My Husband and I got “Olded”

I made up the word “olded” but it really is the perfect word to describe what happened to us today. Randy and I got olded.

Someone should contact Merriam Webster because I have new entry. Also, and this has nothing to do with anything, but I find it hilarious that the actual dictionary hates Donald Trump. I love when the dictionary trolls Trump. I bet the encyclopedia would have hated him too if encyclopedias were still a thing. I bet the “T” volume would have been pissed, though. Especially “Truffles” and “Trumpet Swans”. I bet Truffles and Trumpet swans would be best friends in the encyclopedia world, but then trump came along, got between them and ruined it. Like he ruins fucking everything. Also, I know trumpet swans probably don’t follow truffles in the encyclopedia, but I don’t feel like looking it up. Just go with it. 

But I digress.

Randy and I got olded today.

Saturday morning, on a holiday weekend, Randy and I were up before 5 a.m. because we both have insomnia. After puttering around a few hours, we conceded that no more sleep would be happening. We decided to take a short trip north of us and go to the El Camino bakery in the College Hill neighborhood of Cincinnati to get pastries because El Camino is goddamn amazing.

Randy was sure that they opened at 7 a.m. Completely sure.

The neighborhoods in Cincinnati can sometimes be confusing, so I put the bakery in my GPS. I got the directions and it included the hours of operation.

Me: They don’t open until 8.

Randy: Pretty sure they open at 7.

Me: I mean, I guess my phone might be wrong, but I’m pretty sure my phone is right way more times than you are.

Randy: They open at 7.

We got there about quarter til 8. As we were parking, I saw someone come out of the bakery.

Me: Cool. They are open.

We parked around back and walked to the bakery.

They weren’t open.

They opened at 8. Just like my smartphone said they would.

We decided it would be nice to get a little walk in. The air was cool and comfortable. No one was really up and about yet. We’d just stroll up and down Hamilton Avenue until the bakery opened.

I don’t remember what we were talking about, but Randy and I often have animated conversations, complete with wild gesticulating. When we walk together, there is very often hand holding as well.

As we walked along, a car passing by us slowed down. The man in the car rolled his window down and yelled out to us. He said “I just told my wife that someday we would be you two.”

I thought “Well, isn’t that sweet?”

Then, I thought about it a little more. The man who spoke to us wasn’t old or anything, but he wasn’t young either. He might have been 35 – 40.

Me: Dude. That guy just olded us.

Randy: What?

Me: He olded us. He was saying “My wife and I will be like you many years from now” which is a nice thought, but now we’ve become the old people that other people look at and go “awww, look at the sweet old people. Existing and walking and stuff.”  He fucking olded us.

Randy: Yeah. We got olded.

Me: This is the first time. Goddammit. We’re old.

Then the bakery opened. I got a danish that had blueberries and edible flowers. Randy got a lemon one. They were lovely.

We sat at a table on the side of the building and ate our pastries before driving back home. We had been walking awhile.

It was nice to sit down because we’re goddamn old.





I guess it is time to make popcorn

I love popcorn, but it doesn’t love me. I don’t eat popcorn often, but when I do, I shovel it in like a machine and then I’m sick to my stomach for a day. Or two.

But that isn’t the point here.

You know, when you’re watching a movie, like a rom com and the particular movie will start out with the heroine going about her business, kicking life in the ass. She’s making plans. She has a goal. Everything is coming up roses.

Until it isn’t.

A series of events unfold and everything falls apart.

Then the movie starts.

That is when the movie gets good. That is when you need your popcorn, settle in, and wait to see how everything works out and gets tied up in a neat little bow.

I feel like that is my life right now. Well, not the “tied up in neat little bow” part or the “everything works out” part. I’m at the “series of events unfold” part.

I had a plan. We were moving in the right direction. If the right direction is being able to retire at least somewhat comfortably in 2.5 years. Which works out great for me as I am currently in the biggest and most difficult project in my 35+ years in IT.

The culmination of this project will result in the end of my job. We are moving from the only server I’ve ever worked on to a new platform with an ERP system written in a computer language that you don’t need a stone tablet and a chisel to write it.

