bryan adams is a real douchebag.
up until this past summer, i had absolutely no qualms whatsoever with a certain process called AGING. in fact, up until about August, precisely, i felt as if i were twelve, but you know who came along? Mother Age. she just came jangling right along in her flowy robes and streaming gray hair and jangly bangly bracelets and bony wrists and hands and straight up smacked me, right in the face. this time last year, i'd be damned if i knew what a good eye cream was; now, i take a nightly bath in one, just in case.
this is what i don't like. i'm starting to understand that old adage "a good woman is like good wine" nonsense. men, their features just kind of settle, and the crows feet around their eyes are nothing short of maddeningly sexy. there isn't a crinkle in this world that doesn't just set me happily right off. women, MANY WOMEN, i should say, on the other hand...ay. women become true parodies of their youth - their features sink, as opposed to settling, necks become stringy, or saggy, and animal-like, and i'm not talking gazelles here, and the wrinkles around their eyes are like cracks in a mirror and who's going to tell me that THAT'S even remotely comfortable to look at?? i was never really sure if i wanted to have the kiddies, so it's not like i'm feeling the click tock here, but suddenly, EVERYONE'S younger than me, which makes me think of that other age-old adage, "youth is wasted on the young". ohhh is it ever, George Bernard, you clever one.
so, what's Bry-Bry got to do with it? the other day i caught sight of him now, at age 52, and i'll be damned if he is just not a million times more of a smoking hotty than he was on the '87 "into the fire" tour. how is that possible, or even fair? i'm going to go ahead and say that it's just not, not either one of those, although evidently it is.
one of the loves of my life is 21 years older than me. every time i see him, i think he just keeps looking better. the babes flock to him, and he's fifty six. i don't even think Demi could do that.
the other day, another Love of My Life - and also, incidentally, a real asshole - told me that i'm just all insecure about my age, which is evidently possible, but i really wonder how assholes age. by all accounts, it ain't pretty.
this is the sky over Brooklyn a couple of days ago. if that's not timeless, i just don't know what is.
up until this past summer, i had absolutely no qualms whatsoever with a certain process called AGING. in fact, up until about August, precisely, i felt as if i were twelve, but you know who came along? Mother Age. she just came jangling right along in her flowy robes and streaming gray hair and jangly bangly bracelets and bony wrists and hands and straight up smacked me, right in the face. this time last year, i'd be damned if i knew what a good eye cream was; now, i take a nightly bath in one, just in case.
this is what i don't like. i'm starting to understand that old adage "a good woman is like good wine" nonsense. men, their features just kind of settle, and the crows feet around their eyes are nothing short of maddeningly sexy. there isn't a crinkle in this world that doesn't just set me happily right off. women, MANY WOMEN, i should say, on the other hand...ay. women become true parodies of their youth - their features sink, as opposed to settling, necks become stringy, or saggy, and animal-like, and i'm not talking gazelles here, and the wrinkles around their eyes are like cracks in a mirror and who's going to tell me that THAT'S even remotely comfortable to look at?? i was never really sure if i wanted to have the kiddies, so it's not like i'm feeling the click tock here, but suddenly, EVERYONE'S younger than me, which makes me think of that other age-old adage, "youth is wasted on the young". ohhh is it ever, George Bernard, you clever one.
so, what's Bry-Bry got to do with it? the other day i caught sight of him now, at age 52, and i'll be damned if he is just not a million times more of a smoking hotty than he was on the '87 "into the fire" tour. how is that possible, or even fair? i'm going to go ahead and say that it's just not, not either one of those, although evidently it is.
one of the loves of my life is 21 years older than me. every time i see him, i think he just keeps looking better. the babes flock to him, and he's fifty six. i don't even think Demi could do that.
the other day, another Love of My Life - and also, incidentally, a real asshole - told me that i'm just all insecure about my age, which is evidently possible, but i really wonder how assholes age. by all accounts, it ain't pretty.
this is the sky over Brooklyn a couple of days ago. if that's not timeless, i just don't know what is.
