The Big Four-Zero

After 39 years of not being 40 I’ve decided f$@# it! Let’s give it a go! Below you will find 6 things I personally associate with reaching “middle age” as I continue on through life pretending I’m much younger than I actually am.


Dostoevsky once said, “No matter how you shake your peg, the last wee drop runs down your leg.” You could helicopter your pecker with enough force that you are in danger of taking flight and—BAM—a yellow drop comes out the second you place it in your underwear. I’ve even tried faking it out and pretending I’m done shaking to see what happens but he waits until he’s positive there’s cotton there and then pukes out a drop or two. There’s a generation gap between you and your pecker at this age and he will do everything in his power to piss you off.


20 years ago, if you told me I’d get chills from hearing Willie Nelson and Toby Keith sing about feeding alcoholic beverages to their horses, I’d ask you whether you smoked your breakfast today or not. What used to sound like redneck hillbillies whining over unplugged guitars now sounds like a soothing collection of heartfelt stories I could listen to all night. I still like Southern Rock and Punk but it’s now complemented with modest portions of Merle Haggard.


For the younger generation, it can be shocking to see how saggy a woman’s tits can get in her 40s but when you get to be “middle aged” you think, “Bet they drop another six inches when not in a bra… I want to squeeze them…”. Queefs, butt hair, blemishes and even those strange lady smells are all the more enjoyable and you finally understand why Napoleon forbade Josephine from showering the week before he got home. While this is happening, scantily-clad girls go from easy prey to young ladies who really should put on more clothes so they don’t catch a cold.


After you’re married (or in a long term relationship), women become human beings for the first time ever and it’s like interacting with another species. “Um, hello, what kind of books do you like to read?” You can try flirting, but with your new found “lack of game”, you come across as a pervert and send young ladies hurrying to the closest public place hoping they haven’t just snubbed the next big serial killer.


In my younger years my grandfather use to say to me, “Why do you keep losing your temper and getting into fights? Why do you care what these people think or say to you?”. I finally get what he was talking about. I’m precious cargo. I can’t be jeopardizing my kid’s father just because some irrelevant shitstain is in a bad mood. Sticks and stones still break your bones at my age but unless you’re a peer giving constructive criticism, I honestly don’t give a tenth of a shit what you think.


Well, maybe not “over” in the literal sense of the word. It’s just drastically different. With all due respect to getting drunk, smoking a blunt, getting in a fist fight and passing out in your own puke, that’s no longer my idea of a good time. Don’t get me wrong, I had fun and although I wouldn’t trade those days for the world, I have (with no regrets) traded them for a whole new world. Seeing my soulmate cuddle with my son on the couch, both slowly dozing off, while watching Fraggle Rock gives me a buzz. Watching my son head-bang to Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana with a huge grin on his face makes me giggle like I just smoked a bowl. I still get high… I just do it in another way.

Dostoevsky once said, “The soul is healed by being with children,” and at no other time is this more evident to me than when I have my son in my arms. In the end, if two decades of decadence doesn’t get your Ya Ya’s out, you have some serious emotional baggage and turning 40 is the least of your worries.