I mean, there does come a time, you just don’t always know that the time is now. Or really, probably passed a while ago and you just didn’t notice. But the time does come when spontaneity just can’t be quite so spontaneous.

Anyway, Randy and I used to be at least a little adventurous.

One time, when driving between Kansas City and Wichita, we decided to veer right and go to Denver. About an 8 hour drive. We ended up changing course in the morning and went to Colorado Springs to see Pike’s Peak.

Colorado Springs was under fog that day. I went into a convenience store and asked the clerk where Pike’s Peak was and he sort of rolled his eyes and pointed out the window. “Right outside?”

Well, you couldn’t see shit. So, I bought a postcard. I’ve still never seen Pike’s Peak.

I was pregnant with our son, Joey, when we made that trip over 26 years ago.

We used to do stuff like that regularly. And then those times slowed down a bit. Then stopped. I can’t remember the last time we took an impromptu trip.

The trip we took last night wasn’t impromptu, really, but we only decided last weekend to drive to Lexington, KY and see Southern Culture On The Skids at a venue called The Burl.

Our first mistake was not finding out in advance that the seating isn’t seating.

Standing room only? Yeah, we can’t do that shit. My fucking knee hurts. His fucking back hurts. And fuck standing for 3 hours even if they don’t hurt. I am not anti-standing, but I don’t want to take a 3 hour bath either and I love baths. I don’t love standing.

The Burl is more of a complex than a typical venue. There was a food place, a building filled with video games, a roof top bar, a brewery, and a building with a bar and a stage. There was seating on the deck outside and we found a place there. So we could hear the music, but not so much see anything.

The good news is, we’ve seen this band before. In fact, we’ve seen them 3 times in less than a year. We know what they look like.

We took an Uber from our hotel. Randy found a Motel 6 for under a hundred bucks a night. We stayed at much nicer place because I paid my dues at the Motel 6. I’m not doing that anymore. I think our Uber driver was practicing being the wheels for getaways because damn. I drive too fast. I know I do, but I have nothing on that Uber driver. I’m glad we were only 5 miles from the venue.

Sitting outside allowed us to see other things we might have missed. Like the low-rent limo trolling through the parking lot.

I wish I had taken a picture of this, but I did not. There was this limo driving around the parking lot. It was a little rusty and completely janky. There were clouds of exhaust fumes and the muffler needed some attention. There were fairy lights behind the tinted glass and the driver had the music cranked. There was a sign on the door that said “Need a ride? Flag me down!”.

I have never wanted to ride in a limousine more in my life.

Also, the bathrooms were filled with graffiti.

I am not complaining. I love graffiti. I am fascinated by graffiti. If I get stopped by a train and all the cars are not covered in graffiti, then I am kind of salty.

It’s just this one bit of graffiti that I took exception to.

Crunchy is a whore?

No. No, crunchy is peanut butter. Or maybe potato chips. Or a word one might use to describe the music they are listening to if one is sort of pretentious.

But crunchy is never a whore.

I was on board with the “fuck trump” sentiment though.

Because fuck trump.

We ended up leaving before the show was over. Not because they weren’t awesome because they were. It’s just that we were tired, and those chairs were really hard.

Also, room service was available at the hotel I picked. But only until 11.

Okay, I am out of touch. It is really cool to reach an age where you can just excuse all sorts of ignorance with “I’m old and out of touch”.

That only works because it is absolutely true.

By the way, I do not include malignant ignorance or ignorance that includes maligning or minimizing anyone. 

Anyway, I learned something not long ago about my hometown of Cincinnati. I learned that there is a men’s club here called Cincy Jacks.

I have since learned there are similar clubs all over the place, but like I said “old and out of touch”. 

Cincy Jacks is a club for people with a penis and they gather there to masturbate. As a group.

I am not judging this. Whatever grown consenting people want to do together is not my business. Whatever flips their flopper, you know?

I’m just having a hard time considering what a similar club would look like for people without a penis.

I know I am making a big assumption here, so please have some patience, but a few variations aside, I assume most men masturbate in a similar fashion.

For all that is holy, I know that is a generalization. I talked about this very thing on Twitter and when I suggested that men mostly masturbate in the same way, I was told in no uncertain terms how insensitive and wrong I am. And I should possibly be stoned to death. And not in a good way.

It would be a different club for women.

“So, hey. Do you have a Maytag washer, circa 1989 to 1992 that is slightly off balance during the spin cycle?”

“I’m going to need a GI Joe with a kung fu grip and a rubber mallet.”

“You don’t happen to have a video of Chipper Smith at prom in 1981 dancing to The Greeks Don’t Want No Freaks by the Eagles do you?”

I’m just saying, I don’t think there is a magical place where we could all get what we needed. Also, I don’t know many women who would want to make that a group sport anyway.

I mean, even if they had a hot, sexy bank of Maytags, I don’t think I’d participate.

I haven’t worked up enough nerve to even join a book club.

Way back in 2015, before the pandemic, before the non-stop and terribly upsetting election cycle, I wrote an article about things you shouldn’t wear after 50.

The article got a lot of attention. Mostly, for the wrong reasons, but still. Attention.

When I wrote that article, I was half engaged in writing and half watching Sherlock. I think it was in response to seeing another headline about what women should wear based on age.

So, just this morning, I read an article about the clothing designer Carolina Herrera. She claims long hair and jeans on women of a certain age is “classless”.

Fucking really? Classless? 

