#she's able to find information about janis joplin

[commsroom]

i love that the information on hera's servers is just something she (mostly) has access to and it isn't inherently part of her or necessarily something she knows, exactly - that she has to actively read the books available to her, that she doesn't commit all of the information she processes to memory, that her memory is fallible and influenced by her own biases, etc. because it means sometimes eiffel is like, wow, hera!! you're so smart; you know everything!! and meanwhile she's doing the equivalent of like, googling stuff really fast.

[motleycrueroadie]

Along for the Ride (pt. 4)

Thank you again to anyone that has been taking the time to read this! I love writing it!

One I Two I Three 

Tonight being Friday, I fully expected the diner to have more people than usual but I hadn’t expected to be sweating an hour and a half into my shift with no end in sight. Even though Tiff’s is on the Sunset Strip, we were not the “happening” place on Friday night. This coupled with the manager’s inability to pay anymore than he had to, meant that the diner was only ever manned by two people: a chef and a waitress. For some reason, Tiff’s was swarming with people tonight, so there were only a few booths that were vacant at this hour. I’ll chalk it up to the fact that everywhere else was occupied and I was blaring our prized jukebox with quarters that I got from tips. I needed a continuous loop of upbeat rock to get me through tonight.

 Despite the newcomers, there were a few regulars that came to the diner every weekend after the shows. My regulars were a group of teenagers, buzzed in every sense of the word, who came by consistently for greasy food to satisfy their munchies before stalking off into the night to do whatever it is they did. I would give them credit though, they tipped me well and had never caused trouble in the diner, so I always turned a blind eye to their underage drinking (they loved slipping vodka into their sodas). However,  I made sure they all had at least one glass of water before they left. I hadn’t seen them yet  tonight, so I was beginning to wonder what kind of trouble they had got themselves into. 

“Janis!” a slurring voice called out, exaggerating the N in my name. Looking over my shoulder as I grabbed some meals from the window, I realized I spoke too soon. My regulars were coming in the door and headed for their favourite booth. Daniel, the one who had called my name held the door open while the rest of his group entered. He haphazardly wandered over to the jukebox while I carried the food from the window over to a table. Placing their food down, Daniel called out “What do you want to listen to Janis? My treat, anything you want!” 

I had to laugh at the kid while I continued whizzing around the diner, he did this every time he came in. 

“You know what Danny boy, I’m feeling some ZZ Top tonight.” I said to him as I rang in someone’s bill on the cash register, “In particular, Tush.” He looked up from the jukebox, raising his eyebrows to indicate he had found some sort of “hidden message” in my request. 

“Not yours Danny boy, I might as well be your older sister.” He just nodded to himself, knowing I was right. Popping in the quarter, he headed back to his friends. 

“Poor kid thought he had a chance there didn’t he?” said a familiar voice. None other than Nikki Sixx was at the opposite end of the counter from me. 

Nikki must’ve noticed the sudden head turn in the direction of his voice, “Is that a look of surprise on your face Joplin? Did you forget I was coming?” I shook my head at him, reaching under the counter to grab a clean rag. 

“Didn’t hear you come in, rock star,” I said while turning on the tap and letting the cold water run over the rag. “I just can’t believe I missed you coming, what with that beautiful mess of a nose you’ve got going on.” Pointing at the dried blood mixed with fresh underneath his nose, he reached up to rub it with his hand. 

“I thought I cleaned it up,” he mumbled to himself as I handed him the rag. I lightly snickered at his comment as I motioned to a booth near the jukebox. 

“I’m a little backed up at the moment, so have a seat at the booth right there and I’ll come get some more details from you in a moment” he looked to where I was motioning and back at me nodding. I started to hand him a menu when he opened and closed his mouth before opening it again. 

“Do you have a newspaper?” I knitted my eyebrows together before replying, 

“There’s a stand near the entrance” He nodded to himself before taking the menu from my hand and heading over towards the newspaper stand. As I rounded the counter to head towards Danny and his group, two people walked in the door - a tall lanky young guy and a shorter gal. 

“Take a seat where you can find one and I’ll be with y’all in a moment!” I called out to them as I passed. 

“Well kids, will it be the regular order?” I asked as I reached their table, knowing the answer to my question already. Danny nodded to indicate a formal decision while the rest of them barely acknowledged my existence. I knew that if I was to try and take an order other than the regular, that it would be like herding cats. Instead of waiting to hear if there was any opposition, I winked at Danny while heading back towards Carlos to give orders and prep drinks. 

