As Holly Hunter said in Broadcast News, “I have passed some line, someplace,”* where the whole friggin’ UNIVERSE has figured out that I am a) getting old, b) getting fat and c) getting absolutely f-ing obsessed with the way I look.  Witness, the mail yesterday:

Exhibit A: Helpful mailer addressed to me, by name, from the California Department of Health Care Services (DHCS) letting me know about the “long-term care” I may need “later in life.”  They want me to know that “more than 70% of people 65 and older will need some type of long-term care.” And since my child will be 25 years old when I turn 65, I think we can count him out as being “helpful” in preventing the “financial devastation” that the DHCS promises me if I don’t “act now.”  (My husband, however, will be 58.  “So I got that going for me, which is nice.”*)

Exhibit B:  A letter, again addressed directly to me by name, from the nice folks at Mental Lap Band who want me to know that they can hypnotize me out of my extra weight for the low, low price of $1997 $1490 $1200 for the eight ten twelve week program (I swear, it looked just like that).  Eat Less!  Feel Full!  Lose Weight! they say in all caps across the top.  Sounds like heaven … except the part where they’re counting on “the power of your mind to squeeze the walls of your stomach tightly to make a small food pouch at the top that fills easily” and that it’s done with hypnotism by gypsies under a full harvest moon.  “Yes, mmm-hmm.”*

Exhibit C  My Social Security thing that comes constantly, telling me about the pathetic amount of money they’ll pay my husband and child if I drop dead today.  Why do we get these?  What are we supposed to do with them?  Why are there so many of them?  And, seriously, does anyone under the age of 50 really think we’re going to wring a single dime out of Social Security? “Bitch, please!”*

Exhibit D:  A lovely full-color cardstock flyer, addressed directly to me, by name, from the lipo/juvederm/botox/silhouette lift people in the fancy beach town up the street (I live in the ghetto beach town a tad farther south), including discounts for multiple services.  It’s like someone told them exactly how to tailor the pitch to make me salivate (and now that I think about it, maybe someone did … and maybe that someone, even though he is married to me, has been listening to my complaints after all!).  I can’t afford any of it, though, so I’ll just hang the flyer on my refrigerator … and keep playing the lottery and hoping.

Can’t wait to see what Bob the Mailman (yes, I know his name, which also makes me an old person) brings today!  Perhaps the Auto Club Magazine?  The new issue of Sunset?  Dare I hope for the newsletter from the Beach Cities Health District … it is almost time for the annual senior health care fair after all!

Anyway, wish me luck!

*Thanks, Sprite’s Keeper, for making me hyper-aware of my movie quote OCD.  Argghhhh!  In case you’re wondering, today’s selection includes nuggets from Trading Places, Saturday Night Live and Caddyshack.