I totally want to be a Crone. My husband is gearing up to be a Coot, so we’ll complement each other nicely.
I chose the one if like I am now, but I’ll probably try to have fun and try to write books too. I’ll probably also still be political so I might cause arguments with that
Dirty old feezer.
You could also go do things and drive during afternoon rush hours, too - just add to the crush of people already doing stuff at those times. 
Bonus points if it’s in a Lubys Cafeteria.
Since entering the new end of old, I’m looking forward to senility. Yeah, I may be a problem but it’ll be theirs, not mine. But I’m already learning some of the tricks. Like, when I don’t want to deal with something, saying “Now, what was that again?” I can put up with the rolleyes while somebody else takes care of it as long as they don’t see my smirk. I don’t go out during “rush hour.” (7am-9am. 11am-1:30pm. 4pm-7pm.) I like to linger, finger the merchandise and visit with the bored salespeople. I WANT to eat at 4pm because I fall asleep before the 6 o’clock news. The house is hot because I’m cold. I pretend I don’t know the kids cut through the backyard and steal my apples. I sit out on the porch with my “toddy,” (vodka cut with juice,) listen to my husband play guitar, at any time of the day or night that we want to. Yeah, I’m going to be a badass one of these days. As soon as I get done having fun.
I’m 60 and when I go out socially I am usually decades older than the next oldest person there. Most of the people I work with are in their 20s or 30s but they regularly invite me out to lunch, drinks, parties, weddings or whatever.
My dad was old at 65, I feel like I do the same things now minus some sports that I did when I was 30. I still visit all my local haunts. I set two new world records in flight archery last week and plan to set 2 or 3 more next year. My mother was sharp until her death at 94 I seem to take more after her.
I too am looking forward to my future as a crazy cat lady. Beyond that, I cannot speculate–it depends on whether my brain holds together well in old age, like Mom’s side of the family tends to do, or falls apart like Dad’s side.
Buicks have turn-signal old-fart alarms.
I suspect I’ll turn out just like my mom…she turned out like hers…sigh
And don’t forget to go to lunch between noon and one to be with those required to eat in that time slot!
Old lady options: hair in a color not found in nature & lipstick drawn outside the lines. 
Will I be?
Get off my lawn!
Expanding on Sassy’s response…
I want to be a laid-back version of Shirley MacLaine from ‘Terms of Endearment,’ etc. I’m going to wear a little too much garish makeup, tease my creatively-colored hair to immense heights, and wear gorgeous if discreet nightgown/peignoir sets round the clock, complete with mismatched antique costume jewelry. I’ll recline on my fan-cooled front veranda with a pitcher of Pimm’s, flirt outrageously and inappropriately with delivery lads and retired generals alike (at least when my dapper old fart husband is tooling around in his library), loudly whisper helpful yet catty advice to my granddaughters, and adopt a cute fey starving artist or two to join me in plein-air studies of my gauche neighbors and their houses and gardens.
Occasionally I will annoy said neighbors in the wee hours as my tipsy hubby plays the piano (badly) and I vamp/improv the neighborhood gossip in my cigarette-roughened alto. Also tipsy, and badly. Reminds me, I will have a silver lorgnette as long as my forearm for my (probably illegal) cigarettes.
I am actually practicing for this now. Good times.
I don’t intend to get too old. My plan is to die of exhaustion in my 70’s after a drug fueled threesome with some 20 year old nymphs.
I plan on saying outrageous the shock the crap out of young people.
I can see myself being crotchety and cynical. I am already cynical, but as I grow older, I feel my “nice” filters slowly wearing away, and I just want to tell people when they are being dumb and/or assholes.
After reading this post I’m going to get a cigarette holder for my jays. And pull out my old peignoir. And join a book club that only reads porn.