“I see your friend is back mija, he better not be looking for free food here too.” Carlos gave me a side eye while he focused on the grill. In response I rolled my eyes at him while starting on the drinks and grabbing menus for the new people that came in.

 Carlos was a little old fashioned in that he made assumptions based on appearance. He thinks that Nikki is a stray that I’ve brought in because I felt bad for him.  I don’t think I made that any better when I told him that I had been having Nikki over for dinner, but Carlos was a little wayward in his assumptions. He wasn’t wrong in thinking that Nikki was a stray, but I don’t think he realized that I was too. People only know as much as you tell them, and I don’t particularly enjoy being vulnerable around others, so I tend to keep some information close. Carlos and I had been working the night shift together since I started at the diner, so I trusted him with a tad more information,  enough so that he knew what I did outside the diner but that was it. I didn’t let Nikki this close into my life because I felt bad for him, I just related to him. Initially, all I had known was that Nikki and I were both out here on our own so I wanted to know him better, except I kept the wall up. Despite this, he was the one to initiate a deeper conversation by asking about my folks today. Nikki put me in a vulnerable state and I wanted to back out even though I knew it wasn’t an option. You can’t unshare what’s already been in the open. Nikki dove in head first to this new information by sharing his own vulnerability with me. Him and I were both strays, so how can you feel bad for each other? You don’t. You just let the other know they aren’t alone. Once you know you aren’t alone, you can be comfortable in the face of discomfort.

I returned to my table of regulars with their drinks in one hand, and a promise that their food would be out within the next 15 minutes. As I rounded the diner to head to the table of newcomers, I noticed one was missing. The tall, lanky boy. He wasn’t hard to miss considering his height and the fact that he was currently at Nikki’s booth. As I passed by, I glanced over my shoulder to see that Nikki wasn’t entirely thrilled with the conversation. Looking back over to the girl, I could tell she was a little annoyed with the situation so I slid into the booth across from her. This way she couldn’t continue to glare at her date.

“You plan on having something to eat tonight sweetheart? I’m sure it’s on his dime.” She looked at me now instead of through me. I watched her turn the idea over in her brain before shaking her head. 

“Can I at least get you something to drink?” I asked while she continued to look disappointed. 

“You know what? I would actually really love a root beer float.” I smiled up at her, liking her choice in drink. 

“I’ll see what I can do about getting your date back over here” I said while getting up before continuing, “That is, of course, if you would like him to come back?” She laughed at me while she nodded her head. 

“Yeah I would like it if he came back” I laughed with her as I moved along to the table with her date and Nikki in it. 

“Sixx, can I make the safe assumption that you would like a Jack and Coke to start off with?” Nikki looked up towards the sound of my voice while I approached the table, nodding as I stopped next to the lanky kid. 

“Can I get some blueberry pancakes?” was the greeting I received from the kid, who had yet to make a good impression on me. 

“Sweetheart, what’s your name?” I asked him as he looked up at me confused. If there was one thing I know from working in the service industry, it’s that sometimes people need to be reminded to use their manners. This kid looked to be around my age, so I was going to feed him the lesson straight. No pussy footing around. 

“Tommy” I smiled at this, a childish name that fit the youthful energy and forgetfulness. 

“Tommy, let me level with you” I lost the smile to communicate the severity of my next statement, “You ain’t getting those pancakes until you say please and when I bring them out, they’re going to the table where you’ve left your date.” He looked back over his shoulder to where his date was people watching out the window. Turning back to me he slouched his shoulders over a little bit, and I caught him glancing at the name tag. 

“I’m sorry Ms. Janis, would I be able to get some blueberry pancakes please?” I broke the stern look, smiling at him. 

“Of course you can Tommy, would you like some syrup brought to the table as well?” Tommy nodded adamantly while I looked over to Nikki. 

“Do you want any food to go with your JC?” 

“I would love an order of blueberry pancakes as well…..” He watches as I raise my eyebrow at him, I know that he’s teasing me but I’ll indulge it. “Oh did I forget to say please?” Flipping him off, I grab the menus from in front of the two of them. 

