Hail, hail, the gang's...wait, where's the gang?

So, I turned 40 yesterday. I don't care about the fanfare, I don't care about who remembered, or who forgot, I don't even really care that it marks the 14,600th day I have been alive. What does concern me, what does bother me what I loathe about that day - 40 is a milestone, a stigma in most people's perception... I am officially old. "Forty is the new Thirty". No, no it isn't. And Thirty isn't the new Twenty, either. Nobody says that, or believes it, except for the people who don't want to be forty, or thirty, or fifty. They are the only ones saying/believing that. To that point, apparently there is a television show called "things to do when you're 40", in which they officially stated, for the record that "40 represents the end of your youth". So, I am officially old. I have more gray in my hair than I have ever had on my head. I have gray hair on my chest. I have gray hair on my balls. Worst part is, companionship. My future is populated by either prostitutes, or single mothers, or nobody. Naturally I will go with nobody. Prostitutes are too expensive, and I don't find the notion of "steady supply of income for me and my kids" to be that appealing. I have no desire whatsoever to be an ATM to anyone. And there aren't any normal women out there who are actively looking for a 40 year old guy. Even if he is in the best shape of his life. And in better shape than a lot of 18-30 year olds. None of that matters. This is going to be a shitty year. Yay.