As you may have noted, I submitted some reruns, as of late. Therefore, some of the content within this stunning piece is a bit dated but is still rant-worthy, if you ask me. I realize that you never ask me but, I feel compelled to hold you captive for my own sick pleasures anyway.
The first bit of news is that I'm now considered to be oldish. I turned the big five oh on February 9, and it has been simply wonderful ever since—heavy sarcasm intended.
A woman can tell when she has reached the end of times and I think fifty is the beginning of my personal internal apocalypse, quite frankly.
When being a cougar, or a cradle robber, suddenly means to pursue a man in his forties, a gal has reached the pinnacle of the mountain and it's a deadly free-fall, hence forth.
Also, having to sleep with one of those old-fashioned washing machines near the bed is another clue. I speak of the kind that has a wringing deal, through which one runs clothing in order to squeeze the wetness out. Why this apparatus, you ask? See, it can also be used for soaked, night-sweat, menopausal, drenched clothing and bedding. Yet another hint that life is over, as we know it.
I've also found myself fantasizing about new inventions to ease the pain of the big change o' life. For example, I dream of super absorbent padding that would fit strategically under the breast area in order to sop up the daytime “perspiration.” Let's face it, it is NOT perspiration, it's Niagara Falls. Get over this delicate language pertaining to bodily steam escaping from every pore, would you?
I am more likely to argue with the television, these days, and, I've become even more of a crank pot, if you can fathom that. For instance, I'm totally shocked and a bit angered that Valentine's Day is suddenly news worthy. Why is this happening? It's a totally dumb holiday. I know, I know, that last statement is generally reserved for those without Valentines in their lives. I have a *&$#@ Valentine, who actually acknowledges the day, and yet, I still find it to be ridiculous in every way. Whew.
Speaking of Bill O'Reilly, (and providing yet another example of my rude demeanor), I wanted to leap across the room, like the FTD man, and choke the life out of my television when he kept bloviating about his Super Bowl Sunday interview with President O.
Since my energy level and my springing-into-action-factor have exited, stage left, I couldn't muster the get-up-and-yell. Therefore, I found myself utilizing obscene Italian hand gestures instead of actually moving about the room whilst ranting like a madwoman.
I actually like many things about O'Reilly. In fact, I thought he did a fine job with El-Presidente. (That statement alone should alienate most of the readership.) However, after ten O'Reilly Factor shows, that focused on his leader-of-the-free-world-question-asking-prowess, I seriously considered holding an intervention for him.
He interviewed experts about the presidential interview. Pie charts were studied in earnest. People with whom he disagreed were taken to task. The whole deal was so over milked that cows across the nation dried up in protest. Does that sum it up enough for those who never watch O'Reilly? OK then, I shall move along.
Did I mention my pure disgust over the Super Bowl? Well, I was appalled over the whole ordeal. I literally, and you know that I only use that word in a literal fashion, wanted Denver to throw in the towel by the second quarter.
I was rooting for the Colorado team to boot but, I simply felt that enough was clearly enough. Why can't sports teams just surrender and get on with life? Perpetual tried to explain the reasons why but, as always, I ignored him and went about shrieking at the coaches.
When your team is losing by astronomical numbers, it's obviously time to simply say, “good job, other team, have a nice day and drive through.” Don't you agree?
Just one last thing that I've noted, since becoming super ancient...I am morphing into some kind of super-aware-of-germs-loon-on-the-loose. I now find that when I visit Walmart, for one example, I take the cart through the car wash first and then I return to the store for some sleeve-over-the-digit shopping pleasure.
I take those disinfectant cloth deals, that they provide when one enters, and plaster them all over the body. I am in a panic about catching the Bubonic Plague whilst perusing the produce. It has gotten so bad that I am seriously considering ordering Aunt Liz to wear those disposable deli gloves while she preps food for the household.
I don't want to offend, (did I just type that with a straight face?) but, I do think that conditions could be cleaner here in the food region of the home. I know Perpetual feels the same way and, yes, he is over fifty so, I'm blaming our age on the whole thing.
Actually, I can't do that. You see, my kid, age 18, has also been bitten by the Howard Hughes paranoia bug. For those who do not know of this Hughes character, shame upon you—I mean, look him up on your computer or at the local library. The bottom line is this. If you see Aunt Liz in the future and notice that she is wrapped in plastic, from hair to toenail, you will know that we've really entered the panic zone.
Well, I think that's all I can possibly muster for this most uplifting column. I'm off to find other hidden gripes in everyday life. I know that it is VERY out of character for me to do so but, I will try my best so that I might fill this space with more insanity next time. Wish me luck.
THE END.