I’m aging. I don’t like it. Mostly because I think like an eighteen year old. Walking past a mirror and seeing my dad looking back usually snaps me back to the reality of true age. I even catch myself saying things like, “I remember when – not that long ago – we didn’t have cellphones….” or make some other reference that my kids or young employees can’t wrap their brains around. It’s the natural order. The timeline. But I don’t have to like it…or accept it… or pretend to adapt. I suppose my parents felt the same way. Continue reading “Waah Waahs”
Category: Humor
PISP
I’m not a sissy. I stand by that. For my entire life I’ve made every effort to not be a sissy, yet there are things that make me weak-in-the knees and force involuntary – call it reflexive – outbursts of sissyness. For example, my family (and some coworkers) know that bats evoke episodes of sissy behavior. Sometimes shrieking’s involved. Sometimes not.
Hey
Sometimes my brain goes into sleep mode, like when I’m standing in line somewhere or between events at a four hour track meet. It must be some kind of preprogrammed human coping mechanism to keep blood pressure in check or maybe prevent mob rioting and mass murder. It clearly doesn’t work all the time, based on daily news reports. And millennials must have dropped the gene in their short evolution. They’ve been conditioned to stand contently in endless lines, with the ultimate reward being the latest iteration of a two by four inch electronic distraction.
Tinfoil Hats
I’m in my long count to 10, currently holding at between 7 and 8. Counting’s gotten easier since having high-schoolers. As fate would have it, family gatherings seem to be the hardest drain on my countin’ battery. Let’s just say that there’s no greater draw on the ole “battry” than the alcohol-fueled rant of an in law who sees me as plaid-panted cousin Eddie from Christmas Vacation. But it’s good to know exactly how people feel about me, even if it means gettin’ poked with a sharp stick now and then.