There are many, many things I am too old for. I’m too old for drama. But I will not discuss that here because this blog is for fun and inspirational subject matter. I’m too old for My Retail Job, even though I have to admit I’m having a blast among all the aches, pains and “you’re a mature woman” comments. I am too old for roller coasters, which pisses me off because I would go on one a thousand times in a row if my brain didn’t scramble into a million pieces after the first 30 seconds of the first ride. And as much as I love my new sport of running, I may be too old for it because my knees feel like they have been through a war. Maybe even 2 wars.
Last night I met a friend of mine for dinner about an hour away from where I live. A very old friend. She’s not old, our friendship is old. We were having a great time, having great conversation as always. Halfway through dinner she asked if I wanted to go with her to meet some of her friends at this theater outside of town to see a band. Who am I to pass up a good time? PLUS it was an opportunity to meet new friends.
We trekked on over the border into the next town to see this band. You may remember them. Soul Asylum. I was never a grunge band follower. I am classic rock and moldy oldies all the way. After singing half a dozen songs, they sang ONE song I vaguely recognized. But every person in that room had gray hair. If they didn’t have gray hair, it was colored I’m sure. So, I didn’t feel out of place. A Justin Timberlake concert I would feel out of place at. This concert? I just felt old among the old. And the music was just too effing loud. I mean, how is a mature woman supposed to have an intellectual conversation with all that noise?
Sure, I had a good time. Sure, I danced to music I never heard of or even liked. Sure, I had a drink. Ok, half a drink. Ok, a quarter of a drink. Because after about 20 minutes into being there, I hit a wall. Not literally. But the “holy shit, I need my bed NOW” kind of wall. As much as I was enjoying these women, my new friends among my old one, I felt a very strong urge to put my head on a pillow. In fact, if there was a pillow somewhere in that place, I would have had my ass in a corner on that floor. Even amongst all the racket. And it wasn’t even 10pm yet.
And the band? They have to be at least my age. Where, may I ask, do they get their energy? I guess from their hair. Because they had plenty of it. Hair. Good for those guys. But I will bet any amount of money that they went home, slathered a crapload of Ben Gay on their joints and fell into a deep coma. Because that’s what I did. And I’m not too proud to say so. I mean, who needs pride when you pee your pants every time you sneeze and, well, never mind. Anyway, I think I’ll stick to James Taylor. He gets me.Mo