The Big 5-0!
The server is wearing tight jeans and a cropped tee with no bra.
Given the generous size of her ta-ta’s, it’s a freakish act of nature they’re that perky.
“What are they feeding the young these days?” I wonder.
I also wonder where all modesty has gone.
This is how I know I am old.
Not that there’s anything wrong with being old. Or immodest, I suppose.
Another word for immodest might be “unselfconscious.”
Something I certainly wasn’t when I was her age. Or ever, at least in terms of being free and easy with my lady bits and parts.
I mention to my gal pal I’ve joined for brunch, “This is not the place for a man to bring a date.”
She laughs and asks, “Why not” even though she’s just finished saying with mild approval, “They don’t wear bras anymore.”
My friend is in a traditional marriage (to a man) and slightly older than I am but far more liberal.
I’m a Prude, Dude
Maybe things are different there. Less uptight? I didn’t think so.
I have a naughty mind but geez I’m a prude. When did that happen?
Well, I’m ok with it—being a prude. If that’s what I really am.
At least I have a dirty mind.
That reminds me of a saying…
A good man is hard to find, but a hard man is good to find.
Also, a woman with a dirty mind is good to find.
Anyway, I feel good about 50. I look way better for being in my 50s than in my 40s! 😉
Now that we’ve got that out of the way, here’s a brief update on my life…
Short story: My condo leaked.
Slightly longer short story: My condo on the third floor leaked to the lobby and my insurance isn’t covering it.
Fiiiiine, the long short story: My condo on the third floor leaked all the way down to the two story lobby through a second floor suite that is on the docket for renovation so I don’t have to fix that level and my deductible is $5,000 and the common areas aren’t covered because of “wear and tear” and there was a mix up so two emergency restoration companies were called out which I have to pay for and I’d only save a couple grand by trying to litigate so I’m going to pay out of pocket and not have an increased policy cost next round and it’ll all balance out in the long run as long as the darn Resto Co eventually shows up to fix it all.
Plus, now I have an excuse to renovate my bathroom when I move back in after my tenants get over Covid and move back to Alberta.
So, yeah, I was kinda stressed for a week or two.
But I do have some good news on the health front!
I redid my overnight sleep test and I’ve gone from moderate sleep apnea to mild sleep apnea.
(Dancing around with the gayest of glee!)
(Noooo, Karen, that is not offensive. What gay would find glee offensive? Gimme a break.)
What has been the solution to my sleep apnea?
Mouth taping and breathing exercises.
Supplies: Medical tape $6/yr. Canadian $!
After all those thousands of dollars I spent on non-insured health care (Canadian health care has its limitations), the solution will cost me less than the fancy coffees I’m addicted to. (Thank you to those of you supporting my fancy decaf addiction.)
“I’ll have …”
The Mexican gal with the cute Spanish accent finishes my sentence, “ the usual, brevé decaf latte?”
Her, “Do you want a croissant? They just came out of the oven.”
I want to say, “Does a bear shit in the woods?” but she’s on a work visa from Mexico and I can’t remember if Mexico has bears, so I just nod “YES” emphatically.
This little neighbourhood coffee shop is steps away from where I’m staying—temporarily until I can move back in to my own place (my own place!)—so I’ve become addicted to the goods and fine, familiar service.
I will miss these pleasant chicitas and their freshly baked croissants. And tamales. And other ethnic specialties.
Technically, I’m really not supposed to have gluten because it’s the one thing definitively associated with causing and/or aggravating Hashimoto’s Disease—one of my many charming healthy issues, plus, it contributes to inflammation (more on that in a sec)—but… people… Fooooood!
And a freshly baked croissant?? Come on man, who could say no. (Rhetorical question.)
Still chelating—pronounced key-late-ing—heavy metals. Slow going, doc says up to two years to fully rid my body of them all because I can only do treatment every three weeks to reduce risk of brain damage.
And I find out tomorrow how I’m doing on gut issues. (I’ll update you if I don’t post this before I find out.)
The next day…
My pesky wee bacterium are still hanging out in my bowels.
They are tenacious, those little bastards, I’ll give them that. (No offence to any little bastards.)
Let’s not get into the details—I’ve already done that enough in previous blogs—but I’ll continue on my various medications to help keep things moving along thank you so much.
This brings us to another short story.
I was on the island (Vancouver Island) a few weeks ago before the latest stay-in-your-own-health-region lockdown to get an IV chelation treatment.
I could’ve done it in Vancouver but I’ve been working on this with my doctor there for years, plus it was an excuse to see my family and a few friends.
(If you’re one of said friends and didn’t hear from me, I was only there for four days.)
So, while I’m there I run out of Naltrexone, a medication I’m on to help reduce the rampant inflammation in my 50 year old bod.
My Vancouver doctor calls in my prescription to the local pharmacy owned by a pharmacist I’ve known since high school and who I’m pretty sure had a crush on me at some point.
I call the pharmacy to see if they can deliver it or if I can go one night without it.
The staff person indicates, “One night should be fine.”
But then Mr. Pharmacy calls me back to let me know they’ll get the delivery driver to go back to the shop to make sure to get the prescription out to me that same night. (I was at my brother’s place a half hour away.)
I’d have thought I was getting special treatment, but Mr. Pharmacy acts like he doesn’t know me on the phone.
I think to myself, “That’s weird.” Maybe he’s being professional.
But it niggles at me enough I decide to do a Google search on Naltrexone.
Apparently, it’s primarily used to curb drug addiction!
So, Mr. Pharmacy probably thinks I’m city crack addict now.
Other than that, I’m 50!
On the Market or Not So Much?
Still off the market but getting ready to get set to be open to putting myself back out there but just not quite yet please don’t ask.
I’m thinking November 18th. Or 19th. Maybe. We’ll see. Don’t mark your calendar.
So, that’s all I’ve got today.
Just a tidbit on ta-tas, tamales, gut bugs and turning 50.
What have we re-learned?
- Leaks happen, at least it’s no longer my bladder. (Oh, did I forget to mention that?)
- My ta-ta’s are not what they once were, but they’re as good once as they ever were. (I like that alliteration. Also, I’m really ok with my ta-ta’s, I swear.)
- 50 is the new 30. (Because I said so.)
Not today, folks, it’s my birthday and I’ll play hooky if I want to. (Ok, that’s a fib, I worked all day. Doh! Also, technically my birthday has now passed, but I did write this on May 24th so it counts.)
p.s. Sorry, Good Karens of the world.