Approximately and precisely fifty two years ago today I was from my mother's womb untimely ripped. Yanked out by Caesarian section 3 weeks premature.
That means two things. The first is that I was a large little f*cker at that time. The second is that I was early. There have been very few other occasions when that has happened. Usually I have been late. even for important appointments. Still trying to catch up, probably.
Fifty two years old.
Antiquated.
No wife kids family.
No girlfriend on the horizon.
Not exactly the very picture of success, what?
My Mom always said that if I ended up with godforbid a native Dutch girl, she would forgive me.
As long as the primitive little bitch had at least two PHDs.
My Dad, on the other hand, simply worried about my finding anyone. Male, female, or outer space alien.
Have to say, his point of view was more realistic.
No less unreal, though.
I am quite single.
Savage Kitten, whom I loved for over twenty years, dropped me somewhat over a year ago.
She's found someone else in the meantime - a very hot, contrary to her own low self-image, woman can do that - whereas I have spent most of the past year-plus wondering what the heck happened.
Not so much operatic, as obsessive, about the whole thing.
Surprised, or startled.
Kinda like Ernie when the Cookie Monster kept stealing his cupcakes.
See his expression at 2:06? Precisely!
Missing a cupcake!
I need a cupcake.
Did I mention that I'm fifty two years old?
She and I are still the best of friends. She's got Aspergers, so she really doesn't have a clue what's going on in my head. And I'm just totally conditioned to keep it all inside (except for this blog, but heck, no nice young things read this anyway), so I tend to do the "oh, that's okay, don't mind me" act till I'm blue in the face.
We're having dinner tonight, her treat.
Aged Harris Ranch beefsteak.
I really do appreciate it.
But. Nevertheless.
Even so. Eh.
Fifty two years old.
Kind of late to start all over again. Even though one of my ancestors married his third wife in his sixties, then had a passel more kids (total: twenty five kids over a three-wife life-span), and kicked off close to ninety.
Fifty two years old.
That was back when Dutchmen were all over New Jersey, and there was no MTV, and stuff like that was still possible.
Snarky Dutch-American of a past-teenage vintage?
Yesh!
Oooh yowza papa!
Quite the catch.
In agricultural eighteenth century New England.
Just say "hello hot mr. Vander Haringmetuitjesuitoudnieuwamsterdam!
Sir!
Fast forward to now.
Fifty two years old.
Sweet jeepars, I need to find me a crazy woman.
Preferably a sparky young miss half my age.
Cause I'm still full of piss and vinegar.
Also kind of Like Ernie (see above).
Just slightly silver at the edges.
Why you sweet young thing! Have I ever told you about the time I single-handedly steered Noah's Ark to a safe port? Shelbyville? We still wore onions on our belt then, as that was the fashion after we defeated Napoleon.
I also landed the very first dirigible.
Like totally stone age, yeah.
Before hip. And hop.
Disco fever.
Cupcake?
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6 comments:
Despite the post, I hope it was a fairly happy birthday. Unfortunately all the snarky sweet young things I know in your area are white and vegan - not really your type.
It was actually fairly happy. My coworkers wished me a hppy b'day, and Savage Kitten gave me a lovely bowl to add to my collection.
As far as Sweet Young Things are concerned, white is not a major problem, but Vegan certainly is. Worked too long in restaurants over the years to have any patience with most Vegans - noteworthy exception being the Vegan daughter of some friends, who besides being on the Aspy spectrum herself is a fabulous cook. She'll go far. And we'll probably end up hearing about her on the food channel, or reading about her regularly in Gourmet Magazine.
Although her habit of refering to fish as 'sea kittens' is disturbing. Rather than making me want to pet fish, it makes me think of the culinary possibilities of a broader spectrum of fourfoot than normal.
Mmmm, it's cute.... how does it taste?
"Fifty two years old.
Kind of late to start all over again."
I had a buddy of mine who is 60 had his wife leave him, and he seems to be doing OK in the dating department, at least in finding company, he hasn't yet found his bashert. But at least he's getting laid on a regular basis.
So there is hope.
"Sweet jeepars, I need to find me a crazy woman.
Preferably a sparky young miss half my age."
There's your problem. People of that generation have somehow been socialized or condition to view intergenerational relationships as bodering on pedophilia, if not actually being pedophilia. Look for women at least in their late 30s, in their 40s is even better. Forget the younger upcoming generation, they're a bunch of clueless fools who will learn the hard truths about life the hard way
-Conservative apikoris
Happy belated birthday from points east...
What if they're totally HOT vegans?
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