Electric haired chick
One day it hits you; you are truly middle aged, and rapidly getting older. But you can’t be you think, you’re a baby boomer. You’re vital, you’re healthy, you’re funny, you have disposal income or income you dispose of anyway.
You don’t have to put a kid through college; only save enough for you. Problem is you like to spend money. You do believe that living well is the best revenge, but you are saved from being put into the museum of conspicous spending by helping people when they’re having a tough time without being asked.
You realize all the absurdities and rationales in your thinking. Face it you’re a middle aged single childless woman who in a Barbara Pym novel would be wearing cardigans, wool skirts, wool stockings or something that they darned themselves. You’re a goddamned spinister; though you are divorced so probably technically not.
Darning socks or sewing anything is something that you have never attempted as you failed sewing in Seventh Grade even with your mother’s help.
Your mother had hated to sew because her mother made all her clothes. You thought that she should have hated to cook but she loved it, and assigned you and your sister to permanent salad detail. You have to admit that you make the best salads anywhere.
It’s just that ten years ago they made fun of baby boomers in a VW Bug commercial. Okay they always make fun of baby boomers; everything is blamed on baby boomers.
When you were 30 everybody was getting married or remarried; you were living with Zachary and wouldn’t keep knives in the house for fear that you would use it on him.
You think about this as your friend Nick comes over. He’s dressed in a fitted exaggerated pin strip suit and looks very good, with his short hair slicked back. A man’s hair has always been very important to you. You freely admit to being shallow when it comes to men which is why you really don’t trust yourself with one.
He manages a good restaurant in the neighborhood and is young enough to be your son. Actually he manages the restaurant for his Uncle Albert who was your friend years before you met Nick.
Albert’s gene pool is half Irish half Italian; he would have been good breeding material for the baby you never had. It would probably be better if he were half Greek half Italian as you’re half Irish by birth and think it’s great to mix the gene pool up. You just heard today from your half Turkish, Half East Indian friend, Jasmin. She is no longer working in Katmandu; but in New Dehli, as Director of another UN agency. She and Per had the most handsome, intelligent sons.
You and Jasmin often talked about how mutts made the most intelligent people as you partied the night away. She was the biggest pary animal you ever knew and that’s saying something. The Cambridge years were pure fun. When you think of them now, there were so many more hours in the day. You could work full time, go to school full time, actually study and go out at least five nights a week.
Once at Zeldas, a disco in Boston, some glitter from a hot sock became embedded in a blister that you got from your sandal becoming too tight as you danced the night away. Hot socks were great, but unlike boots you couldn’t keep your money, cigarettes and keys in them. Though some hotsocks were very thick and seemingly made to be a pocket book.
You ended up in the emergency room at Mass General several days later as you only had a gyn. For some reason the other women in the room all seemed to be prostitutes so when you explained that glitter from your hot sock had ended up in your toe and it was infected, you didn’t sound crazy. You had the same last name as a prominent surgeon at Mass General and for some reason all the nurses assumed that you were his daughter. You let them assume this as the prostitutes were talking your head off. Most of them knew you by sight as they and the transvestites seemed to be the only women who could afford the gowns in the store you worked on.
The store was on Boylston near Saks and on the other side The Public Gardens. It was a very easy commute from Harvard Square. You and Jasmin would laugh at the world known distinguished Harvard Professors, who were friends of her father, and would meet at the entrance to the Red Line to wait until ten AM when the subway fare went down to a dime. Was it only for senior citizens? You think not but can’t remember.
Yes during your glitter rock days you had a glitter hot sock emergency. You’re damn proud of it. And you won’t be eligible for senior citizen discounts for a long while, and damned if you’re going to look like you’re ready. After you finish your very extensive dental work, you’ll have your lip plumped. You don’t really need botox; even doctors tell you that. You’re perfect home micro dembrasion material, and you’ve been doing that forever. It just seemed right.
You haven’t seen your natural hair color in three decades; it’s something that you can’t believe you used to do for fun. Every shade of red known in the universe, and many that had never seen nature until they met your hair which had always been a force of nature. Now it’s brown with almost beige hilights. Suits you.
In your first college, almost everybody but you went to the same psychologist. The first time he saw you, he dubbed you “space chick with the electric hair.” Even at nineteen you knew there was something sleazy and not ethical about a psycholgist who discussed you with his patients, telling one what another had said. It all came back to you through the student body president and coffee house founder, who had a bad thing for you, and originated the conversation.
When you told your off again on again boyfriend or he who played a bazillion roles in your life about this several years ago he strongly disagreed with the “space chick” part. Funny, you had always found it funny because you know you can appear spacy. You both agreed “electric hair” was too perfect.
No you’re not going to go into older middle age gracefully. You’re going to be damn vain; it’s going to all be about you. You’ll make your mother’s ghost proud.
You’re a baby boomer which means that you both played by the rules and rewrote them. You can take care of yourself; you only need men for fun. And with that you look at Nick, smile, and ask what he wants to drink.
