They're Back!

A new battle began in my bathroom this morning. No, it wasn’t another gray hair or a new-found wrinkle. I’ve surrendered to aging (sort of). An ant had the audacity to stroll across the counter like it owned the place.

“Get out of here.” I shouted as I thumb-pressed the creature to death.

The enemy now vanquished from my kingdom, I continued my morning rituals.

That was just a drifter. I assured myself. It’s much too early for ants.

Later, I went back to brush my hair. Another one paraded itself through the sink. I killed that one with greater force and a muttered curse.

Ants aren’t usually a problem until summer, although it has been unseasonably hot. It’s May, for crying out loud! Let me at least get through the month of June.

As I write this, an eerie feeling of déjà vu envelopes me:

They’re back! The damn ants have returned to the site of last year’s extermination.

Ok, battle on! This year I may use a gun.

Text Stuff

I don’t ‘get’ text messaging. It seems incredibly time consuming and encourages people to spell badly.
“cn u c me 2dy?”
Come on, couldn’t you call me and ask the same question without appearing illiterate?
What's so important that you had to let me know right now?
Isn't texting fairly useless in the event of an emergency?

Oh Hillary! Please Don't Go!

The pundits are encouraging Hillary to give up her big dream of absolute power. I want her to stay in the race even if her loss is inevitable.
Why, you ask, would I, a card-carrying conservative want her to continue? I'll tell you why:
I have the entire summer's entertainment planned around the Democrat's knock-down, drag-out convention.
Sure, I know normal people don't find that stuff interesting, but I've never claimed to be normal. I want to see Hillary bitch-slap Bill Richardson while steam blows out of the former president's ears and he turns the color of Barney the Dinosaur. I'd enjoy seeing James Carville in a knife fight with Howard Dean. I imagine armed guards pulling Hillary from the convention while she screams, "You OWE me!" It won't be pretty but it will be entertaining.
It'll make the 1968 debacle of 'The whole world is watching' look like tea-time at Wimbledon.

I enjoy roll-call where states announce their claim to fame:
The great state of Mississippi, who kicks Alabama's ass in football, declares all their votes for (insert candidate name).

Georgia- the state that made the peanut famous and produced Jimmy Carter, the worst president and now former president in the history of the world casts all their votes for (I.C.N.)

The mellow state of California, where marijuana is legal but prayer is not, where we are so far left of center we've fallen off the damn planet casts some votes for (I.C.N.) and the rest we can't remember.
Anyway, maybe it's just me, but I'm looking forward to the madness.

God and Dogs

Yesterday when I was leaving 1st service at church, I heard a woman scolding what I assumed was a child. I looked across the parking lot and saw her with what looked like a very ugly child wearing a t-shirt.

As I got closer I realized that she was speaking to a dog. An ugly dog but a dog none the less. THEN, she put a leash on the dog and walked into church with it. And her family followed her like this was normal!

The fact that the dog would be in a CHURCH is one thing, but it is just not right to put clothes on animals. They really don't think it's as funny as you do. Stop it. No, really, stop it.

Ashes to Ashes

A card from the Neptune Society came the other day with an opportunity to win a pre-paid cremation. I've got nothing to lose so I entered the contest.

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So, while I'm waiting to be awarded the prize, I thought I'd take this opportunity to inform you all of my final wishes: embalming, casket purchase and the requisite viewing of a corpse are beyond creepy and seem to be a hideous waste of money. Plus it will really tick me off to be dressed up in clothes someone else selected and stuck in a box while family and friends pass by making inane comments: She looks just like herself!

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At those prices shouldn't I look better than myself? Shouldn't I look like a freaking beauty queen?

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Don’t buy a grave marker and promise that you’ll visit my grave. I won’t be there and you shouldn’t be either. Besides, I’m claustrophobic, and being shut in a box that costs more than my first car is just wrong.

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I’d like for my loved ones to gather because there will be food and fun. Hire a comedian! I want to be remembered as someone who loved to laugh. Don't spend a bunch of money on food either. I love these people but if they really knew me they'd know better than to expect food and entertainment!

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Don’t spring for a fancy urn either. If you can’t or won’t sprinkle my remains in the ocean, check in the cupboard, I’m sure there’s an empty Skippy jar you can use.

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Grab the one with the blue lid that says “Extra-Chunky”. See? My names already on it!

Free

The "procedure" went well and having completed the required 24 hour recovery period (this included butt-numbing hours of watching really bad daytime TV) I can now drive a motor vehicle, operate heavy equipment and sign binding legal documents.

I can, but should I? The recovery period may have done permanent damage.

Attn: Driver of the Grey Piece of Crap Car In front Of Me Today:

There's a little stick-like thing on the left side of your steering wheel which operates your turn signals or blinkers. You know, the little lights that flash to let OTHER drivers figure out what you plan to do next.

Turn signals have been standard equipment on automobiles for years. Your car has them too, and no, you don't have to have special training to use them! Remember how you used to have to stick your arm out of the window to signal you were turning or stopping? The little stick replaced that but, here's the catch: YOU HAVE TO USE IT!

I realize you may have thought (I use the term loosely) that everyone around you could read your mind. Honestly, you can't read your mind- how the heck are we supposed to?

I'm just saying that in the future it would be a good idea for you to use those signals. Otherwise this sweet little grandmother is going to give you that special signal. No, it doesn't mean that you're #1.
Don't make me get out of my car and show you.

I feel much better now.