Son of a bitch.

I have to stop taking these tests.


The last thing I want to do is live to be a ripe old 89.48 years old.

What's my problem? How long do you have?

This morning, I was watching CNN's superbowl coverage of Hurricane Katrina. As of then, they didn't have much footage to show, so they kept rolling the same loop over and over of the people evacuated into the Superdome. So, right after I see two little kids slugging it out for the third time, I see this one old lady walking, quickly and deliberately. I bet she's good at it because, clearly, she doesn't have a car and has to walk everywhere. So it broke my heart because why was she there, walking alone? None of her family evacuated her, I guess? I'm assuming she was alone. She's either really mean or too nice, or she outlived everybody, there is no in between.

And she was picking her way through a football field of strangers, and all she had was two plastic grocery sacks that she was struggling to keep from dragging the ground. And in the usual outburst, I said, "There you go, Ron, you see that? That is my future. There she is, walking with the few possessions she could carry, and a couple of cans of catfood to snack on later...that's me alone (implying from a previous conversation that Ron is now dearly departed out-of-the-picture because of junk food I warned him about, and there's my biggest fear: I've outlived everyone I know or meet in the next 6 or so decades, and I've spent all the pennies I saved along the way. No longer implied --). That's me living longer than I want to, running out of saved money and kicking myself because I didn't invest in that Google Cloning service they talked up back in 2012, and now I'm scurrying around the Superdome by myself in a stadium full of strangers that I'm too scared to even look at on the street. AND they made me leave my only heir, my cat Mr. JingleBoots, back home to blow away...more cat food for me!"

I get worked up.

Anyway. That's it. No more fruits or vegetables. No more sushi, just motor oil smoothies from now on and make 'em dirty. Better get a pack of Camel Unfiltereds on the way home and feast on a handful of sand to speed myself outta here.

So, now that I've made it sound like so much fun, do you really want to know how long will you live?

Ok, so admit it: You've missed me and my craptastic attitude these past few weeks. Ok ok, here's me, changing my attitude and accepting my fate. I'm going to embrace the grave fact that I am going to live longer than a chemically preserved hotdog in a landfill.

Guess I'd better stop off and get some micro dermabrasion kits and start the process now. This is actually right up my alley. All 12 of the Apostles in the big blue sky know I've seen every documentary on mummification by now, even that one where the Japanese monks mummified themselves to death. Have you seen that? Fascinating. They ate bark and jogged around for, I don't know, 3 years maybe and toward the end, drank resin tea with a splash of arsenic. Close enough. It was insane, I tell ya. Just clinically insane or really devout, it is so hard to tell the difference. Still, it's fascinating.

Well, it is.

Oh, ignore me, I just need some Cheez-Its. I'm starving.

Ooo. Gotta go, the lights just flickered. Better go get the bird feeders out of the trees before Katrina blows them right outta The Yarden.

By the way, I never found those dang flip flops.