charlobo-a-go-go

Someone asked me over lunch today to reflect over my last year of life, year 38 to be exact, and I said, “I had a kid.” They all just nodded. Changes everything, that mewling (and in a good way) little person who loves nothing more than to be played with, fed turkey sticks, and throwing things all over the place. It’s all good. It really is. I could talk about being a mommy all day, but I’ll save that for later.

The good thing, and I’ll keep this real simple for youse, is that as long as I feel like I don’t look, feel, or smell old, then I’m in good shape. You know what I mean. As long as I can say, “I’m 39,” and have people glare at me and say, “NO SHIT!” then it’s cool.

So here’s a short list of how you maintain the goods:

1. Moisturize yo’self. I say this all the time. Face moisturizer. Skin moisturizer. Don’t get ashy, don’t get cracked, don’t get wrinkly. Invest in some good moisturizer, and easily enough, it doesn’t cost $$$$ to get that way.
2. Get some good genes. If you don’t have ‘em by now you’re screwed. Sorry dude.
3. Drink water. Obvs. If you need more help on this, there’s a faucet. It’s free. Stop buying water, nerds.
4. SPF is crucial. The only leather you should have should be your purse, shoes or belt. Not your cheeks.
5. Smile. Smile lines are better than frown lines.
6. Cheap easy facelift for pictures. Tilt your chin up instead of down for pics. Gets rid of that pelican pouch you have underneath.
7. 2nd cheap easy facelift for pictures. When someone counts up to 3, look down for 1 and 2, then on time for “3” look up and smile. I swear by this.
8. This is often not said, and maybe for a good reason, but I’m going to say it anyway: “Quit stressing over stupid )(*&*&%^$#.” Eliminate that which is causing you stress, and you’ll feel better.
9. Get some sleep. All nighters = tired face = “You’re 39? thought you were 42.” Ouch.
10. Growing up means you have to look your part. No one wants to be the old guy at the club, but nothing says old guy at the club like outdated fits. Think classic when it comes to your gear, not trendy. You’re 39. Not 29. And certainly not 19. You can still be new hotness if you keep your gear in good condition. But if you want to be old and busted, go for it. Keeps me lookin’ good. You don’t have to dress like grandma, but you can still look fly even if you’re OG.
11. Don’t be afraid of growing “old.” I’ve found that when people are afraid, and they fight it tooth and nail, that’s when folks get all crazy trying to do this and that, and often times it looks just awful. People are not idjits, they know when you’ve tried to photoshop your grill with some magic surgery/face paint/etc. Accept the lines, accept the texture, and you’ll be a happier person, really.
12. Finally, repeat after me, “I’m good where I am, I’m happy with what I’ve got, and the next 39 will be just fine.” Because it will be. If you let it be.

Okay. Off to do #3, #5, #9, and mos def, #12.

Char

7/28 Update:

13. Exercise. Get off your ass and walk around. Does wonders for the well-being, not to mention your ass.

I went to a wedding today; my cousin Mazie and her man Randy hooked it up for life. I like weddings, mostly because I know the hell of putting together a good event. Most of my grown life I’ve put together event after event after event. It just doesn’t stop, but truthfully, nothing makes me happier than seeing an event come together like that.

Seeing family is probably my favorite thing about weddings; people get older, kids become grown ups, and my peers all are more concerned about their kids getting some shut eye so they can get back to their drank. But I love it anyways. I do hate, however, those pithy remarks from Aunties and Uncles, usually Aunties, “Oh you’re so fat now.” *sigh* I guess it’s a Filipino trait: kindly tell the truth. But HIT ‘EM WITH THE TRUTH IN THE GUT. Even though you don’t mean to be mean. You’re just sayin’.

Cary and I are approaching our 5th year of wedded bliss *eye roll*. Just kidding. It’s certainly been a learning process for the both of us. We are now parents learning how to adjust to thinking, acting, and sleeping differently.

I’m going to leave off remembering the day we got married, five years ago. It was exhausting, and a deliciously exhausting day at that. I feel like it was just yesterday, the smiling faces, the singing of songs (we made the tables sing songs), and the laughter. That was my favorite part. Just laughing the day away with my love, my family, and my friends. Wish you were there.

Char

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to stop what she’s doing and say, “Okay. It’s time. I’m done.” With those words, she picks up her things, whatever her things might be, pushes back from the table, and with one final glance, she walks away.

That table, her things, those could be anything. A dinner table, a work desk, a bed. Her books, her laptop, her nail polish. But it’s at that moment where she has the most power: her mind’s made up. Such a pregnant moment, it seems more appropriate to be heavy, laden with something, but in truth, it’s that point of separation that releases her from a burden. So lighter, it would seem, is a more appropriate choice.

Where am I going with all of this? Well, to those that know me, and there are few who know me well enough to understand this part of my life, I have blogged for almost 10 years (this will have been my tenth year) under a pseudonym, enjoying the ability to post with reckless abandon and joy about anyone, everything, and every place. And since then, there’s been a part of me that’s always wanted to be out and about, to live out loud, so to speak. It’s not that I wanted to hide behind something in order to write; those years of blogging were really about building a persona and being able to be a story teller with a perspective that few people saw.

It’s time, in essence, for me to be who I really am. Part of me exists still with who I used to be, and the other half continues on that forward progression, just fast enough that I don’t lose sight of my past, yet steady enough to keep on a trajectory to the next manifestation.

I don’t know what the future will hold, but I am moving towards it. I promise to write. I promise to share. I promise to be myself, and that alone is a powerful statement.

So this is it. I’ve pushed back from the table, so listen to my heels click clack down the hallway to the next destination.

Char