How Ella Got Her Groove Back

Hi everyone! You know, not many of you know this, but I’ve been blessed with the gift of multiple personality disorder. Seriously, I’ve got more personalities than Sybil. Some call it being a crazy bitch, I call it quirky.

 In any case, my 86 year old alter ego, Ella Mae Bullock wrote this piece.

 She’s a liberal Texan, which means she believes in humble sexuality. She loves technology and she’d rather offer you a Xanax over Werther’s Original. She likes her men like her martinis: filthier than a European porn shoot.

 Here is: How Ella Got Her Groove Back.

My name is Ella Mae Bullock and yes, that is a Texan name, and yes, I happen to live in one of those old folks homes. But I am no old broad – despite what my grandkids say.

I’m young, vivacious, and full of life!

My neighbors in this Floridian hell (Florida is where America’s elderly go to die, after all) are not like me at all. Okay, so we all have nothing better to do. Well, I don’t enjoy being patronized by a 29-year-old FSU grad student trying to shove jello and bingo cards down my windpipe. Perhaps if the prizes were a little more luxurious than $10 gift cards and a ride to Chili’s I could jump on board. The activities are just plain dumb – no imagination here. We have our exercises, our board games, our crafts and through each and every one, I think God, these people are just biding their time until they croak!

And you can’t substitute intellectual conversation as an activity. I mean, how in the heck do you expect them to laugh at the punch lines of jokes when these Alzheimer birds can’t even remember how they began?

So being the quick learner I am, I’ve adopted social media. I figure since my kids shoved me in here to die, I can at least live vicariously through their social posts.

Now my granddaughter, Jessica, is what they call a slut. I love her (because I have to) but the darn girl is always posting those instagrams of herself – I just learned that’s called a selfie – cute name for an act that’s turned most of our youth into vain, self-absorbed sycophants.

I swear, she posts at least three selfies everyday, all of them in little to no clothing and porn star hair. And don’t even get me started on her makeup. Only RuPaul should wear that much makeup. Well, and maybe Meg Ryan too.

To make matters worst, little Jessica then comments on the photo with what I thought was a list of her favorite things: #sky #blue #beautiful #hombre #fashion #life #sun #celebrity

But I’ve now learned she uses these descriptions so that other people who don’t know her can fuel this ridiculous behavior with empty compliments.

It’s hard to see one of my own crying out for attention with such discipline, it truly breaks my heart I tell ya!

Now I may be a hypocrite, because yes, last week I posted a sexy lingerie photo with the comment #cougar, just because I needed a little ego boost after the clerk at the Golden Corral offered me a Senior discount. But I’m 86, I’m mature enough to be a hypocrite God dammit!

Anyway, Jessica’s account became incredibly redundant, so I had to unfollow her.

Now my grandson, Josh is gay.

Everything is bigger in Texas, and that extends to my heart. I love that he has the courage to be himself.

I just wish ‘himself’ was not a cocky, 30-something bartender.

I had high hopes for this one when I heard the coming out news. I thought, “Oh my! Maybe I have a Versace in the family!”

It turns out what we got was one of Versace’s lover-boy leeches. Joshy’s sole goal in life is to be famous. Not famous for anything in particular, just famous.

Now because he has virtually no skills or work experience, Josh hopes his body will sky rocket him to the stars. So his instagram account is now worse than Jessica’s! He’s created a shrine dedicated to his shirtless photos.

I know things about him that should not know: From the countless naked back shots, I’d say my sweet Joshy takes it up the ass.

He has a terrible tribal tattoo on his lower right hip.

And he will post a photo with a tease as to how he manscaped each week.

Joshy, please stop! You’re representing the Bullock family and not in a positive light.

I read an article in the Times (have to stay up to date, keeps the mind young) explaining that yes, America’s youth is dumber and lagging behind our international competitors in education, but they surpass any other country in terms of confidence.

I really wonder how these stats were measured because it seems to me America’s youth is exponentially less insecure. I mean, why would my grandson feel the need to post shirtless photos every single day? Could it be because he has nothing else interesting to show for himself? And perhaps he’s so insecure about that he needs the immediate gratification from countless strangers validating his superficial gifts.

From my ‘grandma’ perspective, if the youth were so confident, they wouldn’t need so desperately to connect with a huge mass of strangers for likes or comments.

I am from a different time, so what do I know? But I still think I’m onto something. It really doesn’t matter any longer though.

I tried to hint to Josh that his photos are ridiculous and embarrassing. Subtleties are not my strong suit however, so after commenting ten of his photos with “Josh! You’re being insecure. Put on some clothes, love grandma.”

Well, after the ten, he blocked me.

But honestly, watching the upcoming generations un-evolve on social media is more depressing than watching my elderly neighbors die off one by one. I mean, the other day, my sweet 8 year old grand daughter, Michigan (her damn Mom reads too much People Magazine – Michigan? Really?) was on twitter posting something about her haters.

Haters? You’re 8, Michigan.

I deleted all my accounts.

Except for my Match.com one.

I’m delighted to say, I’ve met a wonderful man named Pankaj in Mumbai. He is a Kama Sutra teacher and Buddhist philosopher. I’ve still got one more fiery passion in me before I die. I want to live. I want to experience. And I don’t want to be a slave to a false, digital persona. Life is for the living!

So I’m moving to India in a month to meet my fiancé and celebrate with a Bollywood wedding.

I would share my wedding photos on Instagram for my family, but who am I really kidding? If it’s not a slutty self-portrait, who cares?

Our first night together. Nothing like some love that’s as hot as Indian Curry