I have come to the realization that I am in the 1st stage of Mid-Life Crisis. If I’m not mistaken, Mid-Life Crisis occurs in men in their mid to late 40’s. I got a few more years to get there, but again, the 1st sign is there. Disillusionment.
There are a few things I’m disillusioned about…enjoy my pain:
In my 20’s, if it looked like I was stacking a few lbs, I could hit the gym in 3 weeks and presto! Fat-o-way! Now…when I stack a few lbs, its exponential growth is that of a chocolate amoeba sans the tentacles. Also, when I want to burn it off, I can no longer go to the 5 Guys Burgers and Fries to feed that after-workout hunger. So now I workout, go to Wendy’s, open my mouth to order, then exhale deeply as I then turn around with my head hung REAL low and walk out. Sometimes when I do that, I recite that old Hall’s commercial “It’ll hurt if I swallow, it’ll hurt if I swallow…”
I had a little bit of game back in the day. Not much, but just enough to have an interesting summer or 2. It consisted of staring intensely yet non-threateningly into a young lady’s eyes and find the EXACT set of words to tell her at that moment. Vehemently romantic, a damn human broom sweeping the girls off their feet.
Now talking to a woman is an entire interview: “How many kids do you have?” (the magic numbers are 2 or less), “Where do you work?” (if she doesn’t at least sit at a cube for some type of analytical work or something like that, and she can’t do “Blockbuster Nights” every now and then, that means I’M gonna be footing the date bill most of the time.) “Where do you work?” (Damn girl, do you at LEAST got some benefits????)
Here is how I usually play it…after the host of the interview questions, I either go strong or play it safe. Going strong is “Hey, I really enjoyed our convo. Can I call you sometime? ” Going for the lay up “You know, it was really great talking to you. Here’s my card. Let’s get together sometime.” Business card. Benefits. The 20 Something D.O. would have cared less about that stuff, but hey; its a new world and a new game. Of which…I…have very…little….
I’m just under 6′ and have the body of a retired NFL linebacker. Wide shoulders, decent-sized arms, but the spare tire is definitely there. In my mind, I’m still that young kat who got enough going on to be noticed. Now, I use that vibe on women, but they aren’t the 30Somethings I should be dealing with, they’re the 20Somethings who consider me “a little older than I like”. That makes perfect sense. I mean, a lot of them were in elementary school when I was about to graduate high school. I could give a shit about Young Jock and Mike Jones, and PLEASE don’t put that bastardization of hip hop they refer to as Dirty South in my cd player. We will literally fight. I’m down with Asheru, Roddy Rod, Aceylone and with R&B Eric Roberson, V, Crossrhodes and so on. They think Raheem DeVaughn is played out because it “all sounds alike”. Stop; the boy can sing, ok? But again, in the brain, there is that portion that THINKS I’m resilliant to aging and being hip. Yeah right..ask MY hip.
A Beast (at least used to be)
I still have in my mindset that I’m this relatively fit kat that can jump on the hood of a car while standing in place or race someone in the shopping mall parking lot. Ooops! Naw, broh…that ain’t you no more. I’ll race you, but lemme stretch 1st. I can jump up on the car hood standing in place, just take the air out the tires and make sure you got your Geico up to par ’cause Imma leave a dent. This particular disillusion is the most dangerous because this is how you end up busting your ass….physically.
Diversity is Now a Bad Thing
As a 20 Something, I had the international flow; speak one language pretty fluently, the other so-so. This always helped in the clutch. Now, I can still speak that one language, but I added another one to my arson and probably the worst 2nd language for a Black man to learn; Arabic. It’s bad enough to be the source of entertainment and “what’s hip” to the American public, but have a brother speaking Arabic and it gives White people flashbacks from the black turtleneck wearing 70’s. Except this time the next question is “do you know how to pilot a plane?”
Ooops, was I wrong on that one?
So there you have it. My macho getting in the way of reality to the point of every interaction I have with a woman is a headscratcher. WTF????