How does your 65th birthday change things?

By Scott St. Clair | The Save Jersey Blog

senior citizenRandom observations on what it means to turn 65:

I’d rather be alive and 65 in New Jersey than dead anywhere in the world.

I can still lick any man 10-years my senior.

Fading eyesight gives me a great excuse to beat a ticket for running a stop sign.

Now that I can’t hear you, I no longer have to listen to you.

Your taxes need to go WAY up because I plan on milking Medicare for every dime possible.

I can now take drugs and get away with it, even if they’re Atenolol and Xarelto.

I no longer need to drink to forget since I can’t remember anyway – now I drink just to drink.

I can now get away with all types of grumpy, rude and anti-social behaviors that, when I engaged in them yesterday, were unthinkable.

I get senior discounts in restaurants I wouldn’t be caught dead in, even though I’ll be caught dead somewhere soon enough.

When I drive while wearing a hat, I’m given a wide berth since everyone knows the most dangerous drivers are old men wearing hats.

I can tie down my left-turn blinker to keep it on permanently – it’s what old-man drivers do.

I can now be an enormous burden to my children – payback’s a bitch, isn’t it kids?

Wearing a bow tie is now becoming and appropriate. Yesterday, it was arrogant or weird.

I have an excuse to crank my music – bagpipe, bluegrass, show tunes, classic rock, blues, whatever annoys you – up to ear-splitting levels.

I’ll control the remote – some things never change.

With the number of children and grand-children (one more on the way) I have, patriarch status is in the bag. We’re going tribal!

Now when I wink at flight attendants in coach, instead of a dirty look, I get free drinks.

I can double-down on my strident opinions because that’s what geezers do.

There’s nothing scarier than a growly look from an old coot with bushy eyebrows – I plan on taking advantage of taking advantage.

Real or imaginary aches and pains now get me out of more chores than ever.

I think I qualify to be listed as a National Historic Landmark – checking on it, especially if there are benefits.

The fine line between being politically passionate versus crazy is increasingly blurred, and I’ll work to blur it even further.

You’ll never know when I might show up unannounced claiming to have lost my way – especially at dinner time.

My musings are now regarded as wisdom, whereas yesterday I was out of my mind. I’m still out of my mind, however.

I can yell at people to “Get off my lawn!” even if I don’t have a lawn, which I do have, so get off it!

I now have an excuse to wear mismatched socks, jackets that don’t match my trousers, the wrong color shirt and an ugly tie. I may have an excuse, but sartorial dignity and good taste have, and always will be, a trademark of mine.

The junk that I’ve acquired and schlepped all over the country for the past half-century in the hopes that someday some of it will be regarded as priceless collectibles or antiques is now regarded as the junk that I’ve acquired and schlepped all over the country for the past half-century that nobody but me wants.

I have skills and abilities that have been obsolete for at least two decades.

Sharing one thing with Gen X’ers, Millennials and Post-Moderns, I’m entitled – us Boomers are entitled to everything you’ll earn for the next 45 or so years.