About an hour and a half had gone by before the diner was clear of everyone except Nikki. Tommy had returned to his date when I brought out his pancakes, but not before slipping a napkin across the table to Nikki. He tipped me well and even apologized again on his way out the door, to which I had only laughed and told him all was good.  Danny and the rest of the regulars pitched in a few quarters each so that I could continue playing tunes on the jukebox, and all stopped to compliment Nikki on the “kick-ass” show he put on tonight. After they had left, Nikki sat patiently looking through the newspaper while I made sure the tables were clear and sanitized. With an armful of the diner’s napkin holders and the other hand carrying a package of napkins, I sat in the booth opposite Nikki for my first opportunity to sit down since starting the shift. 

“A kick-ass show tonight?” I questioned while starting to refill the napkin holders. He nodded while motioning to the rag abandoned on the edge of the table. 

“Lead singer and I went at it in front of the crowd at the end of the set.” Pausing what I was doing and raising an eyebrow at him, I prompted him to keep talking. 

“We’ve been at each other’s throats for the past couple of weeks and I just snapped over him changing the order of the songs around.” Again, without saying a word he could gauge my reaction just from my face as I continued on with my tedious task. 

“Listen I know it sounds like some stupid ass shit, but it was just my boiling point you know?” I nodded knowing the feeling all too well. 

“So I take it, that’s the end of London then?” He nodded while sort of laughing to himself over the way it ended. Reaching across the table, I grabbed his empty glass and raised it up into the air for an impromptu toast. “To London!” I shouted in a god awful British accent while Nikki looked at me as if I was the one who walked in here tonight with a bloody nose. 

“Janis Jade! Quit being so damn loud!” yelled out Carlos from the kitchen window, where I knew he was peeling potatoes for the day shift. 

“What are you going to do now then?” I said, sliding the glass back across the table to him and stood to return the napkin holders to the table. 

“Well I grabbed a newspaper to start looking at the ads for new people, but a drummer arrived in front of me.” There weren’t too many people who had gone up to Nikki while he had been there, and knowing that Danny and his group hadn’t spoken to him for long enough to form a band, that left the lanky kid. The napkin I saw him slipping Nikki most likely had a phone number on it then. 

“Tommy offered to be your drummer?” 

“Didn’t you see the drumsticks the kid was carrying around?” He spoke with genuine disbelief that I hadn’t noticed this apparently great detail. 

“Wasn’t paying that much attention to him” Which was a truthful statement.

“That’s because you were too busy giving him an earful” Grabbing my cleaning rag off the main counter, I turned around and snapped it in Nikki’s direction. He moved further back into the booth while laughing. 

“Well he deserved it!” I said, pleading my defense.

“I’m not saying he didn’t, Ms. Janis” he said, snickering to himself at what Tommy had called me. Rolling my eyes I replied, “So you’re a bass player and you’ve got yourself a drummer. Now you need a guitar player and a lead singer at the minimum.” He nodded, holding up the newspaper to indicate that this was his starting place. I smiled at him, it was clear that this was what Nikki really loved to do. Without even skipping a beat, Nikki put London behind him in search of the next batch of people that would help him put out music. I could only hope that whoever ended up being his next band were people that he could be friends with. After all, music is great but it’s even better in good company. Inspired by this, I spoke without thinking, “Tell you what Sixx.” He looked interested. “Once you get this band of yours together, I will come to your first show.” Nikki sat up straighter at this comment.

“Really?” He asked, to which I nodded. He looked almost taken aback by this but his smirk quickly returned to his face. 

“Can I count on you to post our flyers in the window to promote the show?” I only laugh at him.

“Form the band first, then we’ll talk.”

Next Chapter 

[desperationandgin]

Deep As The Road is Long (Part I, Chapter 5)

Rating: General Audiences

Also Read On: AO3

Read Previous Chapter

Try, try, try just a little bit harder So I can love, love, love him, I tell myself Well, I'm gonna try, just a little bit harder So I can't give, give, give, give him to nobody else.

August 2015

It takes five weeks to know. Five weeks of trying not to dwell on test results and failing miserably. Five weeks of waking up in a cold sweat and needing to watch Faith breathe. Thirty-five days to know the stem cells took. No more treatments, the port in her chest removed. There’s remission for now, but Jamie decides they’re staying put for a while; he won’t leave it to a doctor back home to look for any signs of cancer when he already has the best right where they are. If something happens to Faith, she needs Claire. And so Jamie decides they’ll stay for a year, and after that, fly back annually for checkups as long as it takes.

