Another year older....sort of.

On the TV series Rosanne there was an episode where Rosanne and Jackie’s mother was moving into a retirement community. At one point in the show Rosanne turns to Jackie and asks, “How old do you feel?” Jackie’s response was, “Thirty….isshhh. Eight years old, twelve on a good day.” I think that pretty much sums up how we all feel most of the time.

A few days ago I turned another year older (Some of you my exact age, as for the rest of you who don’t? BUZZZ! Thanks for playing!) and I have to say, I don’t feel my age. But then again how am I supposed to feel? Should I start shopping at Eddie Bauer all the time or put NCIS into heavy rotation of my TV watching? Should I be in bed by ten and start listening to the muzak station WAARP? Should I have dinner at three in the afternoon to take advantage of Early Bird special at Denny’s? OH HELL NO! Show where it’s written when you turn a certain age you must stop experiencing new things, having a few drinks, listening to new music or even having friends of various ages! I have to admit I have changed some, I can’t remember the last time I had any sort of hard liquor (well, not counting those whiskey shots last week) and I appreciate my quiet time more and I still listen to all kind of music but much like the liquor it’s not as hard on the senses. What doesn’t make sense to me is, why people when they hit their forties they seem to stop living? Men especially, they just seem to not want to do anything anymore. They’d much rather park their carcass in front of the TV and hibernate like great lounging grizzlies. So many of my friends from back in the day have become so stale and uneventful (not that there’s anything wrong with that.) My cousin and I are the same age and we were having a chat one day where she was telling me about the neighborhood she lives in.

“We’re surrounded by OLD people,” she says to me.

“How old are they?” I ask.

“Our age! They’re in bed by nine….ON THE WEEKENDS!”

Now this throws her and me for a loop. We didn’t get it. It can’t be the fact they have kids, she has kids. We didn’t understand. We pandered this while we finished our second bottle of wine.

Just recently some friends from college and I got together for a mini-reunion. Let me preface this by telling you these are the same friends when I saw them a few years helped pull me out of a somewhat depressing depression and mid-life crisis. But I digress. We met up at a friend’s house and then headed downtown for dinner. While we were sitting around talking I had mentioned a few of my current friends (and “friends”) who are a bit younger than I am and what we did when we hung out; the friends, not the “friends.” My college buddies looked at me a little perplexed until one of them asked, “What could you guys possibly have in common to talk about? They’re children.” It was almost as if I was a pedophile to them. I assumed they all would friends of various ages. So I told them, “We talk about art, movies, politics, music, books.” I explained to them it’s not like all my friends are in their early thirties or late twenties. I do also have friends closer to my age or even older. Age doesn’t mean that much to me, I’ve met people my age who act like teenagers and younger people are in fact old souls. I enjoy my friends of many ages, cultures, professions and criminal backgrounds.

It’s not like I’m out whoopin’ it up every night or getting drunk then reporting for work on three hours sleep. But I also am not one for a quiet life. Sure I like to listen to NPR, sure I like to just relax with a nice dinner and some coffee but I like my beer too. I like my music (by the way my new favorite, a band called Fitz & The Tantrums…check ‘em.) I like my ice cream (fat content and all.) I like going to clubs on occasion and dancing even though my moves are kind of rusty and hitting up a diner after closing time. I still like going to house parties and sitting in the kitchen talking until three in the morning while downing the last drop of wine in the house. WHO CARES!? I am proud of the fact I don’t act my age. I feel that is what’s going to keep me going. It’s what’s going to keep me sharp and active in my golden years. So I’m still going to hang out with people who are not my age, drink and eat things I shouldn’t and surround myself with new things when I can. Now if you’ll excuse me, my back hurts and I need more wine.

It's a BOY!

Let me just get this out of the way and then we can move on… This parenting thing is HARD! I’ll wait a moment for all you “I told you so” types to get your collective “DUH’s!” and muffled snickers out of the way. I never suspected at this point in my life that I would be a parent (or try my best to act like one.) Of course at this point of my life there were a whole bundle of things I wasn’t expecting to be…..stuck in a less than stellar career…..wearing bifocals….GAY! But I am the proud adoptive parent (Fairy God Mother for those in the know) of a hard working 6’2” junior in college who screams like a girl when he sees ANY insect anywhere near him and for the moment his boyfriend as well. Needless to say the time we’ve all lived under the same roof has NOT been dull.

Still being quite young “my boys” do their best to help out around the house. But every once in a while they get distracted by a shiny objects and wander off forgetting what they were doing in the first place. Like the one day I smelled something strange coming from the kitchen. I followed the strange odor to an empty SMOKING pot on top of the stove. Knowing it wasn’t ME who was cooking a pot of smoking air and the main staple in my diet isn’t Ramen Noodles (a package of it was sitting next to the stove) my suspects were limited. After questioning the cats and coming up with zilch I headed to the boy’s room. I wasn’t surprised by the response I got when I asked them who was cooking, “Huh? Pot? OH!” I was NOT pleased and that’s when I heard something come out of my mouth I thought I would NEVER hear…. my mother’s voice! I’ve noticed this uneasy characteristic coming out more and more since the “Fairy God Son” moved in. Especially in such phrases as, “All right! Whose shaved pubic hair is in the Dirt Devil?” or “No, the recycles belong by the curb, not in the dumpster.” (Those statements were directed more toward the boyfriend than the F.G.S.) Not that I NEVER expected to sound like my mother one day but NOT so soon or so accurately.

Even with all their young adult fumbles they are good kids. A shining example of this was one evening a friend of mine was dropping me off at home after being out and he had asked if the boys were home. I said to him, “Sure they are. Why?” He had suggested I should make A LOT of noise while I went up the stairs just in case the boys were in the middle of “something.” I guess in his mind all young gay men do is eat, drink and have sex 24/7. I looked at him puzzled and told him these are my boys. One will be on his laptop while the other will be playing “Gods of War II” on his PS3. Sure enough when I went upstairs that’s EXACTLY what I saw.

The boys left for Florida last weekend and I was (at first) excited to have the house to myself for a while. It had been months since I’ve had the place to myself for an extended period of time. For the first couple of days it was nice. The apartment was quiet and peaceful. Things stayed where I left them, shoes were not scattered throughout the house and various junk foods (which I have not eaten in ages) were no longer in my fridge. Now I had lived alone for a long time before these Aeropostale-wearing-eating -machines descended upon my apartment so I was use to serenity. But somewhere around the third day I noticed something strange, the house was too quiet. There was nothing to trip over, no one sprawled out on my couch eating Skittles and no dirty dishes lingering in the sink waiting to be put in the dishwasher a foot away. Even though we’re usually tripping over each other I began to miss the boys. For as much as they drive me crazy and have turned my world upside down I do love having them around. When this all started I never thought I would say that but I do. This is must be what it’s truly like to be a parent.