Age Reality Check—It All Began At the Sunset Tower Hotel

In my previous posts about my 40th year high school reunion, it doesn’t take a genius to know that I’m closer to 60 than 21 years of age. Age—if you are lucky—happens.

The good things about age include encyclopedias of “been there, done that,” fabulous recollections of fun times, and the perspective to understand that the bad times added fuel to the ability to freaking percept. But old? Nah. Not even. My 91-year-old aunt is not that old. She’s just hearing and vision challenged. These things get in the way of the convenience of youth.

Me? Well after attending that reunion, I should get a grip on aging. I mean, dude, and if I weighed 106 pounds for my senior picture, I would have thought myself fat. Apparently I took those hippy years to heart. So, I wear several hip sizes more than I did in 1966 (or 1986 for that matter), but that didn’t age me. I’ve ignored the meeting of the kids I reunioned with who were once skinny, full headed young boys, and wispy, smooth skinned youthful girls. In my mind, they are still those people.

A BFF reached a special birthday that we recently celebrated at the Sunset Tower Hotel Bar and Restaurant. (Where else would we go?????) Chef-daughter Dakota did her usual best; hotel owner, Jeff Klein totally rocked as did his marvelous staff, Warren and his crew. Us ladies, all poodled up for dinner, were lookin’ good and feelin’ fine.

Afterwards, we crossed the Sunset Strip for some comedy entertainment. The comedy club, decored in black with hard and tacky chairs, a two-drink minimum, sold out. The funniest act was a Jewish gal raised in Oklahoma. She was the first to refer to us as “The Golden Girls.” Hah! I don’t think so, girlfriend. We might have had some gold draped around us…but, old, no way!

A mess of white comedians did their best black guy holding his business routine, followed by the black comedians who did their best white guy lamely holding his smaller business routine, to the Hispanic guy who slammed all of the above and reckoned speed to size. YAWN to all three! However, there were these constant “Golden Girls” sitting near the stage. What golden girls? Where? Can some one get original? (Kudos to the comedian, Sanchez, who did note that the golden girls were lookin' good.)

By midnight the mature girlfriends laughed enough and had to exit the black comedic hole. Yes, the echo as we left was, “The golden girls, the golden girls, the golden girls…..”

As we slinked thru the blackened space, I scanned the audience: Young women hopeful for a reasonable relationship with their date; recently single young women partying down, but wishing for more, and blah, blah, blah. Then I heard some words I once wrote from my heart when I turned 50. I AM FREE OF YOUTH! Golden? Absolutely!