For now, all Claire hears is that they’re staying. As he leaves the last check-up for a while with Faith, he mentions he’s getting more furniture so the next time she comes over for chicken nugget stars, it’ll be fancier. It makes her smile to know he wants her to visit again; he’s on her mind, always, somehow. She’s met other parents, other single fathers, even. But she’s never met someone like Jamie before. Confident, playful, strong, with the ability to be incredibly sensitive. Now that he’s sleeping, now that there are more reasons to smile, she sees more of that, and she sees it in Faith, too. How easily she laughs, the way the dark circles under her eyes are slowly disappearing. These are people who’ve invited her into their lives beyond the doctoring, and she can’t stop thinking about them.

That may be why, as she shops for herself, she comes up with an idea of something Jamie should have in his home. Good music, on actual albums, not just on his phone. She narrows everything down in her shopping cart to just two things: An honest to God record player and a Janis Joplin album. A compilation. One with the song Try. It’s a good record; she stands by it and takes both gifts with her the next time she’s invited to dinner.

When Jamie lets her inside, the first thing she notices is that he’s shaved; he’s always had some sort of facial hair, but there’s less now, it’s neater and his curly hair is a bit shorter. He’s also in more than just jeans and a t-shirt. Well, he’s still in jeans, but they’re his actual size, they’re nicer, and the shirt is fitted. She can see, clearly, every muscle in his upper arms.

Christ, how did a bookseller get so fit?

“What’s all this?” he asks, moving to relieve her of her packages.

“A gift. For you. A housewarming gift, really,” she explains, stumbling a bit for God knows what reason. Thankfully, Faith is a good distraction, immediately wrapping herself around Claire for a hug. She’s still so slight that Claire lifts her easily and makes her way back to the couch, sitting with an exaggerated sigh, as if Faith weighs more. “You’re definitely eating all of the good food I told you to,” she praises.

Faith nods with a grin, then gestures toward the kitchen. “We made dinner and it’s no’ chicken nuggets this time.”

“It’s not?” Claire asks curiously. “What are we having that smells so delicious?”

“ Pizza! Our very own and now ye have to pick toppings to make yours.”

Claire lets herself be led by the hand toward the kitchen as she glances back at Jamie with a wide smile. Soon, her own pizza is being slid into an oven next to his while he pulls Faith’s out to cool. Letting the little girl lead the conversation mostly results in Claire being told tales filtered down through her father about Highland cows and all the animals of Lallybroch missing her. Glances are shared between Jamie and Claire; her silently hoping they decide to stay here in Boston for good, him wondering if one day he might be able to show her all the things Faith describes.

Once everyone’s pizza is ready (Claire’s toppings: cheese, green bell pepper, and pepperoni. Jamie’s: everything but the kitchen sink. Faith’s: Plain cheese.) they sit at the new dining room table, and now it’s Claire’s turn to talk when Faith begins asking her all sorts of questions. Where her favorite place ever to go is (The Museum of Fine Arts on a rainy day), if she has any pets (no, she isn’t home enough and it wouldn’t be fair) and whether or not she’s ever seen a double rainbow (very regrettably no).

Jamie’s pleased at the mild interrogation, filing some information away and realizing she’s hard to stop looking at as she engages with his daughter. She’s open as a book, not holding anything back, which is why he leans over and whispers in Faith’s ear. The little girl beams and looks at Jamie, who nods, and then her grin is turned to Claire.

“Doctor Claire, what’s yer favorite breakfast?”

It’s such an innocent question from the mouth of five-year-old, and yet when Claire’s eyes meet Jamie’s she can just about feel the heat from her cheeks fill the room. Clearing her throat, her mouth opens, then closes. What a clever bastard.

“Well. I don’t always sit down for a proper breakfast. Most of the time I eat yogurt or a piece of fruit...”

“How boring for ye,” Jamie interjects cooly, pretending to buff his nails on his jeans.

“...But I like pancakes with syrup and bacon.”

“That’s good! I like my pancakes wi’ chocolate chips in them,” Faith informs her.

“Well, I’ll have to find someone who makes really good chocolate chip pancakes and hope they invite me to breakfast,” is the natural reply.

“Daddy can!”

“Mo bheannachd, I’m honored ye think my cooking is so good, but I have no’ made pancakes in a long while. They would be all funny shapes, I reckon. And now it’s time for ye to go change for bed. Go on,” he says, nodding toward her room. He does pull her close for a quick kiss to the forehead before she disappears down the hallway.

