Browsing Tag

aging

old dog new tricks
Bitch’in Life, My Bitches

How to Teach an Old Dog New Tricks

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“Aging is not lost youth but a new stage of opportunity and growth.” ~ Betty Friedan

“I look forward to being older, when what you look like becomes less and less an issue and what you are is the point.” ~ Susan Sarandon

“Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art.” ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

I dug up these affirming quotes from some badass bitches to give my own bitch some strength this week.

And by my own bitch, I am being literal here: my 10-year-old dog is finally showing sure signs that she’s slowing down.

Perhaps it takes an aging bitch to know an aging bitch, but I first notice the shift months ago, when in a moment of extreme bonding where I was lovingly staring into her eyes, I noticed a touch of cloudiness.

That I had to put on my readers to check I wasn’t seeing things was beside the point.

Or maybe that was the whole point.

I’d already noted how much white was now peppering her ginger fur, and had actually Googled “pet dye” just in case she wanted to maintain a youthful pelt as I do. I could see that I’d have even more fun as a blonde if my best friend went for matching highlights. read more

Bitch’in Life, Pop Culture

How to Age Like A Rock Star

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“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” ~ Henri L. Bergson

I don’t know about you, but I avoid activities that make me feel old. Hanging out in clubs (or even hipster bars), group exercise classes where the median age is half of mine, or leaving the house with my grays showing, for example.

So it was with more than a little trepidation that I bought tickets to go see Sting, my original rock star crush.

Revisiting bands I loved back in the ’80s and ’90s is always a land mine of potential elder explosions. A couple of years ago I went to see ABC and Belinda Carlisle of The Go-Go’s fame on a double bill. Sadly, the poison arrow ABC shot at my heart was laced with Metamucil, and Belinda’s get up and go-go had got up and went-went.

Our arrival at the venue did nothing to alleviate my concerns. In a sea of aging hippies and gray-haired hipsters, I mounted the gigantic, winding steps in the outdoor amphitheater, winded after the first steep incline and wishing I had one of those electric chairs that attach to staircase railings that would whisk me up to my nosebleed seats. read more