Remember When? - Laughs
George Carlin's Views on Aging
The Ticket
Sharing
Class Reunion of a 67 Year "Old" Lady
George Carlin's Views on Aging
Do you realize that the only time in
our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than
10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions. "How
old are you?" "I'm four and a half!" You're
never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's
the key!!
You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You
jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.
"How old are you?" "I'm
gonna be 16!" You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16! And then
the greatest day of your life . . . you BECOME 21. Even the words sound
like a ceremony. YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!!
But then you turn 30. Oooohh,
what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to
throw him out. There's no fun now, you're just a sour-dumpling. What's
wrong? What's changed?
You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING
40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it,
you REACH 50 and your dreams are gone.
But wait!!! You MAKE IT to 60.
You didn't think you would!
So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH
50 and MAKE IT to 60.
You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70!
After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!
You get into your
80s and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30 ; you
REACH bedtime and it doesn't end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; "I
Was JUST 92."
Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over
100, you become a little kid again. "I'm 100 and a half!"
May
you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!
HOW TO STAY YOUNG
1. Throw
out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight and height. Let the
doctors worry about them. That is why you pay "them."
2. Keep
only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.
3. Keep learning.
Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever. Never let the
brain idle. "An idle mind is the devil's workshop." And the
devil's name is Alzheimer's.
4. Enjoy the simple things.
5. Laugh often,
long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.
6. The tears happen.
Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person, who is with us our entire
life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.
7. Surround yourself
with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants,
hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge.
8. Cherish your health :
If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond
what you can improve, get help.
9 Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip
to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country but NOT to where
the guilt is.
10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every
opportunity.
AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:
Life is not measured by the number
of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
And
if you don't send this to at least 8 people - who cares? But do share this
with someone. We all need to live life to its fullest each day!!
The Ticket
Working people frequently ask retired people what they do to make their
days interesting. Well, for example, the other day I went downtown and
went into a shop. I was only in there for about 5 minutes and when I came
out and there was a cop writing out a parking ticket. I went up to him
and said, "Come on, man, how about giving a retired person a break?"
He ignored me and continued writing the ticket. I called him a "Nazi." He glared at me and started writing another ticket for having worn tires. So I called him a "doughnut eating Gestapo." He finished the second ticket and put it on the windshield with the first. Then he started writing a third ticket. This went on for about 20 minutes.
The more I abused him, the more tickets he wrote. Personally, I didn't care. I came downtown on the bus and the car that he was putting the tickets on was a car that had a bumper sticker that said... "I VOTED FOR BUSH!!!" I try to have a little fun each day now that I'm retired. It's important to my health.
Sharing
A little old couple walked slowly into a McDonalds one cold winter evening.
They looked out of place amid the young families and young couples eating
there that night. Some of the customers looked admiringly at them.
You could tell what the admirers were thinking. "Look, there is a couple who has been through a lot together, probably for 60 years or more!"
The little old man walked up to the cash register, placed his order with no hesitation and then paid for their meal. The couple took a table near the back wall and started taking food off of the tray. There was one hamburger, one order of French fries and one drink.
The little old man unwrapped the plain hamburger and carefully cut it in half. He placed one half in front of his wife. Then he carefully counted out the French fries, divided them in two piles and neatly placed one pile in front of his wife. He took a sip of the drink, and then his wife took a sip as the man began to eat his few bites.
Again, you could tell that the people around the old couple were thinking. "That poor old couple!"
As the man began to eat his French fries, one young man stood and came over to the old couples table. He politely offered to buy another meal. The old man replied that they were just fine, that they were used to sharing everything.
After awhile, the crowd noticed that the little old lady hadn't eaten a thing. She sat there watching her husband eat and occasionally sipped some of the drink. Again, the young man came over and begged them to let him buy them something to eat. This time, the lady spoke up and said no, that they were used to sharing.
As the little old man finished eating and was wiping his face neatly with a napkin, the young man could stand it no longer and asked again. After being politely refused again, he finally asked the little old lady, "Ma'am, why aren't you eating? You both said that you shared everything. What is it that you are waiting for?" She answered, "The teeth."
