When you are a forty year old woman, you have many choices. One of them is to freak out about the age of forty, botox the face, color the grey, and/or lipo-suction the ass. Another choice is to medicate whether it’s because depression, anxiety, weight, restless leg, or whatever.
Whoa! Forty! Thirty was no big deal because there was still a decade of chance ahead, but now the age of forty brings a whole new realization. Fuck! Bill Clinton was only 42 when the public elected him president. Dr. Martin Luther King was 39 years when assassinated. In 1985, The Academy nominated Oprah Winfrey for an Oscar for her role as Sophia in The Color Purple. She was 31. From that point, Oprah’s bio takes off in huge strides making big look puny because her fame and accomplishments were dynamic and huge. Neil Armstrong was 38 when he went and walked on the moon. A few of these numbers might bring uneasiness to the stomach, because now forty is me. What the hell have I accomplished in this life?
I am not a bombshell anymore. I mean, with no extreme effort, I look pretty damn good for forty. I could pass for late thirties if I hide all my grey hair under a ball cap. I’m not out jogging or going to the gym on a regular basis, but I keep my weight with ten (okay, maybe 15) pounds of my desired weight. So people get confused when they see me out with my 5 year old son. With my head of grey hair, folks wonder if I am his grandmother, a really old aunt or a babysitter.
To my credit, I did out-party a bunch of twenty somethings at a recent Dinosaur Junior concert not too long ago. It doesn’t matter that they were bored out of their minds, knew NONE of the music and that the PA was too loud. They couldn’t really enjoy the music when you don't know if you are hearing it properly. To add to my energy, I did have two espressos before the show. Whatever. You do what you NEED to do when you’re a forty year old woman and just trying to go out without the husband for the first time in five years since the kid was born. I NEEDED to have fun, and the tickets were free. I didn't care that it was just Dinosaur Junior; I had a really okay time hopped up on my espresso and listening to the extremely loud music. I out-lasted the twenty somethings.
I looked pretty hot too. I noticed one man about my age in his eighties long locks surfer look with a, yes, Hawaiian shirt. He was all, "Check me out." He looked familiar, like maybe someone I would have dated from the early 1990’s…like he might have been really hot at one time…oh shit! Is that how I looked?
I realize that I’m not a freaking bombshell anymore. I’m not bad, but I’m not a bombshell. Of course, I could probably be “better looking” or “younger looking” if I conformed to society's propaganda about how I could have these things by doing things like, oh, wearing make-up, or coloring my hair, or derma fucking sandblasting my face. But I’m not going to do these things. I'm not going to belittle myself with their solutions.
I’m opting for the third option. That’s right, there's another choice. There is at least one more choice a woman has when she is forty. When I say “many” choices, like I did in the very first sentence, that means at least one more than two for those of you who are keeping count (or for all ZERO of you even reading this for that matter).
My choice is to hang-out with Batman and Robin.
No, this isn’t going to be some cute story about my five year old little boy, and he and his Daddy dress up in ‘da costumes and ‘dey looks so cuuute…No. I’m fucking serious.
I hung out with Batman and Robin last night. The Joker was there too, or at least some equally evil person, maybe some B grade villain, but some evil dude was there. Yeah, so it was a dream, but it was a cool fucking dream. Not only did I hang out with the Dynamic Duo, but I got suited up in Batgirl’s black leathers. I WAS BATGIRL or more appropriately, Batwoman, which has a better ring for a girl my age. Besides, you couldn’t PAY me enough to return to that decade known as my twenties. I wouldn’t mind my body back.
Oh! but I did have it back, in the dream that is. I had my totally hot body back. I was Batwoman with the brains, experience and self-assuredness of forty, as well as all the brawn and energy of youth. How fucking orgasmic is that? Did I mention the leather? Because if I didn’t, let me just say that I, yes I am smart enough to keep track of what I told you, but I want to yell it to the world that I wore the hottest Batwoman leathers EVER! Well, I had a little trouble with the belt, which delayed my ability to assist in defeating the B grade villain, but at that point, the dog barked to go outside for her morning pee, waking me up in real life, so I don’t have to fret too hard on that.
What I have noticed though, is that Batman can be any age, as any man can be any age and still get the good roles or be handsome or whatever. Now this is no new news…just sing it with me sister, but Batgirl will always be just that, a girl. Sick old Hollywood fucks still obsessing on prepubescent hairless little girls and shoving it down our throats. Well screw that. I’m not going to feel bad because I’m not twenty anymore and my butt sags a little. I had a hot bod, but I was stupid when I was twenty. I acted like Paris Hilton before Paris Hilton was ever cool (or even born for that matter). I acted quite foolishly in many aspects.
But NOW, I have wisdom. Not so much the hot bod, but I have a renewed spirit and energy and connection to myself. I am opting for choice number three and that is to be Batwoman! Of course, my dear reader, I know that you know that Batwoman is an analogy of sorts. I’m not really going to suit up in tight leather and go fight crime. Let me rephrase that. Sure, I might suit up in tight leather in the bedroom…no I can’t kid you. Really, I am a geek. I don’t “dress” up in the bedroom, but I admire people who do. I’m too shy which is all the more reason for me to become Batwoman in my every day attitude. So it was this thought that woke me this morning. I am Batwoman. I am Batwoman. I am a married Batwoman with one child.
