Not older, better bwahahahahaha

 I'm getting old. So are you, so STFU, this is not free-for-all, it's a sensitive, endearing self-examination that really suffers when I can hear you mocking me. As I was saying; I'm getting old. I'm pushing 40, in the sense that I will be 40 in just under 3 years. In the more real sense of people only having the ammunition that you hand them, I will start telling people I'm 40 in 5, maybe 8 years. Or sooner, I'm not really hung up on numbers, but damned if one thing isn't really chapping my ass (and affecting my vision). What brought on this little mini wahh wahh crybaby rant is that I have an eyebrow hair that is so long that it is bending down and getting stuck with the tip against my eyelid. Seriously, look.

 I was okay with gray hair on my head. I am starting to cultivate silvery winglets on the sides like Paulie Walnuts, although I first think of some comic book character from so long ago I don't know which comic or what sort of character he was, just that it looked kind of cool. Nick Fury? I was fine with white hairs popping up in my beard, I don't wear a mustache anymore anyway, and like most men, the goatee thing was a little played for me a few years before the gray came in anyway. I even talked myself into pretending that I was okay with the one gray hair that sprang up in the, um, carpet. (Since I've let that out I'll admit that I pulled it the other day, that was ... uncalled for.)

 Yeah, gray I'm over, but long, flowing eyebrows I'm just all incoherent and discombobulated by. You might can tell by the photo, (rather a difficult self-shot, and not one that I'm likely to employ a photog for); it's not the only one that is overgrown. I will be trimming them, I just have to, although I'm going to wait until tomorrow afternoon just in case I screw it up and need a couple of days to get someone to even them out, or maybe I'll shave them and start a trend. It's just something I never saw coming, even though I've been mocking people with stupid eyebrows my entire ... Oh, Karma, and just as "My Name is Earl" starts on the telly. Spooky.

 I, however, will not be one of those people that people like me mock behind their backs; "Can't he see that those things are going to catch a wind shear and throw him into traffic one of these days?" I will take a more studious look into the mirror in the mornings from now on, and tend to personal grooming that people might notice. Like big overgrown eyebrows that dwarves could live in. Or like the day last week that I missed shaving about a third of my face, I shit you not.

 That's the way this getting old crap compounds itself. You're getting old and stuff starts changing without notice, and this coincides with over 20 years of basically the same face looking back at you each morning. You don't really look at it with any real interest, no matter how handsome you think you are; you've seen it too many times before. You look up the nose as you turn off the trimmer, you look at the teeth and the tongue after you scrub them, look at the locks as you brush them into whatever wannabe Conan pomp you can manage, and then you turn off the light and get on your way. You're not exactly expecting anything new, in fact, that is the one good thing about your own face: predictability. Until this afternoon when I felt something crawling on my eye.


 Duty Freebie: Fun things continue to be offered and sopped up frequently over at  Gallery of the Absurd, so head on over and have a look. She (14) is offering some prints now, so maybe go buy yourself an Obsolete Tara print for over the good couch.


 Why can't I even type the word 'predictability' without the words 'the milkman, the paperboy, even TV' droning through my skull? Damn you Stefan Urqelle!!