I'm sure my mid-life crisis would be more visually seen, could I afford the mid-life crisis.

See I'm 27, and I know that I probably won't live to 60 because I'm pretty sure I began an odd cycle of an early form of a midlife crisis a year ago.

Had I actually had a good job, a proper education and all of that shit I'd already be riding around in a little pink corvette, with the drop top down, blasting my music like a goddamn old fart loser.

I know I'm not old. I'm 27; but every time I glance in the mirror I can see that old lady desperately trying to surface. My skin is not the same, my boobs- gez, ew, let's not even talk about those beat up old deflated tires. I think my 80 year old grandma has perkier tits than I do.

My hair is still very thick and fluffy, but I know it is only a matter of moments before those ugly grays begin to spring up like ingrown pubic hairs. Or worse, I'll go bald. Not just the usual bald, but the monk bald. A patch around the scalp, yet bald at the top. Heaven help me.

I play Stretch Armstrong with my face a lot now that I'm 27. I stretch back my entire face to try and get a glimpse at the child that once resided there. It used to work well, and would provide me at least a moment of happiness, but now when I pull my skin back all I see is an odd looking alien like creature, with almond shaped eyes. Stupid idiot. Old stupid idiot trying to look young by stretching back her skin.

Sometimes I am not aware of my age though, these days are good, yet end bad. For instance I will see a younger male looking at me. I can tell he is probably 18 or 19 years old. Nice skin, nice face, nice looking in general. I tell myself he is 'checking me out'; and I like it. Then seconds after this thought I remind myself how goddamn old I am, and that in no way, shape or form was this 'young man' checking me out. I try to cheer myself up by telling myself that maybe he thought I was around his age. Hah! Wishful thinking dumb-ass.

I probably had something on my face and didn't know it. That's another thing about turning 27, although you have all of your fine motor skills still (if you are lucky that is), for some odd reason you lose some feeling in the face and at any given moment a booger or fleck of leftover lunch could be sticking to your cheek, shining out to the public like Christmas tree tinsel. You think you look good, and you think people are checking you out, only to discover later on you have an ice cream mustache, or a large snot spiraled on your cheek in a weird 'look at me' shape.

Maybe I had a stroke? Who knows.

Maybe it is just me, but I swear this has to be a mid-life. A mid-life at 27! I don't have kids yet, but I do want them. I wonder though sometimes if my old ass will be able to keep up with that type of energy. Then I think that if I am having a mid-life, I will die at 54. What would be the point of having kids now, if I was going to bounce on them so early on?

The incredibly sad thing about my mid-life crisis is that I can't do anything about it. Like I said, if I could, I'd have the pink corvette, a young piece of arm candy, and a little neatly shaved white poodle that would go with me everywhere I went. For me this fantasy seems like the proper fix for my mid-life type. Yes, there are types. I believe I'm a mid-life type A. It's mild, yet very extreme considering my age.

I can't afford this mid-life. Ugh. Type A, B, or C.

Other things bother me too that never did before. Girls with skinny asses, long flowing hair, and flawless skin. Man I hate them. I really do. I tell myself everything will be okay, that they too will one day suffer the dilemma of having to turn nearly 30. They too will lose the perky boobs and graduate to sagging ones in just a blink of time. I just hope I live to see it. Haha. But then there will always be another generation of them. Young, flawless bastards. Rot in hell Barbie.

I worry about losing my hair, but oddly enough, like a goddamn man, hair has sprang up in places I never had it before. Just a few months ago I found a half inch straggler growing around my nipple area. I pulled the fucker out, and it hurt like hell. Guess what? This month there are 3 hairs now growing out of that newly formed tit pore where the first hair grew. Son of a bitch! I cannot win; this battle against age is coming too quickly, breathing down my neck. Pretty soon its mothballs and wheelchairs for me.

I was going to buy a house next year, but at the rapid deterioration rate I am going, I may as well start grave plot shopping. I want a good plot, with a water view if possible.

Forget botox injections, I may as well start poking myself with embalming fluid. Such a sad pathetic thought, but so true.

I have to laugh about it though, seriously, I heard laughter is good for the heart, and if I'm already in the midst of a mid-life, keeping my heart as healthy as possible is dire. While most 27 year olds, have 27 year old hearts, mine probably resembles a 60 year olds. I won't even mention my lungs. They're slowly caving in, I'm sure.

On to my fingers. This was where it all started. I noticed about a year ago that my once flawless narrow fingers began showing odd signs of deep wrinkles. It began with small lines in between the joints. I have old lady hands already, at 27! Old lady hands! I moisturize daily, but we all know that shit can only go so far. Having to apply moisturizing lotion to my hands just adds to the old lady feeling. I never had to apply this shit to my hands before. Yet now, its like a lifelong drug. I'm medicated on moisturizers for the rest of my life.

Another thing I noticed about this growing old bullshit is that when I now kneel down for longer than 5 minutes, I actually have to make loud grunting noises in order to get back up. It comes with the package of kneeling now. I can try to NOT grunt, but who am I kidding?

I also noticed that my bones and muscles take a bad beating. Yes, only a few short moments kneeling over could cause spastic cramps, or wobbly useless limbs.

Sleeping in the wrong position at 27 years old can sometimes result in week long pains in the neck and back. As a kid I could sleep on hardwood floors and feel fully refreshed in the morning. Oh not anymore, not by a long shot. Sleeping on the floor would lead to a very early death for me, I am sure.

I'm also very sick about hearing how 40 is the new 20. For me, it feels like 27 is the new 80.At any rate, I don't know who came up with this slogan, but I'm pretty sure it has a lot to do with that un-human vampire bitch Demi Moore. Screw her, she bathes in virgin blood, and she is giving the real 40 year olds a complex. Like a vampire, one day she will be exposed to direct sunlight and her fake skin will melt away. Poor pitiful thing.

Another issue I deal with occurs every month. A few years ago if I missed my period I worried that I might be pregnant. Since I have began my mid-life crisis, I worry a LOT when it is late. Not because I may be pregnant, but because...well...you know where I am going with this! It's because I worry that menopause may be setting in. I mean gez, really! What the hell!?

Moving on, at 27 years old I also have this sense of wisdom that I probably shouldn't have. For instance, I will travel to a foreign country, yet feel like I have already been there, and done that. Nothing amuses me anymore. I feel like I've done it all, seen it all, and now I don't know what's left to do.

This numbing feeling probably is not healthy, and you are probably laughing, but hey-whatever, when you go through your mid-life, come talk to me.

I feel like it is time for me to retire. How dare they tell me I have to wait till I'm 55. I'm not going to see 55! I think I should be able to argue my case and begin collecting retirement early; like right-now-early. It's an exceptional case I'm sure. I just think it sucks is all, knowing I will never see the day that I will retire considering the fact that my mid-life is here and now.

I'm also pretty positive that I'm not the only one who feels this way. I know some of you older folks are probably thinking I am insane reminiscing about when you were 27, so young and vibrant (hey kiss my wrinkly ass bub), but I bet there is a nice handful of twenty somethings out there who know that they are going through (or at least beginning) their mid-life crisis. Do know, you are not alone.

(This was written out of pure fun, so there is no need to request that I seek medical attention. Thank you and have a good day, you bastard)