Post #42
Off limits: Sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll
The Incident Report · Classification: Rock ’n’ Roll Casualty · Mission Status: Backstage Pass Revoked
I remember once upon a time life was uncomplicated and exciting. It was also when I was in my 20s, quite the cutie too. Things were a bit crazy, but which hot-blooded young Gen X-er-to-be wasn’t this way? I mean, our parents left us to our own fucking (literally sometimes) devices, so we learned independence and a kind of street savvy that would make Fagin proud. It’s also true that the big dose of trial and error made us learn fast. In the pre-social-anxiety days of today, I did manage to put the fun into dysFUNctional.
I modelled myself on Debbie Harry, Annie Lennox, Siouxsie Sioux and, on occasion, the eyeliner-enhanced Human League. I was deluded but enthusiastic. Music was my saviour, my ticket to freedom, a chance to let loose, and no gig was safe from me and my mad, bad girlfriends. We never knew it then, but we were witches in the making.
Turns out that now, thanks to perimenopause, I’ve turned into that bent old hag quicker than I could have imagined. But as I reflect on the arid dustbowl that is my vagina (not even camels could survive this parched hellscape), I thank my lucky stars that I had fun (aka plenty of sex for me to simultaneously cringe at and also feel nostalgic about). I don’t even get the slightest feeling of FOMO because when old me reaches, with my bent fingers, into the past, the toned thighs and sculpted ass cheeks of many an Adonis fly through my mind. What glorious memories. All spliffs, booze, sex and rock ’n’ roll (around in the hay).
Sometimes I wonder, did it even happen? Did I really have musician boyfriends, even drummers who insisted on moving in gratis and, shock horror, paying no rent? Was it all some strange hallucination concocted by my haggified brain? Seems not. It all really happened. I had fun, even got arrested once. Pre-Crone me would be horrified to learn that she had lost her taste for fun. Crone me is “thank fuck that’s over.”
But this is nature in a nutshell, or at least it feels that way to me. Keeps you interested long enough to get preggers, even tolerating preening a-holes to do it. How else do you explain bad taste in men? Nature keeps you at it, nurturing those kids until it’s safe enough to ensure they will multiply also. THEN the traitorous bitch turns on you and makes sure after all that work and putting up with shit, you end your days in a Boschian hellscape with no end, no respite (via sex, drugs or alcohol). Just flames and misery.
Have a drink to forget? NO fucking way, sets the hot flashes off. Try some recreational drugs? No way, don’t need paranoia and munchies with all this weight gain and bloat. SEX? BAH GTFOH with that thing! LibiDO? LibiDONE more like.
Safe to say, me and my backstage pass (get your dirty minds out of the fucking gutter for one second, won’t you!) are done.
GOD SAVE THE CRONE!