Class Reunion of a 67 Year "Old" Lady
I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would. I went on a starvation
diet the day before, knowing that all the extra weight would just melt
off in 24-hours, leaving me with my sleek, trim, high-school-girl body.
The last many years of careful cellulite collection would just be gone
with a snap of a finger. I knew if I didn't eat a morsel on Friday, that
I could probably fit into my senior formal on Saturday.
Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the garment bag, carried it lovingly downstairs, ran my hand over the fabric, and hung it on the door. I stripped naked, looked in the mirror, sighed, and thought, "Well, okay, maybe if I shift it all to the back..." bodies never have pockets where you need them. Bravely, I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it. I struggled, I twisted, turned, and pulled and I got the formal all the way up to my knees... before the zipper gave out. I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with those silver platform sandals again and dance the night away.
Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair. No way! Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner, I turned to Plan B: the black velvet caftan. I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased at the drug store: the scented shower gel; the body building and highlighting shampoo and conditioner, and the split-end killer and shine enhancer. Soon my hair would look like that girl's in the Pantene ads. Then the makeup -- the under eye "ain't no lines here" firming cream, the all-day face-lifting gravity-fighting moisturizer with wrinkle filler sprackle; the all day "kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this gloss will come off" lipstick, the bronzing face powder for that special glow... But first, the roll-on facial hair remover. I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.
OK - time to get ready... I jumped into the steaming shower, soaped, lathered, rinsed, shaved, tweezed, buffed, scrubbed, and scoured my body to a tingling pink. I plastered my freshly scrubbed face with the anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting, "your face will look like a baby's butt" face cream. I set my hair on the hot rollers. I felt wonderful. Ready to take on the world. Or in this instance, my underwear. With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body, I pulled out the black lace, tummy-tucking, cellulite-pushing, ham hock-rounding girdle, and the matching "lifting those bosoms like they're filled with helium" bra. I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began the plunge. I pulled, stretched, tugged, hiked, folded, tucked, twisted, shimmied, hopped, pushed, wiggled, snapped, shook, caterpillar crawled, and kicked. Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done. And it didn't look bad. So I rested. A well deserved rest, too. The girdle was on my body. Bounce a quarter off my behind? It was tighter than a trampoline. Can you say, "Rubber baby buggy bumper butt?"
Okay, so I had to take baby steps, and walk sideways, and I couldn't move from my butt cheeks to my knees. But, I was firm! Oh no... I had to go to the bathroom. And there wasn't a snap crotch. From now on, undies gotta have a snap crotch. I was ready to rip it open and re-stitch the crotch with Velcro, but the pain factor from past experiments was still fresh in my mind. I quickly side stepped to the bathroom. An hour later, I had answered nature's call and repeated the struggle into the girdle. I was ready for the bra and remembered what the sales lady said to do. I could see her glossed lips mouthing, "Do not fasten the bra in the front, and twist it around. Put the bra on the way it should be worn-straps over the shoulders. Then bend over and gently place both breasts inside the cups." Easy if you have four hands. But, with confidence, I put my arms into the holsters, bent over and pulled the bra down... but the boobs weren't cooperating. I'd no sooner tuck one in a cup, and while placing the other, the first would slip out. I needed a strategy. I bounced up and down a few times, tried to dribble them in with short bunny hops, but that didn't work. So, while bent over, I began rocking gently back and forth on my heel and toes and ! I set 'em to swinging. Finally, on the fourth swing, pause, and lift, I captured the gliding glands. Quickly fastening the back of the bra, I stood up for examination. Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror, turning front, and then sideways. I smiled, "Yes, Houston, we have lift up!" My breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage!
I was happy until I tried to look down. I had a chin-rest and I couldn't see my feet. I still had to put on my pantyhose, and shoes. Oh... why did I buy heels with buckles? Then I had to pee again. I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered pizza, and skipped the reunion.