I am working super hard right now to end my job. But that is fine, because when I wrap up with project from hell, my reward will be retirement.

Certainly not a fancy or extravagant retirement, but a doable one. Randy and I aren’t fancy or extravagant people. All we needed to do was pay off all of our current debt (excluding mortgage) by March of next year. Then pay off as much of the house as we can while I’m still getting the paycheck I’m getting. Most of the big things that can break in a house have broken, so we don’t have to worry about roofs, stoves, hot water heaters, plumbing in the bathroom, subpar electrical work in the kitchen or refrigerators. I wish we could have gotten the deck redone, but that isn’t a necessity.

I’m not going to lie, the plan had no wiggle room. It didn’t allow for vacations or indiscriminate spending at TJ Maxx. And Doordash has got to go. We were going to have to really pay attention to what we were spending and make some adjustments.

Well, what happens when you make a plan with no wiggle room? It’s not fucking wiggles you have to worry about. It’s the waves. It’s the T-rex stomping through the forest and then on your plans. That is what you have to worry about. No wiggle room is goddamn adorable.

Were we expecting losing a big chunk of our income? No we were not.

These things happen though.

Losing the income doesn’t change our day to day life. We’re fine. We will work it out and replace that income. Eventually.

But the plan is time sensitive and while I don’t know what will happen in the future, it is possible that this job will end and I won’t be able to leave the workforce just quite yet.

I don’t think I can adequately describe how much I don’t want that to happen. I started hating change in my mid forties. I don’t want to start a new job when the plan was retirement.

I wrote recently about letting go of our cat Alfie. We still miss him so much. Sometimes I see him in the hall or feel him jump on to the bed to cuddle in my armpit.

I also said that we were considering getting a friend for or other kitty, Gertie.

Well, we did. Not Momo, but a little tabby floofball we named Bea.

Bea (also known as Beeboop, Beebop, Bee girl, and stink butt because damn) is the sweetest little kitty. She is affectionate and loves to be held, which is not something Alfie or Gertie likes. Alfie would tolerate it. Gertie fucking hates to be picked up. After 7 years, she has just gotten to the point where she will sit on my son Joey’s lap.

We had Bea for 2 days when she went from bouncing around like a ping pong ball, to throwing up and constant diarrhea. She could barely lift her little head. You all, I didn’t think she was going to live.

We took her to the vet for 3 days in a row. She got x-rays, shots,and medicine. We had her for 3 days and 3 days after that, we were in debt over $1000.00. Which, you know, really doesn’t fit into the plan. Paying off the debt was the plan. Adding to the debt was a huge no-no in the plan.

We never actually determined what was wrong with Bea. We just know that one day last week, she perked up and announced “I AM OKAY NOW!”  She announced that by racing around like she was on crack and attacking Randy’s feet.

I can’t tell you how grateful I am that she is okay. None of us were prepared for letting go of two cats.

So yeah, now I need to make popcorn because I have to say, I am really curious how this is going to work out for our heroine. Who is directing this movie? Rob Reiner or Quentin Tarantino? Will that poor woman have to start a new job where she will probably be the oldest person there? And how will she humiliate herself in front of new people, because you know that shit is going to happen. Her plan is kind of fucked, how is that going to work out?

At least she has that adorable kitten. And there were no John Wick moments.

I really am more curious than upset. I was upset for a day. This is life and we have a lot to be grateful for and just because my “no wiggle room” plan didn’t work, doesn’t mean the “not quite as awesome but way more wiggle room” plan won’t work.

Okay, I was upset for 2 days. Maybe, 3.

Also, Bea and Gertie are most certainly not friends. Not at all. We’re hoping that changes. I’m not sure what is in the script for this, but I’m hoping it isn’t John Carpenter directing their role in the movie. Zombie Bea would be scary.

Edited to add: Randy just texted me. The dryer broke down. For fuck’s sake. 





What Not To Wear After 60

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.


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.

stubborn donkey

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.

woman with a clothespin on her nose

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.