I think the reason that people don’t go into a lot of detail on why getting older sucks is that they get a masochistic pleasure in watching you make very painful mistakes that would be nothing more than a blip to a younger person.
Sleeping in an odd position is a good example. As a young man, I could have slept in a glove box with nary a crick in my neck. These days if I sleep a mere 2 degrees out of my normal position, my shoulder literally explodes in a shower of blood, pain and ligaments.
But the most frequent occurrence of oldness is associated with food and drink. The simple grilled cheese sandwich comfort food of old becomes a ticking time-bomb, ready to accelerate to hyper-speed through and beyond your colon. Your vocabulary suddenly acquires phrases such as ‘heartburn’ and ‘gastric reflux’ and ‘that goes right through me’.
That brings us to alcohol. Sure, in the past you could swill Pepe Lopez tequila or vodka from a plastic bottle, but those days are GONE – much like your low bodyfat level and the hair above your temples.
This past Friday the Super Fun Patrol convened in picturesque Kirkwood, MO for the annual exchanging of weapons and consuming of large quantities of alcohol that is known as Super Fun Christmas. We thought we knew what we were doing. We are Manly Men of Manhood™ – we should be able to drink tequila and whiskey with no repercussions beyond a next-day hangover.
We were wrong.
It was a fun time giving and receiving knives and crossbows, counting how long it would take to discover some weird dude masturbating on Chatroulette (5 seconds) and drinking beers of the world. And after the show was finished, we retired to the kitchen to eat some pizza (with cheese – we were already tempting fate, why not go for the gold?) and relax.
But soon, Paul had disappeared – crawling into his bed to hide from the demons that were now penetrating his stomach and head.
Pecos Bill clapped his hands together and was gone like Kaiser Soze.
Sag was chauffeured away and I made my farewells.
I felt fine.
But fine turned into a personal hell on the ride home.
Nausea? Check. Churning stomach? Check. Vertigo? Check.
I spent the next 30 hours forcefully expelling anything that had been in, tried to enter or even had the idea of passing my lips. So believing that life is better than death, I went to the ER and I can tell you it was awesome! Nothing like hanging your head in a medical bucket for nearly four hours and vomiting in the waiting room.
Not even your birthday.
Eventually they crammed a needle into my vein and pumped me full of saline and drugs and sent me home.
The moral of this story is that Cuervo + Fireball Whiskey is a bad idea. It’s especially bad if your age no longer starts with a 2.
* Paul Alamo was also this sick – but recovered on his own Saturday afternoon.
* Sag was perfectly fine. He is a mutant.