Clearing her throat, Claire stands as well. “I’ll help you clean up.”

“Hold on,” Jamie decides, getting up as well and walking toward the gift sitting on the coffee table. “I’m a wee bit curious.” Not waiting on her to give her blessing, Jamie opens the record player first, then the record and looks at it with a curious smile. “Janis Joplin?”

“Her voice was made to be listened to on vinyl. It’s a good record,” Claire defends, watching as Jamie begins to take the player out of the box.

“It’s only that I never thought of ye as the type, is all,” Jamie shrugs, plugging in the record player. “I thought of ye more as a…’slow jazz with a glass of wine’ sort.”

For a moment, Claire doesn’t say anything, and then she finds her voice. “You think of me?”

Now, it’s his turn to avoid looking at her, but the tips of his ears pink nicely. As he unwraps the record, he nods a little. “Aye. I do.”

Before they get much further than that, Faith comes back in, dressed in soft pink pajamas with Care Bears on them, pink slippers on her feet. “Can Doctor Claire tuck me in?”

It’s a small request, but one that feels like a high honor as Claire looks at Jamie, trying to be sure it’s alright if she says yes.

“I think that’s up to Doctor Claire, mo ghaol.”

Two sets of eyes look at her now, one hoping, one curious, and she smiles softly, nodding. “Of course I can. I would be happy to.” Reaching out, Faith’s hand curls into hers and Claire’s heart feels like it very well might burst. Children trust her to make them well, parents put all of their hope into her, but the innocence of this, that even outside of the hospital Faith trusts Claire, means something else on perhaps a different scale. It’s bigger than medicine and healing, whatever it is. She can’t quite name it. In Faith’s room, she helps her to bed and there’s Trunky, waiting to be received, and Claire tucks him in right beside her.

“Goodnight, Doctor Claire,” Faith says with a small grin, snuggling under her sheets and blanket.

“Sweet dreams, Faith,” she murmurs, reaching out to stroke her forearm softly. It’s different, watching her drift off, comfortable in her own bed, warm, taken care of. Claire never gets to see this part, the after, and it takes her breath away. When she seems to be at least dozing lightly, Claire rises and makes her way into the living room as the first strains of Little Girl Blue filter from the record player. She knows the song, knows it as something a bit melancholy. But she watches Jamie, standing there and listening to the sultry, scratchy voice of Janis Joplin sing about being unhappy. As soon as he’s aware of her, Jamie looks up, then extends his hand.

She’s drawn to him without more prompting and takes his offer. Before she can register it, she’s dancing with him in a slow sway to words about raindrops and sadness. It’s a slow dance, one where they barely move, but she’s very aware of him, the smell of his aftershave and soap where her head rests on his shoulder. Eventually, the song fades into another, but for a long while, they don’t move until she realizes they’re standing completely still, arms wrapped around one another. Raising her head, she looks up just as his head dips and his lips graze hers. It’s a soft kiss, but one she feels blossom deep in her belly. She lets herself get lost in the way she feels right now, in how he feels, the way her body naturally curves to his and there’s no question about how they fit together. Without thinking much about it, Claire’s lips part, inviting him to kiss her deeper, until she realizes what she’s doing.

Kissing a patient’s father.

Breaking the moment by ducking her head, she takes a few deep breaths and lets them out softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t, it’s… it could be seen as unethical because I’m treating your daughter.”

Immediately, Jamie lets her go, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I dinna… I dinna want to make ye uncomfortable.”

“It isn’t that, Jamie, it’s not. With Faith as my patient, it just. It clouds things. My judgment,” she explains, and it isn’t a total lie. Though she’s already so attached to that little girl, kissing her father likely doesn’t matter much as far as judgment goes. Still, Claire clears her throat. “I should go.”

Reaching out, Jamie stops the record and nods. “Thank ye. For the gift. I suppose I’ll need to go buy more records,” he says with a gentle smile, trying to ease her, trying to keep her from thinking it’s too awkward now for her to ever return. It’s not the first time in his life he’s been turned down, but it is the first time he’s left feeling dizzy by everything he just felt but can’t have.

“There’s a great place about a mile from here. Huge selection. Something better than old Janis Joplin songs, maybe,” Claire explains as she walks toward the door, semi-apologizing for her selection.

“Something better? I think I have a new favorite song,” he decides.

One he can listen to and remember the way she felt as she pressed close.

