This Is 40

I have been talking to Jim aka the Ghetto Genius (fight me, I fucking dare you, you bald Guamaican bitch. I will smack you with my Louis Vuitton hard shell purse and walk all over you in my shoes from the kids section at Target) about my impending 40th, because his always one-upping ass had to do it in April, a whole 7 months before me. Bitch.

It all started with his meow-meowing about a year ago, when we were in New Orleans for her Birthday (I know what I did there); we all went out draaaaaaaannnnnnnking and were lot hungover one day and needed food desperately, but the NorCal peeps were concerned because it had been raining all.damn.day. Widdle GG couldn't go outside in all the scary rain or he was gonna melt his widdle jamocha self into a pool of coffee ice cream. My Floridian ass had to keep explaining to them that A) this was a sprinkling. This wasn't even real rain. This wasn't the sideways, windshield pounding, you gonna be a bitch and pull over cus you can't see, almost CAT 1 Hurricane rain, that we get for basically 7 months out of the year. B) it wasn't stopping and if someone didn't feed me soon it was going to get real Lord Of The Flies-ish up in that AirBnB. Thankfully, no one wants to see a hangry H-Bomb, and we went around the corner to get food. I didn't even wear a rain coat or bring an umbrella, cus like I said, this wasn't even rain. R-Kelly would  have been really pissed with the lack of liquid coming out of the sky.

This was the foreshadowing of what I knew was to come. And lemme tell you, this motherfucker always got something going on. At this point, he's held together like Pickle Rick. But not as cool as Pickle Rick. However, I should have shut my whore mouth a year ago, because now that I am less than 4 months from 40, I see what this fool was talking about. Am I sorry I made fun of him? FUCK NO. He's still a bitch. But, now I may have an ounce of empathy. Here's why...

For years, I have always been the friend who is hot. Not hot like, damn, she's a 10. Hot like, "why the fuck would someone turn the AC to anything above 74?" It had become somewhat of a joke with my friends that I was always hot, I would have thermostat wars with the people at work, and when people would come into my office they would take pleasure in telling me how freezing it was, to which I would reply, "I keep the bitch cave arctic to keep dumb people from feeling the need to spend more time than necessary in my office." It worked like a fucking charm. Still can't figure out why they let me go in May, though. Just kidding, I know why. I am a grade-A Cunt. I have made peace with that.

All of this, "It's getting Hot in Herrrrrre" in my life did make me wonder. When I went to have my annual inspection of my undercarriage, I asked if this was the sweet relief from all the agony of womanhood that I had been dealing with for the last 28 years? The NP looked at me with a small grin and asked if I had been getting night sweats (yep), changes in cycle (yep) and all the other normal indicators. Then she fucking broke my heart. She said I was PERImenopausal and this could last 10 years before ACTUAL menopause kicked in. What in the actual fuck? All the visions I had in my head of raw dogging with the Silver Fox Fuckboy (more on that to come) were zapped away and replaced with, "I still gotta deal with this for maybe 20 more years?" If you have not seen a late 30s woman plead for permanent birth control, let me tell you, it ain't pretty. Oh, and since I have never spawned a tiny tax deduction, I can't get permanent birth control (also another story for another time). So, I dragged my sad ass out of the doctor, filled my prescription for birth control, and swallowed my little pill of sadness. Not before shouting, "Thanks OBAMA," when I didn't have to pay a copay.  I thought it was gonna be easy, take this pill, you will be ok; my body said, "fuck you boo" and decided that after almost 30 years of the same PMS it was going to switch it up. Now I get PMS when I ovulate, not with my cycle, and this ain't ya moms PMS, this is crying over everything, MOOD SWINGS like whoa, and pain that makes me want to punch the baby I never had, just for being the egg that dropped. Fuck outta my uterus you little freeloading shit.

If this weren't enough, a few weeks ago I went to the doc again, because I wasn't feeling right and the doc looked at me with that face that you never want to see at the doctor's and didn't speak for a second and then said with a voice full of concern, "are you under a lot of stress," to which I replied that I have had a lot of life changes, to keep it light and get her the fuck on with what she had to tell me. She then told me that I had high blood pressure, but she was more concerned because my BP is usually so low that they take it a few times to get a better read. She took it again, and it was still high. So high I almost had to go to the ER because it was that high.  She gave me several lectures and now I have to take blood pressure meds, cut back on alcohol (you're welcome liver), and follow a low sodium, low calorie diet, like a goddamn geriatric. For anyone keeping score, that is two major systems that are shot out like a crack whore on payday.

