Is turning 50 really that big a deal? It is to me. In another type of life, my friends would throw a huge surprise party for me, shower me with crazy gifts and toast to the next five decades. And in another type of life, I'd either have a husband or a secure boyfriend who would get down on his knee and open a box and ask me to ..... go with him to Opening Day at Fenway, two box seats being in the ring box in place of a ring. Hmmm. Ring or tickets to Opening Day. I am soooooooo at Fenway LOL screw the ring! Or of course there's the fantasy that this alleged secure long time boyfriend (if there was one) would somehow manage to propose to me during the seventh inning stretch.
I dream about that. I've dreamed about that happening all my life. Never even got remotely close.
It is too late? Does 50 label me done, dinosaur, or the many other adjectives that describe women of my age?
It's been decades since someone sent me a dozen flowers of any kind and it's not likely to happen on my 50th. My Mom god bless her calls me on my birthday and sings. My friends and FB friends will post the requisite Happy Birthday on my page. That's really cool seeing all those well-wishes.
But the flowers - damn. What can I see? I'm hopeless. I could send them to myself but that is just so far to the left of lame - nah, I'd never do that. I'm lame but not desperate LOL!
Just for the record, the down on one knee with tickets to opening day in a ring box was my dream long before Fever Pitch ever hit the screen.
You know what I did today? I took my son to the batting cage. And for one hour, every single problem disappeared. I was feeding the balls into the batting machine and talking to my son about his stance, about his feet, his elbow, his head, his hips (swing away) and the world was just right for one hour. I was in my comfort zone - I was enveloped in the one passion that always calms me down - baseball.
I should have married a ballplayer. Like Carlton Fisk. Or Bill Campbell LOL Yah, right as if they would have given me a second glance. I keep thinking about Dierdre Pujols. I keep wondering how she got so lucky.
I am so rambling tonight. Ate Mac & Cheese, a burger a pickle and a big glass of milk. Screw it. It's a crappy January night and I'm not making cake until Thursday.
That's another thing about being single and turning 50 and being me.
I have to make my own cake. My son picked it out - he had that look on his face like "I know Mom I know someone isn't going to do this for you so you have to do it yourself so I can eat it, too" - you know that look.
but the flowers, or lack thereof, may just crumble me. Who doesn't want to get flowers at their office or their home or on their front porch with a sappy card? I am the QUEEN of sap and I only know one guy in my entire life was just like me. Never met anyone after him (from 30 plus years ago) who matched me sap for sap.
Maybe I need a jake (firefighter) to rescue me. Maybe I need Steve Perry to sing to me on my 50th (Don't Stop Believing). Maybe I need Stephen King to tell me I won't end up in Salem's Lot.
Maybe Carlton Fisk will show up at my door and eat cake with me.
Maybe I'll wake up and feel absolutely the same as I do right now as 49 years winds to a close.
Five freakn' decades. Half a century.
Cougar my ass.
Where's my walker?
I'm such a dreamer.
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