Next Chapter

[serpent-jugheadjones]

It’s A Not So Wonderful Life - Phone Calls - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Pairing: Jughead Jones x Jellybean Jones   

Description: Jughead’s only form of communication with his sister is through phone calls.

Warnings: None I can think of.

Word Count: 615

A/N: Forgot to mention on part 1 that this is written as if their mom left not long before what happened to Jason, instead of two years ago. I know this wasn’t a popular story line, but I really like it, so I’ll keep writing it.

Jughead picks up his phone to dial his sister’s number, something he knows by heart. He can barely remember what it’s like to have her around, which hurts so much. That’s the last thing he wants to forget, and letting his parent’s growing apart split them too is off the table. 

“Juggie! Took you long enough to call again.”, Jellybean says happily and he can almost see the smile on her face.

“I see you saved my number. How’s the new school going?”, he asks thirsty for information.

“It’s just like in Riverdale.” She stops for a second. “You’ve got the brainless jocks, the attention whore cheerleaders, the know-it-all geeks and us, the weirdos.” She laughs as she’s counting it in her fingers.

“If you keep saying smart things you’ll have to be transferred to the nerd squad and I’ll be left alone.” He smiles as she laughs harder. “Made any friends?” He hopes she has.

“There’s this girl in my class, Mads. Her dad owns a record label and he also collects music, so he let’s us listen to his records. Some are really underground, it’s pretty cool.”, she says excited. “He’s teaching me about blues, he says it’s the soul of music.”

“What do you think about it?” He wants to hear every word his sister has to say.

“I like Janis Joplin, but I think you have to be old and have suffered a lot to truly appreciate it. Maybe Mr. Mason has been through stuff.” Silence falls as they both realize at some point both of them will be able to see the beauty in Blues. “How are you, Jug?”

“Been busy. Turns out Jason was shot. That adds a lot to the mystery. I’m gonna dig deeper into it.” His mind already working the words to type later.

“Be careful. I don’t wanna end up brotherless like Cheryl.” She knows she can’t convince him not to investigate.

“I always am, Jellybean.” He tries to reassure his little sister. “I’m gonna try to find out why Cheryl lied about him drowning.”

“Maybe she didn’t.”, she says not even herself believing it. 

“That would mean he was trying to fake his own death. Why would he? Rich kid with the world at his feet.” His mind already trying to find the answers. “Even more stuff to investigate.” 

“Just don’t get killed over it.” She’s genuinely scared for her brother. Riverdale isn’t what it used to be. “How’s Archie?” She asks as she looks at a picture on her nightstand of Jughead and his best friend in the three house, remembering the small town she left behind, before blood stained it.

“We haven’t spoken all summer.”, he says bitterly. “He bailed on our road trip.”

“I’m sorry, Juggie.”, she says, finding hard to picture her brother without Andrews alongside. “You guys are good friends. Find out what happened, try to fix it.” 

“It’s not just up to me, Jellybean.” He’s angry at his friend for not even giving him a heads up.

“Who’s gonna keep you company at Pop’s now?” She laughs, trying to convince her brother of letting go of his grudge.

“My trusty laptop.” He winks, not that she can see it, but he hopes she still knows him enough to picture it. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Jellybean.”

“Good night, Jug.” She hangs up. Her words about giving his friendship another chance resonating in his brain. He misses his sister deeply. “She’s so much smarter than me.”, he thinks.

[atypical60]

There!  I said it and in doing so made up a new word. “Fuckeduptedness”.  There’s no need to explain the word either.

It’s a time of reflection for me because in less than three months I’ll reach my 65th birthday.  It’s a weird age, it is—because it signifies the true entryway to Senior Citizenship. When you are between the ages of 60 through 64, it still sounds a bit young.  65 is that magic age. Smack between the early sixties and…seventy!

I may be getting older but I know how to rock!

And other than the usual neurotic thinking such as in 65 years from now I won’t be around—which kills me because I want to be; and the fact I am a failure in my career because I was never able to re-enter the workforce in the type of job I had in NYC, gives me a never-ending pity party. it really ain’t too bad!

…but not yet!  I gotta squeeze a lotta life out first!

We—our generation is a more youthful bunch of old people. We are not our grandmothers or grandfathers either.  We be cool!  We are fun!  We do what we want.

And They hate it!!

Who’s they?  I’ll explain. They are the experts (In their own minds) who pontificate about how we are to dress. How to wear our hair. How we are to live.  They make up the rules we have to follow.

