I’m chalking another successful trip around the sun! By successful I mean that I haven’t been arrested (as far as anyone can find through the Freedom of Information Act); I’m not in rehab for any sort of physical, mental or addictive problems (that can be reported to any of my many insurance companies), and I’m still paying into the federal income tax system. So as far as I can tell, I’m still in that sweet spot of my life: old enough to know better but too old to care.
Of course, I’m still of an age where I lie about how old I am. Only now, I don’t shave years off. I add them on. Someone recently asked my age and I proudly said 57. I’m not 57 – still several years younger than that — but this person was stunned and amazed at how incredible I look to be that old. They now hold me up as a testament to how to really live life and left bragging to anyone who would listen about how terrific I look.
Whether or not I’m old is relative. I still sneeze with confidence. I drive at night. I can flip a queen-size mattress unaided. I’ve discovered that old is in the eye of the beholder and it’s gauged in Mother Years. If you’re old enough to be someone’s mother, then that someone thinks you’re old. You can be 28, but a 3-year old will think you’re ancient. I’m only old if I can be your mother. If I can be your grandmother, shut up. Go get your diaper changed and take a nap already.
At my age, I no longer have to explain myself. I can believe and say whatever crazy thing I want, and it gets written off as “She’s just set in her ways.” I can broadcast to a crowded party that gender fluidity is directly correlated to global warming which is completely controlled by the Illuminati. Then just sit back and watch the fireworks. This takes much less effort and interest than actually trying to convince some pig-headed youngster of my position on anything important. Plus it’s a whole lot more fun.
Fun is now more important than dignity. I ride the shopping cart through the parking lot. I dance to elevator music. I wear whatever. Truly, youth is wasted on the young. With that said, onward to another solar rotation!
Photo: Not me. But thank you HappyBirthdayCake2015.com
I was sitting around somewhere recently where I had to wait. Probably a doctor’s office or the oil change place or something. This is usually the only chance I have to actually pick up a magazine and thumb through it. At this particular hurry-up-and-wait location, I picked up a back issue of Texas Monthly to read the article on fire ants. Oh, that was a mistake.
It seems that those wacky researchers at Texas A&M have discovered that there is this certain type of fly that will lay eggs in the neck of fire ants. The larvae then start to feed on the fluids of the fire ant’s body until it gets to the brain. As it devours the ant brain – and what a gourmet meal that has to be – the ant slowly becomes a zombie. The ant zombie then mindlessly wanders away from the mound forgetting that it has important work to do, like organizing commando raids on innocent gardeners.
Eventually, far from the mound it use to call home and completely devoid of brain function and bodily fluids, the ant’s head finally just falls off and the new fly emerges.
First of all, this whole thing has a gross-out rating of 38 on a scale from one to 10. I hate fire ants as much as the next guy, but fly larvae who live in ant necks and eat their brains is disgusting. Don’t get me wrong, just because it’s disgusting doesn’t mean I’m not all for it. I just think that there’s a B-horror movie script in this: “Attack of the Zombie Ants” or “Lord of the Brain-Eating Flies.” Feel free to pause here and come up with a few of your own.
Secondly, what super nerd A&M scientist happened to be tagging along behind some pregnant fly to discover she was planting larvae in ant necks? Or did he work backwards? “Hey, where did all these headless zombie ants come from?” Either way, there’s a guy out there who probably needs a make-over on several levels.
What is completely alarming, though, is that more and more I find myself wandering into a room and wondering why I’m there, sometimes feeling dehydrated … Could someone please come check my neck?!?!
Betsy Ross, get out your needle and thread, sister, because if a group of West Coasters get their way, we’re adding a star to Old Glory with the establishment of our 51st State: New California. It seems some folks over there aren’t feeling so sun-shiney about their state’s state of affairs and want a divorce. They’re not making this up just for attention, either. No, they have a hashtag on Twitter, people. This is for real!
The coastal counties from Los Angeles up just past San Francisco into Napa are getting voted off the island. According to the executive summary published on their website, “After years of over taxation, regulation, and mono party politics (There should be a comma here. That’s them, not me.) the State of California and many of it’s (Respectfully pointing out that it should be ‘its’ and not ‘it’s’. Again, not my typo.) 58 Counties have become ungovernable.” No kidding ungovernable. They need to get the grammar police sworn in immediately! You can’t run a respectable state while ignoring comma laws! It just invites anarchy!
So they’ve gone so far as to even design a flag, which is important. You can’t run the idea of a new state up the flagpole if you don’t actually have a flag. The problem with the flag, as I see it, is the big, fat LONE STAR on it! Maybe they’ve gotten so caught up in the whole secession ho-haw that they overlooked the fact that the United States already has a Lone Star State. And may I speak for all Texans both living, dead and yet unborn: Back Off There. Stick an avocado on it instead. Pay attention, that whole “Don’t Mess With Texas” isn’t a joke.
Honestly, I get it. I lived in California in the early 90’s and they’re nuts. But is ripping yourselves to pieces the answer? In Texas, 84% of us still aren’t speaking to the City of Dallas or the Texas Rangers baseball organization after they refused to switch home-stands with the Astros during Hurricane Harvey, but we don’t cut them out of the State. El Paso is closer to Los Angeles than it is to Houston, but we don’t act like we don’t know them just because we never see them.
Work out your problems, California. If we’re going to get a new state, I think Puerto Rico may have dibs.