be in the post-menopause club.  Wait, do guys have menopause too?  It has the word "men" in it, so I'm assuming they go through it as well.  But seriously, I am to the point in my life where I am actually thinking out my life scenarios, and adjusting the choices I make because of what is best "long-term" for me.  It's like I'm a walking retirement plan, or living a real Met-Life commercial.

Take for instance the other night when I got into a heated conversation with Keith Tronic about the advantages and disadvantages between having an FHA or a conventional home loan.  Those are discussions that only Ben Stein or any potential accounting majors would have, not this guy! But I had that discussion and I hashed out my reasoning for wanting a higher mortgage payment.  Listen to me, I'm saying phrases like "mortgage payment", I'm a mess!

And it's only getting worse.  My new favorite sport is golf. I fall asleep to reruns of "House Hunters" on HGTV. I began using an electric razor. Heck, I've even started to get my bowel movements to fall on a normal cycle.  That's right kids, I have come to the point in my life where I have established a regular schedule to poop. I am that old. And please, don't bother me in between 9:10-9:16 in the morning, I'll be occupied.

Vanessa: "He has a five year plan."

Big Daddy: "What is it, don't die?"

Yeah, that's me.  The one who Adam Sandler makes fun of for being geriatric.  The one who doesn't make little kid jokes about Viagra, but will probably be on a daily dosage of it instead.  The one who still thinks blogging is a cutting edge form of social media! I am at the end of my rope. Can someone out there please find me an estate planner, I think I am about to the point in my life where I need to have a legal, binding will in stock in case the man upstairs calls my number.  Either that or someone ship me to the nearest rest home, I'm ready to play bingo for six hours a day.
 
And as long as I can plan my poops, I'll be fine.

What do you think?

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