Put this in because I felt like writing it and then of course need an audience. Please don’t hate me if I don’t read blogs for a few days; please! Was a bit tipsy when I wrote it
ha ha
I just posted someting in regard to that.You can read it next week.
You don’t have to post comments in other people blogs for them to read yours.I comment in others blogs because i can’t stop. lol Have an excellent time off…hell take as long as you want or as long as you can stand.
sleazy psychologist…ewww
Funny you should mention it, but I was just talking with a friend the other day about how in college you could seem to work two jobs, go to school, and “hang out” with your friends for hours on end. And watch all your TV shows, and do all your errands, and….
Does time speed up or do we slow down as we grow older? Interesting question.
I have no idea why but this post reminded me of that Stevie Nicks/Fleetwood Mac song “Sweet Girl”. I guess whenever I think of a middle aged woman with no children and no husband who is still out there kicking ass, looking good and loving life I think of Stevie. She could’ve gone the normal route but instead “chose to dance across the stages of the world”. Not a bad life.
This story is full of flavor. Unbelievable about that psychologist. Variety, spicy.
Don’t you just hate it when people tell you to “act your age” or “you’re too old to wear that”? I plan to keep doing what I want for as long as I can. I’ll be 50 next mont and I’m just getting better.
I LOVE tipsy posts. they’re the best.
isn’t there a saying about age and knowing no age or was that love…
ive got a terribly flu and talking nonsense heh
And then came menopause…..a perfect time for glittery socks.
Sue RIchards
When you were 30 everybody was getting married or remarried; you were living with Zachary and wouldn’t keep knives in the house for fear that you would use it on him.
…………………………….
Why?
Great description of your characters. They are real to me as they were in your life and you can actually picture them as your words capture them heart and soul.
But, I am wondering if you are going to put them together in the book.
I believe you have enough classic romantic and nostalgic narrative posts to make a book of over 500 pages and good enough for next summer.
May be you have not noticed the fact that the way you described all the people you have mentioned so far showed how much you appreciated them beyond the face value.
I try to study each one from your words.
You are doing a lot for the preservation of the culture of NY in your chronicles. Because, people will read your diaries and learn a lot about the life in NY during the period recorded in your diaries.
Americans will love your book.
I wish you all the best.
I’m a boomer. When I was 30, I could stay up all hours of the day, but, 20 some years later, I don’t want to do that any more. Come to think of it, I don’t even have the hair I had back then.
I felt like I was reading a great book. I’m not yet thirty, and it really is great insight into the lives of the generation before mine. Thanks for posting it, glad you did it!
To me, with absolutely no insult meant, this is a pure example of unadulterated, core level, putrid self serving, selfishness.
Excellent writing, and excellent style, but the content… just made me sick for the lack of anything near a perception of purpose. Everything described showcased a “me only, and me first†mentality, totally devoid of a calling or devotion. Being satisfied with a life is not anything near being happy with YOUR life. We all have a purpose, and it usually has nothing to do with ourselves. This entire saga screams of everlasting retreat from that purpose, and a constant struggle to satiate the desire for self indulgence so prevalent in the “baby boomer†generation. It has become habit, and even chic to glorify the complete lack of drive and disconnectedness that have plagued the offspring of “The Greatest Generationâ€.
Again, please do not take anything I have said as a personal attack or a direct assault on anyone. I simply tired to express my initial reaction to the piece.
i’ve been thinking about the whole notion of time passing lately. i remember when i was a little kid and my parents would take me to parties they went to and put me to bed while they partied with their other young friends in the other room. now, we have parties sometimes and sometimes our friends bring their young kids and put them to bed in the other room.
ps- don’t bother visiting “G”’s site. This person has a post criticizing Hillary Clinton for being “friendly” to gay people.
It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so tragically bigoted.
Wonderful piece of writing, I laughed outloud at the glitter sock emergency
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G, your comment could have used some editing to not be personal. If you read Pia enough there’s a lot of purpose but also personality. I think there are plenty of manifestos around.
Lisa: If you want to keep people from my site, I really do ask that you not use fictional accounts or skewed views of a post to do it. That post didnt make fun of Hillary for being nice to gay people. It made fun of Hillary for jumping back and forth as she gears up for the Presidential election. Once minute, she is in India, saying how she understands the outsourcing of jobs, the next she is in Anwar crying about the horror it would be to drill there.
Then she is supporting the war on terror, but quickly going back over and doing something to look friendly to the gay community.
It isnt any one of the acts that are funny, it the combination. I know you probably went to my site, then looked for that “One” you could use as a quick weapon… but please, my opinions are plenty open for attack without you twisting the meaning around to fit your purposes.
Doug, I agree with you. I emailed Pia back (she emailed me essentially the same thing), and expressed that my intention was not to attack her, but the post. I have carried this over to her new post, reguarding my comment.