The worst though came last week. I got a cold. A normal, run of the mill, sore throat, stuffy nose kind of thing I would typically attribute to a weekend of shitty blow and shittier decisions, but alas, I don't live that life anymore. Le Sigh. So I take a day off of work to recover and in my fevered state I make the decision to do something I have not done in 25 years. I missed a Dave Matthews concert. That I had free tickets to. In the pit. With all my favorite people. Because the thought of standing in the heat, feeling like the bag of smashed assholes that I looked like, and not being close enough proximity to my bed to crawl into at anytime was not something I was into. Just 3 years ago I left work, slept for a couple of hours, gotten on a 5am flight to Niagara Falls, saw Dave Matthews Band,  flew back out at 6am and went straight to work from the airport. I was a concert beast. I have camped for a festival in Napa, braved the heat of Jacksonville in April (with strep throat) for another festival, but this time my damn near 40 year old body covered me in "nopes" and put my whiny bitch ass to sleep for 3 days.

Again, do I feel bad for constantly telling GGJim that he is a bitch? No, because he is. Is he allowed to call me a bitch for this? Also, no. But, am I feeling a little This is 40 Shame for being a bitch? yes.



This bitch...SMH.

Everyone, let's switch gears to my side of things. Yes, it is your boy, GG. J-Wunder. The Bomb From Guam.

All I heard from our girl H-Bomb was, "Blah, blah, blah...my vagina. J-Wun is gay. My vagina...blah, blah, blah...Dave Matthews gets me wet. Blah, blah...blah, blah, fucking blah." You're welcome.

As some of you may or may not know, I turned 40 in April. Let me tell you something.

Life has took a turn, y'all. Here's a list to not only entertain you, but to enlighten the fuck out of you.

1. Spicy foods: Yeah, not anymore, amigo. Say hello to the ring of fire...times a thousand. I love the hot shit. Always have. Now when I eat anything with a kick, my butthole kicks back. In a BIG way. Remember those dragons in the Game of Thrones? Imagine that, but in your asshole. When I eat spicy, it's a 2 day game of Game of Anuses.

2. Drinking: I can't believe I'm saying this but my hangovers went from non-existent in my 20's, to "it hurts a little bit" in my 30's and now...now, I cry in the shower, while holding myself every so gently. As if I was a little lost fucking fawn, trying to find my mom, shitting my pants at every noise I hear as I walk in the scary dark forrest. What in the actual fuck, people. Not saying I'm a complete pussy, BUT, these hangovers have changed me. For the better? Fuck no. I still will drink til I pee a little in my pants. I will beat this!!!!

3. People: Now I understand the older you get, the more you distance yourself from people. Because you fucking hate them. And it's not just me...it's like everyone who gets older. I used to love millions of people. Now, I love like 10 people. I swear, the next time I have someone walk in front of me at a snails pace, I'm throwing them onto oncoming traffic. Don't hate the player, hate the age.

4. Sleep: As in, I thought I didn't get any before I turned 40...now, why the fuck do I even close my goddamn eyes. The statement will forever hold true - I'LL SLEEP WHEN I'M DEAD. Bc at this fucking rate, I'll be dead in 5 fucking years.

5. Irritability: I'm typically not an irritable person. I hit 40, then EVERY GODDAMN THING ANNOYS THE SHIT OUT OF ME. Hell, I annoy myself. How the fuck does that even work?! I take a shit. I'm annoyed. I'm eating a delicious meal. You guessed it...ANNOYED. Having sex? An...al. Gotem!!!!!

6. Appearance: God blessed me with such good looks. Then, I turned 40. Salt and pepper is looking more like, homeless and confused. Oh, and good thing I keep my head shaved bc apparently, I'm going bald on top of my head. With a little bit of hair growth, my shit looks like a monkey's ass. Only thing going for me is this dad bod though. Praise Jesus the Gardener.

7. Immune System: I get sick maybe once a year...and that's not even from some chicks vagina. This is like legit shit. This year, got the flu. Two weeks later, strep throat and a sinus infection. Bruh, is this what it feels like before you die...or when you are actually fucking dying?!

8. Sexual Drive: Still got it so calm the fuck down, people. Giddyup, bitches!

9. Tastes in things: With age, comes better tastes. Bar tabs are higher. Dinners are...Jesus, why the fuck do I even go out when there's food at home?! I'm broke is what I'm saying, y'all. I'm fucking broke.

10. No fucks given: Y'all know I don't give a fuck. But at 40, my fucks are in the negative. I have over 2 trillion negative fucks that even if I gave a fuck, I still don't give a fuck.

40 has taught me things that I would have never learned at any other age. Then again, I'm probably fucking lying bc next week, I'll probably say that I learned some bullshit at "X" age and would have never learned it at 40. Which is another point...getting this old, you can't remember what the fuck you said or did bc shit is always fucked up. Wait...seems like that's been my life this whole time.