And therein lies the fuckeduptedness of being old.

I’ll give some examples.

When you are old, or if someone younger feels you are old, oftentimes are spoken down to. It’s almost “old people baby talk”.  For some reason people seem to think as you age you no longer hear  nor can you comprehend even the simplest sentence such as “Have a pleasant day.”  We may have aged but we have become smarter and wiser so stop speaking down to us. For God’s sake, I didn’t even speak that idiotic baby-talk to my children when they were babies!  Just stop it!

Ugh. If any adult ever spoke to me in baby talk, he or she would have huge welt across their face!

People also have a tendency to speak LOUDER to you?  Why is this?  I’m the loudest person I know—please do not try to compete with my loudness or I’ll bust your eardrums! You takin’ to me?  I hope not because you don’t sound to bright.

OMG!! There is NO reason to shout at me. I can hear you!!!!!!!!!  Stop it!

The “anti-age” factor.  This is bullshit.  I want to bitch slap the marketing idiot who created that term because he or she needs to be thrown into a jail cell. Age needed to be celebrated!  Many don’t make it to their fifties or older.  My brother was one so don’t even get me started!

Airbrushed, photoshopped and anti-aged.  Ageing is a horrific experience to be ashamed of–isn’t it?

The second you leave mommy’s love canal; you begin to age. Does anti-age mean that we should all stay a few hours old? Because that’s basically what it means?  Why not pro-age?  We’re happy to have those birthdays.  We’ve accomplished great things.  Why anti-it?   Which brings me to….

The Beauty Industry.  This they despise us. This industry views us as cows out to pasture.

 True dat!  The Beauty Industry treats us  lder ladies like cows put to pasture. And these are French cows that I hung out with a few years back while hanging out in the Burgundy countryside.  We got along well–we related to each other!

They will use late-teen to twenty-something models in their “anti-aging” campaigns. And worse yet, will advertise foundations, concealers, primers “made” for us and use those same young models.  There’s plenty of gorgeous mature women with lines, creases and wrinkles on their faces.  How come they aren’t used?

Kendall Jenner featured in Estée Lauder’s 2015 campaigns.

Yes. This is twenty-something Kendall Jenner. Estee Lauder,  a cosmetics company that the “Mature” customer could relate to, now has to look at younger models to figure out just how the hell any makeup will look on their older skin. This is the fuckeduptedness of old!

It drives me nuts too because this is an industry that thinks it’s so “forward” by using gay men wearing make up to prove how diverse they are.  No. You aren’t diverse.  And neither are ads with one obligatory young white girl, one obligatory black girl, one obligatory Asian girl, one obligatory Latina and one said gay guy diverse or inclusive.    Show me the seventy-year old woman of all colors and show me that old gay guy and only then will you be truly diverse.

Where the fuck is the old lady–or old man–or the physically disabled person.  No. You are NOT diverse until everyone is included. Go find a wrinkled person.

They, the Village Green Fashion Policing Society:  How many times?  How many magazine articles?  How many internet postings do we have to be tortured with when it comes to what we should and shouldn’t wear.  I can’t even with this one.

I will wear my skinny jeans, my mini skirts and above-the-knee dresses.  Hoop earrings will continuously remain dangling from my ear lobes.  Over-the-knee boots will continue to be worn.  And nobody will or should dictate how anyone should dress.  Especially the older demographic.

I will continue to wear my leather pants with pointy-toed boots..

I will continue to wear my miniskirts with boots..

As an old, shriveled, wrinkled old prune of the pro-age, I’ll keep my ripped jeans thank you!

And I will wear those glittery heels.

And I’ll continue to wear my hair long. Even if it IS fake!

It saddens me to see that women my age, mid 60’s and in their 50’s and even older fall into that misconception that they need to dress like an unstylish, unattractive wallflower.  Why?  Why can’t a woman who is of the pro-age, boomer generation dress as wonderfully as she feels.  Wait.  Some women don’t feel wonderful. And it’s because many women have given up.  And no wonder.  Fashion magazines are splayed with clothing brands that only advertise young, nubile women in clothing that the older woman can wear and wear well.  It is an absolute disgrace and one of the reasons I haven’t bought a fashion magazine in over a year.  I’ve not renewed any fashion or beauty magazine and have no desire to pick one up.  In fact, I’ve allowed my Allure subscription to expire because they never followed up on their promise to stop using the phrase “anti-age”.

