When Does Medicare Kick In?

While waiting for testicular updates from a very good bloggy friend (I know, you’d be surprised, seeing as SHE can’t possibly have any testicles, although she IS a ballsy mom), I’m going to attempt to explain what happened in the last four uppity weeks of pandemonium that is my life. It’s gonna be tough, but I’m gonna try…

I grew old.

HA! Look at that, guess it wasn’t as hard as I thought.

I used to live for the Saturday night parties and waking up not just in a stranger’s bedroom, but in a different country altogether. Those hazy, crazy Saturday night parties usually ending up in hot, steaming sex or vile, putrid vomit (usually one or the other, but sometimes immediately following the other).

With the dragging of the boxes, the carrying of the heavy appliances, the wrestling of the bajillion books, and the ocassional these-new-kitchen-counters-are-so-hot-face-mashed-up-against-the-window-neighbors-be-damned sex, those Saturday nights have turned into a wild indulgence of a dirty, dirty habit — sleep.

I am also hemorrhaging money. Nobody ever told me that growing up involved money. I mean seriously. It’s not just the sexy new couch that I want, or the piano that fits oh-so-perfectly in the living room but costs both my kidneys and part of my pancreas. Now I’m handed the bill for the Growing Up Fee: downpayments, leases, renter’s insurance, parking fees, water bills, electric bills, association dues, registration fees, car payments. At the next tenant’s meeting, I’m bringing a warm bottle of milk. And some Baileys.

Is it all worth it?

You betcha.

Moving from a 60-sqaure foot one-bedroom in Detroit to a 230-square foot three-bedroom fucking NARNIA in Manhattan* with 24-hour security… Kicks. Ass.

Walking down to grab a soda from the 7-11? Check.

Crossing the street to pick up an outfit from Top Shop or Wade? Check.

Turning the corner and walking into the mall to watch a THX movie fitted with fucking LA-Z Boys and unlimited soda and popcorn for UNDER $12? Check.

Taking Bianca to do her doggy business in the park across the street and then walking WITH her IN to the mall to go shopping? Priceless.

Now I have to remember to put up curtains. I think the neighbors have already seen my wrinkly, sagging ass one too many times**.