Screech! Hold up! Is this really what happened to Batwoman? Did she settle down and plan to have a baby or did she accidentally get pregnant? I didn't plan on becoming a mother, but the words plan and careful didn't come to mind when I think of the day that my husband impregnated me. Not many words came to mind during that fateful moment.
Okay, so maybe accidental isn’t such the polite word. Did she become passionately pregnant? Whatever the case, my pregnancy was not planned. Did Batwoman, in the throws of passion, completely loose sight of things, or would she have remembered the condom with her own husband? Hmm.
A similar story has been told. It was called The Incredibles, and it was animated. With animation, a forty year old woman can do the crazy shit that Mrs. Incredible did. But what would happen if Batgirl became Batwoman on the big screen? Those sick old Hollywood fucks still obsessing on prepubescent hairless females would cast a 25 year old girl to play a forty year old woman.
I googled Batwoman because I wanted to make sure that the role had not been previously cast. I don’t keep up with Hollywood movies and/or gossip. I didn’t see that anyone has recently ever played Batwoman, but Alicia Silverstein has played Batgirl and Halle Barry has played Catwoman (at this point, you are saying duh!). Just hang in there, yes, sometimes I really am that uninformed…and it's time to digress…
I don’t put my energy into the Hollywood scene. I don’t give a flying flip about Hollywood, movie stars or TV people. I really am clueless. Why would I want to spend my precious time giving my energy over to meaningless Hollywood news that has nothing to do with improving the world, my state, my city or my neighborhood? It doesn’t feed the hungry or get the prostitutes or drugs off the streets or make safer neighborhoods for children. Sure, some “stars” may give time and donations and lip service to a few charitable nonprofits and causes. They may like to think of themselves as philanthropists, or go to Africa to help the poor, but gee most them still return to their fucking 12 billion dollar mansions with servants and cooks and a fleet of cars. I am sure there are some of these types who live very meaningful lives in their 50 room mansions and have close personal relationships with the Divine. Fine. It doesn’t better my personal life to give it any of my energy. As a matter of fact, I feel shittier about myself when I watch or listen or read about the “stars”. I don’t care about who is who, and who is wearing what, and who is dating who, and who is marrying who, and who is divorcing who, and who is having a baby. These people capitalize on you and me. The more we look at them, the more money they make. I choose not to give my energy, hence my money, to most of this industry. I hate many movies because of the wasted finite natural resources that go into them. If you feel angry about what I have just said, oh well. If you need to expend your energy, getting mad over some Hollywood crap that doesn’t care about you… well there you go. Don’t waste your energy yelling at me, because I’m telling you I don’t give a crap what you think of me when it comes to inane crap like other people’s fucking Hollywood lives. I just don’t care that much to defend myself on this issue As a last resort, if you can’t figure out what I am trying to say, maybe you should stop reading at this point and go watch some TV. Digression over.
In my meandering on Google to find out if Batwoman exists, I found out some rather shocking news. There doesn’t seem to be much out there on Batwoman except that she has recently resurfaced, and her secret identity is revealed. The original Batwoman was removed from the comic book in 1964 and later killed off. She was originally created in 1956 from an existing 1954 character named Katherine “Kathy” Kane (not too original seeing as it rhymes with Lane, y’know of Lois Lane?) as a love interest for Batman to dispel the myth that Batman was gay. (Batman gay? What the? Batman is a demigod!)
Batwoman, or Katherine Kane, was recently resurrected, except now she is a lesbian of Jewish descent. How very interesting!
It could be true if the stigma of being gay was overwhelming in her youth so she conformed to societal pressures and had a fling with Batman. To appease her parents, she married later and had a child but woke up at forty to find that she was in deed a lesbian. Feeling brave and self assured, she decided to step out since society is soooo much more friendly and open these days towards homosexuality. [We know that society likes to give the issue of open homosexuality lip service, but most of society is definitely not more accepting to gays and lesbians. When same-sex marriage is made legal, gays and lesbians are allowed into heaven (amongst other issues that unfortunately hover over people who want to share life experiences with someone of their own gender) and government and religious zealots get the fuck out of consenting adults bedrooms, we then as a society have arrived. Until then, I feel safe saying that the majority of our society here in the United States, where “freedom” rings, is a bunch of moron hypocrites.] Kudos! to Batwoman taking a leap of faith even though our society isn’t as gentle as she may have first anticipated. I hope she doesn’t get nicked again by an overwhelming heterosexual (I’m guessing on that…I don’t know for sure) male dominated industry who is only looking at the money.
At first, I was shocked to find out this bit of information, but it compliments my life analogy. If Batwoman can come out to the world, I can find the strength within myself to do the same thing. (No, I’m not a closet lesbian. Sorry girls, I like guys.) I can follow my soul’s calling and leave the fear of what others may think at the door. Writers often borrow from life. We borrow her sorrows, fear, happiness, and dreams. We may borrow from real life experience. The fear rises when one thinks, "Oh, no. Will so-in-so think this about him/her when it is really just fiction?" or, "I'm writing and making things up…thoughts, beliefs, situations…will I be chastised for this in some way?" This daunting fear of having to explain to others about the words on the page delays, in me, sharing my work with others especially people close to me.
I could continue on this path for another ten pages or so, but not today. I think that you have heard enough from me right now, plus my ass is asleep. It looks like the sun has popped out. I have a real tough time staying indoors when the weather has been horrid and then, suddenly, warms. I need to be outside. So I’m going to piddle in the garden, maybe swing my pick-ax to get some aggression out.
Thanks for reading, and remember that you do have a choice.