6/27/04
For those of you how know me, you'd know that my appearance on a golf green at 10am this morning would come as a bit of a shock. First, I have never played nine holes of golf in my life. Second, I'm not what you'd call an "early riser."
But there I was regardless, because Jamie Block wanted to, and I have to tell you, golf is fucking fun! All those years I spent rolling my eyes skyward, begrudging incontinent 79-year-olds in their pleated polyester pants, believing golf was the end of all creative thought: well, I suppose I was kinda fulla shit.
Let me be clear – any golf course located where there is no naturally-occurring water should be firebombed (except my dad's house). The links in Santa Fe, Palm Springs and Las Vegas should be returned to the yucca trees and dusty sands that once owned them. But a little place up here in the Taconic Valley that doesn't even need sprinklers? Excellent.
I shot a 44 on the 9 holes, which wasn't bad for being an utter tyro. One of my pitching wedge shots plopped straight in the hole from about 20 feet out. Block had an eagle shot from about 25 yards. I like golf. Maybe I'll buy "golf shoes."
However, after nine holes, then spending the afternoon laying down topsoil in the garden, then standing over a grill that wasn't cooking anything, I had to take a Vioxx. A Vioxx is this very expensive pill that I got for my back problems a few years ago, and now they serve to quell my raging body when I've asked too much of it.
In the interests of being 37, I would like to make the following complaints:
1. my lower back on the left side hurts all the time
2. I can't get drunk anymore without 2-day hangovers
3. my neck is too big (Tessa says it isn't, but what does she know?)
4. I have to take lactose-intolerant pills
5. I make "old man" noises when I sit down in a chair
Please tell me I'm not alone. Does anyone else have complaints about being over 30?
37? Thirty seven! Ian, I can't wait for the "old man noises" you will make when you are my age. Complaints about being over thirty? How about complaints about being many DECADES over thirty:
1) My eyes have deserted me, and I shouldn't be allowed to drive, or even play golf. (Don't tell the DMV and I promise not to buy golf clubs).
2) When I wake up in the morning, I'm amazed just to be here, so I don't feel too bad about hanging onto the side of the mattress to I turn over (hell, I used to do that when I was pregnant with YOU).
3) I'm walking on a space age hip instead of the one the good Lord gave me. (The only part of my body, incidentally, that never aches...).
4) I can never find my car keys. Oh... wait... I cnever could find my car keys. Never mind.
4a) My hairdresser just informed me that underneath all the shiny ash blond, my natural color is, yes, white.
5) The people at the box office have stopped asking for ID when I order up a senior ticket.
6) The other day I began to wonder if I got enough age spots, it could pass for a tan....
7) I have stopped dating because all the men my age are dead.
.... and so it goes. Thirty seven? You're kidding, right? Stop making those old person noises. That's my job.
For a person who gets 44 on his first nine of golf, God compensates. You do have an inordinately thick neck. Soon you will notice the sound of keys and coins jangling in your pants pocket as you walk. And, if you don't mind me asking, how drunk are you getting to have two day hangovers because if I thought back to 22 I likely had two day hangovers all the time or at least would have if I hadn't gone out saturday night too and then played four hours of soccer the next afternoon to diversify the pain.
PS: I hope you are considering the fine ramifications of today's Canadian election upon you and yours. All the best.
I'm in denial about being over 30, but I have noticed these things:
1. I can't sleep through a night without a trip to the bathroom.
2. I wake up gasping for water.
3. I see tiny new wrinkles near my eyes in the morning.
4. I need to have a baby NNNNOOOOWWW.Anyway...nothing to say about F911?
- A woman
I make old-man noises when I sit down, and I'm only 25. My neck is totally well proportioned though.
I love being 38. I love getting older. I have no complaints.
Dang
I'm 25 and have to say ditto on #1,4 and 5. I believe 37 will be hitting me hard.
you started making old man noises 8 years ago...
Ian Darling,
I'm just glad to know that someone in this world understands (and uses!) the proper placement of quotes outside the period - every time, no exceptions. That's the shit that drives me batty these days. Aches and pains? Try having a baby without the benefit of drugs. That experience will keep you from complaining about a pain in the side here or noises you make when getting up from there.*kiss*
Two words for you, old man. Just two words.
Plaid Pants.
Think about it.
As for the "perils of aging," I just want the rest of my hair back. When I have a few more pennies to rub together, I'll buy it. So there.
I am 41 by the way and am the king of old guy noises. Garrity is right. His neck is one of the great ones.
Garrity has the neck of a graceful swan about to mate.
And Mom, I'll write a blog later called "Does Anyone Have Complaints About Being Over 70?"
I just turned 32 on Saturday. What have I noticed? Cheese literally stays with me now. I have a layer of fat, derived only from cheese, that will not go away. That is my only complaint.
Dood: Anyone who still considers getting up in time for a 10 am tee time as "early," is not, nor will ever be, old. Old is when you have responsibilities that require you to get up at something like 6 am every day, and you actually do it, instead of just telling your boss or your kids to go to hell, like you would do...
What about the way it takes a few seconds longer each morning to figure out whether it's a weekday or not. I used to wake up as a kid and instantly know whether it was a school day or Saturday. Now I wake up in a fog for a few seconds. I hate that.
And Michelle, happy birthday and ditto on the cheese. If only I could give up feta...and fresh mutz...and provolone in spaghetti...
I think Jiffer is the winner here. That line made me laugh very, very hard.
Wait 'til you hit 50. One word: farting.
Ian, in the interest of full discloser, you might want to mention that the course we played was an “executive” course. In other words the longest hole is about 210 yards. Just want to put that 44 in context for your readers. And my pitch-in eagle was from about 40 yards, blind shot, up hill!
Way to crush my buzz, dude.
A friggin' "par 3"?!?! Good Lord. I didn't know people admitted to going to such places. Me and Dan James will take you on at the driving range anytime...par 3...jeese.