aging | The Embiggens Project

I think I am getting old. My dendrites appear to be shriveling up, no longer able to form a connection with my mind. Or, worse, making connections with the wrong parts. Here is a glimpse into a day in my life:

Back car out of garage. So far so good. Get out of car and close garage door. Good. Then proceed to sit in passenger seat. And wonder why car is not moving. Oops. Check to see if anyone saw that. Breath sigh of relief and back car out of driveway.
Make wrong turn on highway and have to double back. Realize that my gas tank is dangerously close to empty and curse myself for having to waste “fumes” on backtracking.
Arrive at clothing store. “Oh” and “Aw” over new items on clearance rack. Leave the store, and fumble to put on black jacket before going outside. Remember that I did not bring black jacket. Forgot it at home on couch. Crap. Wonder what black article in left hand is. Realize I have just left the store with clearance black dress pants in hand slung over shoulder. Oops. Return to store and apologize profusely.

Honestly. This sort of thing happens to me all the time. Damn this aging grey matter and the embarrassing situations it gets me in to. I’m only in my forties. What the heck will I be like twenty years from now? A drooling, babbling, lump of stupidity with a double chin and a milky coating over one eye?

Today I felt like doing something a little different. Rather than present three pieces of extremely valuable information relating to my rant above, I have decided to offer you three tidbits that I’d rather forget. And it sounds like I’ll have no problem doing so. Now, where was I? Oh ya…

1) Is your penis worthy of wearing a spanky fuchsia ribbon and parading itself around a public park? You must be so proud. But I must warn you that making an exhibition of it in just any park may land you in the clinker. And on some lists that may have neighbours showing up at your door with torches and giant clubs. Best to “parade” your prized possession at a venue where it will truly be appreciated. And I know of just the place.

It turns out that in some cultures, the penis is worship-worthy. It is the master of fertility. (Although, I’m not sure where it would be without the lowly female’s egg. But enough of my offended female sensibilities). Worship the penis and your barren uterus will pump out babies aplenty. Especially if you honour said phallus with a shiny pink bow. And one need not worry about unsightly foreskins–only circumcised members allowed.

This image may take me longer to forget than I had originally hoped. If you’d like to make an offering to a holy dick, yourself, these are found in a secluded spot behind the Swissotel Nai Lert Park Hotel in Beijing.

2) So, you have just earned your Masters Degree in Fine Arts. What will you do next? I know. Open a bakery where you can sell body parts made of bread. Yes. These morose dismembered heads are, supposedly, as edible as your harmless-looking, squishy loaf of Wonder Bread.

Kittiwat Unarrom, the artist behind the heads and appendages at Bread Head Bakery in Ratchaburi, Thailand, makes a plethora of body parts out of dough that contains other treasures like raisins and cashews, and occasionally, chocolate. (I like to think that the chocolate is an unwilling participant, however). Need a hand? You’ve got it. He’ll even throw in a foot or two.

Maybe I’m weird, but I simply cannot imagine sitting in the staff room at lunch and gnawing on a whole-wheat nose. Ack. Damn. I threw up in my mouth again.

If you’d like to see the Freddy Krueger of bakers in action, check out this video. Warning: View with extra large vomit bag close at hand.

3) And, you knew I couldn’t get through this post without a tribute to our friends in Japan–who, apparently, like some pretty strange beverages.

One that tastes like the juice from an armpit. Just what you want. A bottle of “sweat.”

Another that contains pig placenta. Where did I put that damn barf bag?

Yes. They’ve mixed cola and a vegetable. I must admit, I kind of want to try this.

And what the heck does “in love? be juicy? mean?” And what on earth would it taste like.

Need new puke bag. This one’s full.

And I don’t even know what to say about this.

Oops. My husband just found my peanut butter in with the coffee mugs. It’s going to be a long day.

Credits: Cartoon (http://ershu.wordpress.com/2008/03/13/forgetfulness-at-its-peak/), penises wearing bows (silencedmajority.blogs.com), breadheads (www.geekologie.com), sweat (pocarisweat.com), placenta (www.ebaumsworld.com), cucumber (www.japanprobe.com), juicy (www.ebaumsworld.com), weird eye trick (www.funnyjunksite.com).

“How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?” ~Satchel Paige

It is happening. Ugh. I’m getting old. The proof is on the top of my head–right in the middle. Where the part is. Boldly sticking up in odd angles amidst my red curly hair are–I can barely force myself to admit this–GREY HAIRS. As I have mentioned previously, I really screwed up when I went through the DNA-selection line-up. It would seem that I opted for all the negative traits from each of my parents–the short, hammer-toed, freckly genes. And the one that makes my hair shift from copper to white in my early forties.

My husband noticed them first. Likely because he is a foot taller than me and spends a great deal of his life looking at the top of my head. And also because he is the most observant person I have ever met. Seriously, I live with a real life Columbo. Except less bumbling and without the wrinkled clothing.

So how have I coped with my unwelcomed white hairs? I haven’t. I pluck the ones at the front and my husband does the rest. We are extremely careful not to pull any of the treasured reds. It’s the ones that are white on the ends and red by the root that confuse me. Is this a hair that couldn’t decide what colour it wanted to be? I could see it starting out red, then getting tired and turning grey. But why go from grey to red again? Is my new Pantene condition the equivalent to Geritol for hair?

Can anyone explain this phenomenon? Am I just a freak with mutant hair?

1) OMG. I nearly pee’d myself. I realize that incontinence comes with getting older, but this time it was due to laughter. Lots of it. The source of my mirth–the Guinness World Record Holder for the longest ear hair.

Seriously, who lets themselves look like this? Apparently, India’s Victor Anthony does. His flowing earlocks are 18.1 cm (7.12 inches) long. Who lets their ear hair get longer than their head hair?

How the hell does he hear? Just now I wound up some of my head hair and shoved it in my ears. It significantly muffled the Jeopardy theme song. Ah. Now I know why he keeps it.

2) Have I told you how much I love the Japanese? Seriously. The more I blog, the more I want to go to Tokyo and have a square watermelon, a tube of hard-boiled egg, and eat a square of a tomato chocolate bar.

I might even have to check out one of their cutting edge fashion shows like the one pictured here–An Adult Diaper show. Seriously, first it’s grey hair. Next, it’s Depends.

Actually, it turns out Depends is not our only option. Diaper manufacturers showcased their newest models as happy and extremely dry men and women paraded the catwalk to 80’s hits like Frankie Goes to Hollywood‘s Relax. How can anyone relax when they are wearing a diaper over their clothes? On stage to boot? And to make matters more complicated they are raising their arms in the air. I could never do that on stage wearing diapers. The nerve-induced pit-stains would clear out the whole front row.

Obviously, the Japanese are much braver people than I.

3) The older I get, the more I fart. And they aren’t cute little popcorn farts either. They are foamy-sounding monsters. It’s like a giant balloon being deflated in my pants. I’m not worried though. No matter how bad they get, my flatulence will never pose a threat to Global Warming.

Yes, I went from farts to Global Warming. Why? Well, it turns out that scientists are now blaming the dinosaur’s intestinal tract for ancient Global Warming. Yes, their farts were that bad. It is believed that dinosaurs produced more methane than all of today’s natural and man-made pollutants combined. Damn vegetarian diet.