Tag Archives: mom

The New 40?

15 Feb

Dudes. 

…I’m outting my Mom. Today, she turned 60. And it’s really wierd. 

…Not because Mom is 60 necessarily, but that 60 isn’t remotely what it used to be -but our brains just can’t help going there in picture-processing. 

My Gram, at 60, looked not only exactly like a Gram, but also, every bit of 60. It wasn’t a crime then, to be that age, for one thing. And it wasn’t a crime to look it. 

Life had kinda kicked that whole generation in the ass…when you think about it…from being born in the Depression, to two back-to-back wars, raising a shit-ton of children in the Donna Reed years,  through sexual revolutions, civil unrest, a bunch of assassinations, forever chain-smoking cocktail parties, and then watching their kids deal with everything from Vietnam to sex, drugs, and rock and roll. 

…No wonder they looked every second their age (and sometimes, even more.) 

But Mom’s generation…the ones that survived Vietnam and drugs and AIDS and free-love fall-out… they sorta flipped this switch on the aging rules, which will never flip back again. All of a sudden, they were thrown into 80’s fitness kicks and people started divorcing themselves from butter sauces and “cholesterol ” became this whole thing…as did the magnification of youth-creams and serums and face-lifts…which my generation picked up and fueled even more. 

A state of social consciousness on the necessity to never grow older became this “thing.” A mother literally looking young enough to be their own daughter became some wack kind of goal in life…screwing with every time-table and half of the faces in Hollywood. 

(Blinking should never be a kegel exercise…but that’s just my opinion.)

…Mostly, the worrisome thing is that what was hidden under the “health” mantra, seemed to at the same time shame any woman who looked like she belonged or could claim her current decade on earth, any time at all after 20.

…Which super sucks. Not only for the woman in question, but the generations who follow her…thinking that these are (and must be)  the rules. Which gets into this whole political bent, I’m not even gonna get into right now. 

…But what I guess I’m saying is that:

My Mom turned 60 today. And she is a survivor of a lot of shit and a succeeder through even more, and I think that instead of hiding that fact, and this day– instead of masking or down-playing it…instead of pretending it’s less time, with less work, or less reason to shout that shit from the damn rooftops–one ought to embrace the flying fuck out of it! 

So: Happy Six Decades of planet-life, and the winning of every single day that got you here! Be proud of it,  Mama! 

Cuz, sure am! 

Love, 

~Your Kid

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Genetic Lotto Wins Of Talent & Beauty

1 Oct

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You know how every once in a while you see a print ad or a commercial or are watching a movie and a person is standing before you with just unconscionable beauty, and you think, “My god, that just cannot be real. No actual person can possibly be that ridiculously beautiful?!”

…And you know how then, you really have to acknowledge the fact that, yes, these people actually DO exist, if for nothing else than to fuck with the normal human laws of averages?  Like you HAVE to have the highest heights of esthetic perfection, and you have to have the lowest lows…because that’s just how you have a ruler on which to gauge things.  And most people fall somewhere in the middle.  And that’s better than being at the bottom.  Unless you really think about the dilemma of “relations.”

…Not “sex” mind you, but ACTUAL “relations”…of the blood variety.

For instance: No matter how “pleasant” the fraternal twin sister of Isabella Rossellini might look, tell me it didn’t TOTALLY  blow the big one, with “Ms. Lancome” growing up right beside you.  Not that she isn’t brilliant…a professor for one…a noble profession, yes…but her mother was a fucking gorgeous freak of modeling and acting talent, her father helped reinvent Italian cinema, and her twin sister’s face is plastered on every major magazine from Vogue to Harpers, across like four decades.  So yeahThat didn’t suck.

…Its like that, you see, with my own sister.  (Minus the Doctoral degree.)

She’s but a “half,” (different Mothers, ironically both of Irish descent)…though both of us very clearly take after our Father in looks…and she very clearly, managed to get the fucking genetic Lotto on every level outta the deal.  How can this be? And where is the fairness in that?  When you put our pictures next to one another, you can tell we’re “related”…only she’s in sharp focus, with fine lines and perfect teeth, a beautiful figure (even after two babies), and model print portfolios, with musical talent comin’ outta absolutely every pore.  She prob’ly even shits rainbows. 

My photos look like a person who hasn’t quite finished cooking yet.  They are all sorta bulgy, with extra chins, and not great noses, who has no “good side,” has never…in the HISTORY OF LIFE…taken a good picture, (yet, bless the theatre, I’ve been airbrushed and Photoshop’d with religious fervor to ATTEMPT it); and at the BEST of times, could be said is a “decent character actor,” who can write and sing “a little.”

This topic all comes, by the way, in due part to the latest photo-sitting of the sister I barely know, and her family…newly posted on FB, all of which look like they just came out of a GAP ad.

…I’ve never spoken to her husband in my life, (whom I am told, is a lovely man), nor my niece and nephew, (the former, an absolutely eery carbon copy of her mother)…and only to my sister herself, maybe twice since my own High School graduation.  (We are not close…due to circumstances of our childhood, not any ill will.)  And yet even having NOT been raised in the bedroom beside this beauty queen all my life, I still shake my fist at the fairness factor involved here.  Not that I would take it away…I’d just like to have gotten perhaps a bit more of the “fabulousness cocktail,” that was clearly for the taking, genetically speaking…when it was MY turn.  After all, I DID come first!

…It’d be nice to have a “profile” and not a “potato” (for instance.)  I could use a little less of the “Latina” in the ass department, thank you.  Would it have really fucked fate to have gained another inch in height or relocated a couple pounds into my bra?  And the weight distribution?  Even when I’m small, it still falls in all the wrong places than it should, by just plain common sense and physics.

…Which is all to say: The new family photos are ridiculously adorable, enchanting, and beautiful.  She married a hottie, and BOTH her kids managed to also cash in on the genetic Royalty line.  And I’m proud to say, “These people are my family!”  But at the same time?  It’s gotta be stated:

“Average sisters of the world, of print-art-freak-beauties: I feel your pain, all!  And this one’s for you.”

(toast.)

~D

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