I hate aging or, “WHAT THE HELL’S A KEGEL?”


(This blog might seem like it’s for women only, but it’s not.  It’s about life, so don’t freak out, guys)

People who say they love to age, “Oh I love aging!” Or, “I think the aging process is brilliant!” Or, “I can’t wait to get older!” Those folks are either on the crack or just plain nuts.

How can anyone enjoy the annoying and uncomfortable physiological aspect of aging?  How?  What is so cool about celebrating a sagging, drooping pile of flesh spilling into one’s under pants, or bra, or that belly the hangs over the elastic of your panties with wisps of  hair dancing around one’s navel?  Ga-ross!

Now, I am not saying being human is not fun, it has it’s perks, WHEN YOU’RE IN YOUR TWENTIES!!!  When you’re young you don’t have to think about how your body changes when you age.  You just enjoy your body and move forward.  But, that’s only because the changes don’t show.  There are changes, but we don’t see them.

There is a point for this rant that should be geared towards a higher power since a higher power created this mess, however, seeing as how I have been a non-practicing Catholic for many years, I think for now I will direct my rant electronically.

Why-oh-why is it necessary for our bodies to physically break down?  Why can’t we simply age without the dramatic effects, the wrinkles, the sensitive bones, the loss of hearing and eye sight?  Better yet, why can’t our body and brains move at the same pace?  My brain is 51, but my body is 25 like the way I feel.  Right?  Well, then why can’t both my brain and body work together?  The emphasis being on my brain age, not my body age.  My body is aging rapidly, yet my brain is happy and safe and warm inside my  thick frontally-challenged cranium.  My body should also feel safe and warm, I mean good lord I don’t do drugs, I exercise.  My body should not physically bring me to a point where my doctors alert me to prepare for the changes like a war was fast approaching.   ~sigh~ Which brings the reason I brought this up the word, Kegel.

When a woman visits her OBGYN year after year it is the same droll…painful probing with the doctor shoving their  hands up to their elbows, it feels like, to check on our ovaries and bladder and such.  With all that twisting and wrenching a PAP felt more like the doctor’s up there doing macrame’ rather than examining me.

Over the years the PAP stays the same, but as women age and their bodies age the dialogue between doctor and patience changes.  When I was in my 20’s I heard, “see you in two years. “ Heard that until I was in my late 30s.  When I was in my mid 40s my OBGYN said something strange to me.

So, there she was up between my legs building a computer of whatever the hell, and suddenly I looked down at her face to see her furrowing her brows.  Not good. I asked,

“What’s the matter?”

With her hands up to her elbows inside my crotch, she said, “You might want to consider doing your Kegels.” Then she finished and motioned for me to sit up.

I had no idea what the hell a Kegel was, I mean I had biology in High School, but we never covered that aspect.  “A Kee-gul?”

“You know, the muscle…you contract and release, contract and release.  As you age…your body of course changes with gravity.  It’s a common practice and, well it’s a good thing to do.”

I walked out of the hospital and imagined I was a little older.  I had forgotten to do Kegels and had this conversation with someone in the street while holding my hand between my legs,

“Sorry, can’t talk now I have to clench up my vagi-wang or my insides will fall into the street!”

What a horrifying thing this aging process!   I now have to clench and release just to keep my insides from falling out?  That is just disgusting!  Why can’t they stay where they are?  If a woman has a baby what happens to her, does the Kegel exercise even work?  And what about men, do they have to do Kegels?  Or, maybe for them it’s about strapping their man mangos into a harness to keep them from swaying back and forth when they walk, knocking against their knees and possibly poking out a medium-size dog’s eyes when they walk sown the street. ~heavy sigh~

I truly hate how aggressive and deteriorating the aging process is.  I wish there was a better way to physically age. I wish my 25 year-old brain when it sees my bare dangling tits anxiously reaching for my knee caps like a three year-old reaches for his/her “blankie” it would not be so surprised.  Or, I wouldn’t mind it if my physical body ages so slowly that by the time my brain reaches 51 it had all caught up and adjusted.

For now I have no choice but to do my Kegel exercises for my vagi-wang, and my Pectoral exercises for my tits, and stand on my head once in a while to keep the blood flowing, and cardio exercises like walking for my heart, and use skin tighter creams and color the grey out of my hair and eye brows as often as I can.  I feel like I need a nap  after cleaning my apartment, or I get winded bending down to tie my shoes and when I get back up I see spots before my eyes. Phew!

Until I do accept the ravages of age and the fact that my metabolism is so slow my General Practitioner doctor told me the lump on my back was not cancer but back fat and that if I wanted to get rid of it I had to exercise…alot!  Until I melt into the earth faster than ice cream on a stove, I will fight for as long as I can.  And when you see an 80 year-old woman with one braid coming out of the side of her head walking down the street in Daisy dukes, go-go boots and a halter top with her tits looking like oranges in socks and swinging from side to side knocking into small children and motorized wheel chairs, and she’s smiling with a mouth full of dentures that look like oversized chiclets and bigger than her tiny face, don’t hate honey, congratulate!  I bet her 25 year-old brain thinks she is a DIVA!

Bye for now!  LDS


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