Monthly Archives: August 2014

Madonna Modanna

Lately I’ve found myself somewhat overly preoccupied and annoyed at the fact that Madonna hasn’t retired from pop music. (I’m not sure if “overly” implies that there is an appropriate amount of time one can spend being annoyed that Madonna hasn’t retired… My brain just prefers to fixate on petty thoughts rather than leave space for something more restful like… nothing. Nothing would be lovely.)

But I digress. Back to Madonna.
(Btw, my fingers want to type Modonna instead of Madonna. I think maybe Mo is better.)
There is no denying she’s had an amazing career. I was a fan—I sang Crazy for You in front my bedroom mirror with a hairbrush in my hand many, many, MANY times. She was so tough and sexy and cool—very aspiring stuff when you’re 13. Picture 30

She’s still tough and sexy, in my opinion; but she isn’t cool anymore. She isn’t cool anymore (as a pop star) because she isn’t young—sad but true. As a fan, I don’t want my memories of her prime pop star days muddled with images of her at age 56, in a rubber corset, trying to be her 30-year-old self. I wish she would channel her talents in other directions, or maybe just hang out with her family and get to know her kids a little bit. Stuff like that. Picture 28

But um… why do I even care?? It’s her life and it affects mine in no way what so ever. Yet I ponder and judge, ponder and judge…
And so I’m thinking (40 almost 41 year old woman that I am…) maybe it’s this bit about “cool = young” that has my brain-panties in a wad. Maybe there are a few things I’ve enjoyed about being young that I’m not quite ready to give up and/or excited to watch fade away over the next half of my life. And maybe those few things do not mesh so well with my desire to age somewhat gracefully. Waaaaah!

Ok. Fine. I’m getting older and someday I’m going to be old. I get it. But please, PLEASE, shake me silly if you find 72-year-old me in a bar, wearing a leopard print mini skirt and hitting on men half my age. Picture 31Seriously. And after you shake me silly, put a paintbrush or a lump of clay in my hands and scoot me off towards more enriching and dignified activities. I sincerely hope to be a mouthy old broad (and I think I’m on the right path…); but I don’t want to be slutty at 70. At least not in public. 😀



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