It’s been in the 40’s temperature wise here in Los Angeles and I’m cold. Actually, I’m more than cold. I’m chilled to the bone wearing every sweater I own at once, house heat turned on full blast 24/7 and a constant fire, cold. Like – I’m totally fucking freezing and I can’t get warm – cold. Now I’m from New York so I know what it’s like to freeze. The last time I lived in the Big Icy Apple that only has four good days of weather – we had 28 snowstorms in one winter and I ended up in California. No one needs to take three hours to get to an office building three blocks away. I also went to school in a place where the wind chill took the temps down to 50 below and you had to use a tow rope to get to class which granted I needed anyway based on my alcohol consumption most nights before – but it was cold. And I was fine. I could run around outside in a bikini with a beer bong and a pair of Uggs and laugh in the face of winter. Ha Ha winter you mother fucker. I got you beat. But I’m not fine right now and I’m not kidding. I wore three sweatshirts to work out in the other day and kept them on for the first fifteen minutes of class. Not normal. Also, not cute. All that extra material made me look fat and I haven’t reached the point of anorexia where I’m willing to wear one of those garbage bag sweat suits that make you pour off the pounds. No one wants to look fat at the gym. I’m also not a gal who wears make up to class. What the fuck is that ladies? Seriously – if you have eye lashes on you’re not fooling anyone as to why you’re there. You’re looking to lift about a two pound weight – of a diamond – onto your engagement finger.
Now there are two quite popular theories on why I’m freezing. #1 – that I am such a Californian now that I can no longer take the cold and my blood is thinner than when I lived in New York. Uh, I haven’t asked a medical professional about this theory but I call bullshit. Last winter I went to Whistler BC and I was fine. I was more than fine. I played in the snow. I sat in a Jacuzzi in the middle of an outdoor deck. And there was no alcohol involved. But I wasn’t freezing – I was perfect. So – it’s not that. The other theory is #2 – that I’m so skinny now that I no longer have body fat. God I love this theory. I want to embrace this theory more than George Clooney while eating a box of Krispy Kremes, but let me tell you guys a couple two three things – this is not true – and I know – because I’ve seen me naked and I have plenty of body fat. In fact – I have your body fat. I may have everyone’s body fat. I am a skinny bag of cellulite. So it’s not that. And then, last night in a haze of Gorilla Glue and sugar free vegan lemon cookies, I got a flash of what the real reason is and it sent a second chill down my spine colder than the chill I was already in. I’m cold because I’m old. Boom. Holy fucking shit balls when did this happen? I’m a frail old woman with thin skin and I’m freezing to death. What’s next? Soup only meals? Actually I’m on that now because my teeth keep cracking. Wait – is that another sign? Fuck. And now I realize – there have been numerous signs to me becoming an elderly human. I’m constantly afraid of falling, and not off of anything substantial – just my high heels. They are dead to me. Also – I’m tired. A lot. On the outside I want to go to bars and concerts and dance clubs – but on the inside I’m exhausted by midnight. And I used to know how to shut shit down. Like next level. But the true sign may be the phrases that keep wanting to pop out of my mouth that up until recently only came out of my mothers. The biggest being aimed at my 26 year old roommate. Every night – every single night – I want to yell from my bedroom down to his – two floors below – STOP SLAMMING THE DOORS. But I don’t. Because I don’t want to admit that this is a thought in my head. And, he’s not slamming anything. My inner volume knob has apparently been turned up to Social Security level. My mother used to say this to me on the daily. I have no idea what it is about the noise level of a door closing but apparently it’s the true test of how old you are. If I lick my finger and wipe dirt off of his face – it’s over. Now, I know people say age is just a number but my number is getting higher. So I’m gonna buy me another parka because I’m only getting older and it’s only getting colder.