… and I can no more watch the movie Rent. Get a job and stop sing-whining!
Weird sentence structures.
I spend a lot of time thinking about them after I notice them and then wonder how they got past me in the first place.
Makes me think I’m losing my whatsamathingy.
When your younger relatives start asking you to speak to their class in school because you experienced something that is in their history books? How did you feel when the Berlin Wall came down? (Shudder) and it’s with the same tone they ask the WWII veteran about Pearl Harbor.
My moment came when I realized that people in jobs of authority–my doctor, police officers, IT people at work,etc., were all younger than I am. I saw a police officer the other day who looked so young, that I was tempted pull his gun out of its holster, throw it in the trash and make him go back to shop class. Good thing I didn’t follow through; it might have ended badly.
More of my son’s teachers have been younger than me than my age or older. He had one math teacher a few years ago with such a baby face and squeaky little girl voice that it was everything I could do, when she asked at “Back to School Night” if we had any questions not to ask “Who drives you to work?”
It wasn’t so very long ago that I realized I’m older now than about two thirds of all the teachers I’ve ever had were when they taught me. And that as a 14 year old I thought those 35-40 year olds were ancient.
How much my back hurts. How much my hips hurt. How much my knees hurt. Etc., etc.
How much drama some people in their teens and 20’s seem to like and, indeed, crave.
I get tickled more at silly shit.
The problem with being my age is that I am old enough that things hurt more but I still look too young to be able to get away with being “eccentric”.
This is the one.
My hair started going gray when I was in my twenties so I’ve never been bothered by that. But the hands… ugh, old lady skin. That and the fact that my hairdresser now trims my eyebrows really bums me out.
On the flip side, I like myself better now than I ever have.
I just don’t like looking in the mirror.
I remember laughing at the old-person commercial, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.” Then last winter, I fell into two feet of snow, and I couldn’t get up. I had to crawl toward the house on my hands and knees, and help myself up via the AC unit.
When I was a little girl and would spend holidays at my grandmother’s house, she often needed help putting her stockings on. So I would crouch down, roll the stockings as instructed, and get them up to her calves where she could bend over and complete the task herself. It was quite traumatising for my child-self to be up close and personal with corns, bunions, fungal nail infections and varicose veins. :eek:
I never thought about that experience until recently when I had a disc problem and couldn’t bend over: sans a handy grandchild, I had to resort to a pair of (long) bbq tongs to manoeuvre me’ socks over me’ feet and to pull them up to me’ knees.
Nana, I’m very sorry for making fun of your disability and your gnarly old feet. My feet are still fine, but I’m sure the day is coming when my grandkids point and laugh too. 
…AC unit, panache45? What’s that - the Aging Cripple Unit? Is that like a standby crew with belts and gaff hooks?
I still laugh at that ad. It’s a catch cry in our family. And that ain’t NEVER gonna be me. I still have the strength, reflexes and agility of a thingammywhatsit.
Ha - the first time I went to the barbers after my 30th birthday, he asked if I wanted my eyebrows trimmed. Was it that sudden? My dad has epic eyebrows, and I now need them trimmed every time if I don’t want to look like one of those owls.
Still, I’m 36 and I still wear the same size trousers I did when I was 18. Most of my friends from school have added several inches round the gut, but so far I have been lucky in that respect.
I want my brain back.
This menopausal brain fog is really irritating and a bit humiliating, and a giant waste of time. I used to have a sort of calendar in my head and if you asked me ‘how long until you go to…’ I’d be able to say ‘fifteen days’. And I just sort of knew when entry deadlines were coming up for horse shows and things. Now I check the calendar app on my phone and the time/date pop-up on my desktop are probably the most frequently used things I’ve got.
And lists. I’ve always been a list-maker because I liked being able to see what I’ve accomplished as I cross things off. Now if it isn’t on a list, it doesn’t get done :rolleyes: Even WITH the list I find myself backtracking in the grocery store because I’ve walked right by the crackers that were clearly on list effing list.
At the airport last week I saw the cutest pair of teenagers in matching uniforms, obviously on their senior trip. Then they walked to the front of the plane and shut the cockpit door behind them. Sigh 
Regarding not knowing who the stars and celebrities are: it’s not important. It wasn’t when I was 20, it isn’t now. It’s just that I didn’t know then that it isn’t important.
What gives me a hoot about getting older is when people who are twenty years younger than you are complaining about getting old. I’ll be 50 later this year; I don’t want to hear about someone in their 30s whining about it. 50 ain’t old either, and I don’t complain about it. Getting old ain’t for sissies. (Yeah, yeah… get off my lawn, blah blah)
I just wish I didn’t get comedy eyebrows.
Thankfully, no, women do not get the extra ear hair (we have to put up with plenty enough other crap as it is with aging thankyouverymuch).
I am finding that I appear to be losing my eyebrow hair - or maybe it’s just that it’s turning grey and therefore can’t be seen very well - but now I understand why some older women draw their eyebrows on. I found that perplexing in my younger days (and thankfully now there are alternatives to that).
The music these kids listen to today. It’s just a lot of loud noise.
This hasn’t happened to me yet, but it’s close. My new boss is about six months older than me. :eek:
The “oldies” radio station now calls themselves Classic Hits, and they play stuff from the 70s-90s. Yes, that’s the station I listen to most of the time.
The grunt it takes to get up that you don’t even notice, but don’t worry—other people tell you about it.
Really old? Hearing your older son do the same thing.