Remember the Alamo

Men fought and died for this land.  They had their own men killed over the very ground I pay a mortgage on.  For what?  Did they even realize that there is nothing here but mosquitoes and scorpions?  Did they know that there is nine months of summer here?  Or were they simply claiming the land as some kind of poor man's trophy?

Is was 105 yesterday.  One-Hundred and five degrees.  My people did not fight for this land.  If my people had fought for any sort of land, it might have contained green grass, green trees and land that was somewhat farmable and not an otherwise crap shoot.  My people came to this land on a boat, escaping the hardships of potato famine, harsh taxes so cruel they starved to death, and the threat of being called "coward".

I am the epitamy of the American Melting Pot.  I am the result of miscellaneous Europeans intermarrying with other miscellaneous Europeans.  My people would not flee harsh conditions to settle in some desolate land where the trees are brown.  I would expect my bloodline to have been smarter, to have settled somewhere where the wind blows and it does not resemble a hair dryer on the high setting.

If Texas were still part of Mexico today, I might be sending my mortgage payment to the big name bank in California from some lush part of the nation.  But instead I sit here, in what is now known as Texas.  Most women slather their bodies in luxurious lotions after bathing as they desperately try to trap moisture in their skin.  I slather my arms and legs with cortizone cream and attempt to lure my mate with the wretched scent of menthol.  All because my European forefathers settled in a land that blood was shed for.

I ask again why these men laid claim to such a worthless piece of dirt covered with thorny mesquite and poisonous snakes.  So I can sit here, their grand-daughter of revolution, rightly so, covered head to toe in mosquito bites.