And her idea of “a certain age” is 30. Fucking 30. She says women over 30 shouldn’t wear jeans anymore. Women over 40 shouldn’t wear long hair. What the fuck? That’s just crazy talk. Based on what? And what is the exact hair length before one gets their class back? Does your hair get shorter with each decade? Like at 40 you can have a bob just above your shoulder, but by 50, your goddamn earlobes better be showing?

I did not care for these sentiments.

Then, I remembered I’m not in my fifties anymore! I have moved on. People in their 50’s are babies. I can now write an article about what we shouldn’t wear after 60!

Listen, I’m cracking my knuckles. Can you hear it? 

Actually, that hurt a little. I guess one of the things you shouldn’t do after 60 is crack your knuckles. Goddamn arthritis.  

First, I would like to acknowledge something important. I kind of said this in the last article, but region, social status, and income make a world of difference on what people value when it comes to parting with their money for fashion. Which is fine. We are all free to adorn ourselves as we see fit.

At least for now. Please, for all that is fucking holy, vote in November. Because no one wants to wear the red handmaid robes. Unless you are on that show. Then you probably do.

With that being said, maybe keep your opinions on what other people choose to wear to yourself. Because it is extraordinarily stupid to attach arbitrary age rules to denim and hair length. Oh, believe me, I know a lot of people will vehemently disagree with this. But this hill? Yeah, I’d die on it.

I’d at least rest on it. But to be fair, I’m going to rest on most hills. Damn.

What we wear doesn’t matter. Does that mean you should wear Nightmare Before Christmas pajamas to the office when they require business casual attire? Of course not. We all have rules to follow or changes to make if we don’t like those rules. Although, I can’t imagine anyone being that invested in the pajamas, but I’m not going to judge.

Anyway, here we go. What not to wear after 60:

I would like to speak to the manager attitude

This is a big one. Please stop. Especially, if you are in the over 60 crowd. We’re already cast in a negative light.

Let’s prove that we are better than that. Lets prove that we can be the elders who are kind and helpful when we are needed. Let’s recognize when it is time to step aside and be supportive.

But I digress.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t get what we pay for or if something isn’t right, that it shouldn’t be made right. I’m just saying that we can be civil and kind when doing so. If you find you talk to service people in a tight, clipped tone a lot? Maybe, dial it back. Be kind. And if you can’t, for your own good, I would avoid certain haircuts.

Stubborness

I am not saying to not be stubborn. Damn. Be stubborn.

I come from a long line of stubborn. My adult children have perfected stubborness. I’m not gonna lie, it’s not always good, but often our stubborness serves us well.

What I mean is, don’t be stubborn about inevitable changes. Pronouns for instance. I totally get that change is hard. It is not easy to change word choices you’ve made for decades. I also understand you may harbor strong negative feelings about changing pronouns for people at their request. I don’t agree with you, but I understand you feel the way you feel.

Here’s the thing. Life has moved on and this is what life looks like now. You don’t have to understand it. You don’t even have to like it, but you can be kind. You can be respectful. Try. It does not hurt you to do what you can to help other humans feel comfortable. Like I said, change isn’t easy. I fuck up all the time, but when I catch myself, I acknowledge it and I keep on trying.

You do know that none of this is new, right? Gender identification has always been a thing. We just didn’t talk about it or if we did, we ridiculed it. Was that helpful? Did it change anything? Did it make people that you disapprove of go away? No, it did not. We were wrong then. We have a chance to right that wrong.

If your stubborness issues exist because of religious belief? Well, I mean this as gentle as possible, but no one on the planet has to follow the rules of your religion. You do you. Leave others to be who they are. Without hatred or recrimination or judgement. Let’s just try to be good to each other. Isn’t that what Jesus taught?

Clothespins on your nose

Obviously, if we take this literally, there is no explanation needed. I feel like it works for people in all generations. Wearing a clothespin on your nose would be painful and you would stand out. It’s cool if that’s the look you are going for, but you’ll end up breathing through your mouth and that will just cause health and dental issues. So please, everyone should always not wear clothespins on their noses.

Except, now I want someone to do that. Go to work with a clothespin on their nose and just walk around like it is just another day in the cube farm. I mean, I’m not going to, but if one of you wants to, then just make sure you get back with me, and let me know how it goes. 

Of course, I meant figurative clothespins. You know that look. That look we get when we see something we don’t like. The look like something smells bad and we wish we had a clothespin for our nose.

How many tattoos does she have? Are those leggings appropriate? Maybe, it’s just me, but I don’t think a gerbil cage makes an attractive hat. 

Is it really a big deal if someone looks different than what you find comfortable for yourself? Do you have to have the same look on your face that you get when you’re checking your shoes for dog shit?

We should be different. Embrace the differences. Maybe you’ll see beauty where you didn’t see it before.

————————————————————–

Okay, I know I have said a lot here. I’m not only speaking to you, I am speaking to myself. I am constantly growing and learning. I do have to confront myself when long-held beliefs speak up and whisper ashes from a past that needed to move on.

We’re all capable of change. We’re all capable of growth and acceptance.

Except for this one thing. This one thing is driving me fucking batshit.

I’m watching training videos at work and the person speaking in the video doesn’t make the “tuh” sound when they say “button”. They say “Buh en”. There are two fucking “Ts” in that word. Two. They make a “tuh” sound. You can’t just stop making the “tuh” sound. How is that okay?

See? We all have work to do. Maybe, when I reach 70 and revisit this, I will be over the whole “tuh” thing.