Is this what getting old feels like?

Something's wrong. Something's definitely wrong.

I'm not sure if my maternal instincts are slowly kicking in or if I'm getting old.

Maybe I'm dying?

I've noticed some definite....uncharacteristic changes in myself lately. Which, I suppose, may be good.

Ish.

Never in my life, would I EVER think that I would be the girl in the bread isle whom it takes 13 minutes to pick out one loaf of damn bread. This happened. You see, my husband has the palate of a 3 year old and only wants white bread for his lunches. Garbage. White bread? Seriously? The name "Wonder bread" is very true to suit. I wonder why the hell people eat it. It has no nutritional value whatsoever. You can mold it like play dough for Christ sakes! Then there's those people who sit and pick at it, rolling it into little balls and then eat them. Do you know what I'm talking about? It's like... Dude, If you have to ROLL your bread into BALLS so that you're actually biting into substance rather than poofy, floury air... PICK A DIFFERENT BREAD. One you don't have to ball-up just to sink your teeth into. My god.

Ew.

I digress.


So, There I am in the bread isle, Scouring each individual loafs back side to read the nutritional contents, just trying to discover ONE MOTHER F-ING GRAM OF FIBER per serving, and it suddenly became clear to me that I must look batshit bonkers.

Really though? Have you ever tried to find fiber in white bread?

Exhausting I tell you.


Next on my shopping list was bologna. Yes, Husband wants bologna sandwiches for his lunches. So there I was, balls deep in processed meat, again, checking the nutritional contents of the back.
Simply READING the back of the Bologna package made one of my arteries clog. The best thing, nutritionally speaking, I could find was turkey bologna, So I threw that into the cart, (as it bounced around like a lunch meat bouncy ball) hoping husband wouldn't notice it was slightly healthier than the traditional "lips, tits and assholes" bologna.


Suddenly I'm the person that's concerned with building strong bones and avoiding osteoporosis at all costs. I'm the person trying to hide spinach in my husbands bologna, cheese and mayo sandwiches because I read somewhere that leafy greens help protect against prostate cancer. Why the fuck do I care? I don't have a prostate!


I'm the wife using reverse psychology on my counterpart to try to get that bastard to eat some god damn vegetables! Seriously. I'm up at 7am PEELING an ORANGE to put in husbands lunch box because the odds of him eating an orange are WAY higher if it's pealed for him.


Would it be frowned upon to start crushing multivitamins into powder and sneaking them into his Mt. Dew that he drinks for breakfast? I would feel so underhanded and dirty, but dirty can be hot too, Right?


The other morning I practically forced him to take a banana. However the only way I could do it was with a bribe. "If you eat this banana, I'll pack you two cookies!"


OH, and guess where the cookies came from!? Husband works 2 blocks away from Lofthouse. I'm sending him out with lunches that one day will save his BALLS and he's bringing back fucking lofthouse!



Sigh. I can't win.



I'm not entirely sure why I give a shit though. I'm not sure when or why all of this happened. When did I become concerned with eating shloads of protein and vegis instead of a cold 6 pack and easy cheese for dinner?



Last night at dinner I ordered one beer. ONE. One 12 ounce beer. PLUS A WATER.



And you wanna know what? The water was gone WAY before the beer! I feel like I'm having an identity crisis. Who am I? What's happening to me?



Lately beer hasn't been turning me on. Liquor either. I really could just... go without. Those of you who know me probably just fell off your chair. I realize the severity of this statement and no, this is not a joke. I'm dead serious.


Another thing. I'm actually... liking sex. I mean, It's nothing so super awesome that I'd give my right leg for, Or my reality smut shows on MTV, Or my secret hiding place that I stash junior mints. But, It's definitely do-able. (No pun intended) Plus, who'd wanna fuck a one legged gal anyway?



I know, right?



Certainly no offense if by the very off chance you're a follower of this blog and indeed, only have one leg. I'm sure you're very fuckable. Calm yourself.



ANYWAY

So THEN something else happened.

The other night I just felt...blah. I need a change. Not in 2.6 weeks. Not tomorrow.

Now.

SO.

I went to Smiths.

I bought hair dye in a fucking BOX. (Against everything I've ever known)

I went home and gleefully dumped an entire box of black, feria hair dye on my head.
(And my ears, forearms, face, wall, vanity mirror, drawer, trash can, one running shoe, the blinds and my cat)

This is highly out of the ordinary for me.

It definitely taught me a new found appreciation for my hair goddess, Tiffy. She's amazing. She's been with me through thick and thin. The day we met and I had to explain to her that she needed to be careful around the lower, right side surface area of my skull because I had recently been in a terrible golf cart accident and had completely fractured my skull and it was still really gooshy back there, but I still wanted to be hot... and she DIDN'T run away... I knew that she was a keeper.

I just don't understand what's happening to me. I'm becoming more concerned with getting my 8 hours of sleep each night, rather than getting hopped up on booze and Nintendo. I'm making PROTEIN and WHOLE GRAIN a priority? Really? And SOBER SEX!? It might as well be the apocalypse.

Am I getting old? Am I maturing? Is this my body's way of letting me know that I'm not a completely irresponsible fuck, and I'd actually be an OK mother one day?

Personally, I don't like any of my options.

However, Lately, I've felt really great.

This is what life must be like with no hangovers.