The very last Vogue magazine I read was when Wintour placed Kim and Kanye West on the cover.  If I want to read about celebrities, I’ll buy Star or People.  Fashion magazines have become trash. Bring back the actual models and get rid of the celebrities. Better yet, showcase the magazine’s true demographic of the “over 40” woman!

The Corporate “They”. This is a touchy and personal one.  Perhaps for you too, or someone you know.   Life events happen.  Some are great. Some aren’t.  And somewhere along the line, many of us, regardless of the life situation, have to re-enter the workforce.

Sad but true. Due to corporate closures I’ve lost a couple of jobs and I’ve never recovered the earnings that I’m worth. Think about that one–that’s the story of almost every person over 50 who has reentered the workforce and it is shameful and sad!

Corporate America and Small Businesses do not want to hire anyone over a certain age. It’s bad enough to seek employment over 50 but to seek employment over the age of 60 is a near-impossible feat.

three people over age 50 are holding up signs that tell stories about ageism they faced in the workplace

It’s all true.

And it sucks. It sucks because our generation has such a stellar work ethic. We come from backgrounds where we were taught how important values are.  Granted, many of us aren’t technically gifted the way younger people are, but we are quick learners.   The amount of information and computer skills I’ve learned from each job I’ve had is invaluable.   As a whole, we are open to new ideas. We are excellent workers. We don’t call out sick on a Monday due to excessive partying over the weekends. We won’t need a day or seven off when the kids are off from school or if they are ill.  We are there 100 percent.

It’s incredible because corporations get tax breaks for hiring the disabled but they don’t get anything for hiring the mature demographic. Perhaps they should, then maybe more of us would have the jobs we deserve!

They think we aren’t cool.  Oh yeah.  Ever get the eye-roll, side eye or smirk from someone younger?  I’m sure you have.  Perhaps it’s happened when you listened to the current top 40 music. Or discussing a movie or book or …. basically anything.  It’s because they think we aren’t cool.

Wise words.  No generation will ever be as cool!

Let me tell you something about “cool”. We are of the coolest generation ever.

That boho look?  We started it back in the late 1960’s.  We had the Summer of Love.  Our demographic got politically involved. The Youth Movement protested. We questioned.  We wore clothing that our parents disapproved of.

My favorite Beatle, George Harrison and Patti Boyd, hanging around playing guitar and smoking at the same time. Now THAT’S a feat!

Why—I remember the most beautiful pair of Madras plaid hot pants I purchased with babysitting money.  I wore them to go out and my parents made me go back upstairs to change. Those were the days alright.   We wore miniskirts and tattered and patched jeans. We had “head shops” where those who did not use bongs and roach clips could buy peasant tops and patchouli or ylang ylang oil.

Show me a modern-day fashion designer as cool as Mary Quant. Her iconic Mod look changed everything.  And we had her! And she’s still influencing how women dress!

We had the slick cool of Jimi Hendrix and the raspy cool of Janice Joplin.  I do not think there is anyone currently in the music industry as cool or as talented as they were. I’m biased but it’s true.

NEW YORK – JUNE 1970: Blues singer Janis Joplin on the roof garden of the Chelsea Hotel in June 1970 in New York City, New York. (Photo by David Gahr/Getty Images)

The sad thing is that she never got the chance to pro-age..

….and neither did Jimi.  That’s anti-aging.  They never made it to pro-age.

We danced.

And dance we did!

We partied.

And partied hearty, I might add.  Booge. Oogie. Oogie!

We enjoyed life. And we still do those things. It’s just that we do them at a more measured pace!

And at her age, she can light up whenever she wants!

And therein lies the fuckeduptedness of old.  It’s not how we perceive ourselves it is how they perceive us.  And as pro-agers rather than anti-agers, maybe it’s time to start a new movement!

Others see me as the figure on the left. An old, grumpy, unstylish old woman who should be thrown to pasture.  I see me as I am on the right.  Stylish, pro-aging, and only grumpy when I’m in rush-hour traffic!

What say you?  Do you feel the same way that I do? Do you find yourself being ignored or shoved aside due to aging?  Do you think we aren’t respected the way we should be?  I’m really curious to find out! Do you like my new word??????

The Fuckeduptedness of Being “Old” There!  I said it and in doing so made up a new word. “Fuckeduptedness”.  There’s no need to explain the word either.