I was looking in the mirror this evening at my late-mid-twenties self and thinking, “bah, I’m walking that fine line where nature points and laughs and lets the shit really fly.” So here I am, bordering my 30s, and noticing a little that I no longer really look 24. Sad news. I’m not saying I look like ass or anything (I still give that another 10 months.)

But bleh — ya know, as you get older, your shit doesn’t quite work like it used to. Things start falling and falling out — hair thins and recedes — teeth freak the fuck out and do whatever the hell the want — your body starts making weird sounds and smells … and then the osteoporosis sets in, hips need replacing, and you start smelling like little old women or baby powder (which i never understood — but whatever).

So I’m looking in the mirror at my occasional gray hair and disappointing hairline, my skin that definitely needs a good exfoliant taken to it, my sad little teeth …

BUT — I’ve started a whole new regime and I’m going to be one hot fucker. I’ve started bleaching my teeth, and I’m getting the nastiness of my top teeth fixed on THURSDAY. I can’t wait. I haven’t smiled in years because of the forbidding shame of sadness.

Now all I need are some hair plugs, a good date with madame microdermabrasion, and some hot tight underwear to keep my ass in place and we’ll be just as good as 24.