Telling it like I see it

• If you’re afraid to pull into or back out of a parking space – get a fucking Pinto.
• If there are 5 cars in a row tailgating you, get the hell out of the fast lane.
• If people are visibly cringing because your brat is too loud, LEAVE.
• Don’t walk down the middle of the driving area in the parking lot, stupid.
• Two words – Turn Signal!
• If you’re retired and have all day to vote, please go between 9-11am or 1-4pm. WORKING people don’t need you to clog up the line for an hour, forced to listen to you discuss your bowel movements (or lack thereof).

I think Monday has extended itself another day.

Driving down the main thoroughfare today; glanced over at the young man driving the (Office Temps) delivery car next to me. OHMYGOD. I couldn’t tell if it was died in, shaved in, or tattooed on, but that boy had leopard spots patterned all over his head. My soon-to-be-18 year old son looked over at my guffaw (first time I’ve guffawed in a long time), checked out the kid and actually said “I’d slap the brains out that boy if he were mine! Why do parents let their kids go out in public like that?”

Yesterday’s conversation with him revolved around getting multiple facial piercings after his birthday and there being nothing we (parental units) could do about it.

I’m sooo old

I hate it. I hate it. Waking up in the middle of the night for whatever reason – the dog snoring too loud, hubby sneaking a smoke, whatever – and squinting at the clock just enough to see the 3:… A simple thought… the heat’s too high, it’s hot in here…

BAM – Music screams in your head! Stupid song that loops over and over and visions of shiney black bulbous butts shimmying and the rapper’s grating voice – SHIT! I just want to go back to sleep. Toss, turn, think of another song. Doesn’t work. Old standby fantasy, handsome bodyguard has to search my entire body for… nevermind, didn’t work either. I’m trapped in hell and I know from experience it’ll take at least an hour to get back to sleep.

So I get up and make last minute gift lists. Balance my checkbook. Play a bit more Zoo Tycoon. Listen to the rain. Rain?

Merry Christmas. And what do I do with 200 luminaries if it’s still raining tonight?

I had to go to the VA Hospital/Clinic in Phoenix for my regular yearly thing. You know, yes I still need meds, yes I still live in the same place, yes I’m alive. Well, sort of. Had the Flu over Thanksgiving weekend, and although I’m not nearly as bad off as Buck and Ginnie, I can’t seem to shake this cough. I think I did pretty well, actually. Must be the tons of meds I take to control my asthma.

The visit goes well – run through the pre-stuff (still under 200 lbs – yeah me!) blood pressure okay, temp, fine – all right away. Then I barely sit down and they call my name again, fill out this form. Then I barely sit down and they call my name again, come see the Dr. Anyhoo, I’m not given much of an option. You need to get a flu shot *stern look* especially since… respiratory condition… children in school… whatever whatever. They’re like that. Browbeaters. Not to mention this pneumonia shot. Never heard of it but apparently it’s good for 5 years. Both arms! Zip through that – except for the browbeating – but he’s known me a long time. Sit back down in the waiting room and they call my name again to see the pharmacist about all my refills and cough medicine (yeah!). Sit down again and I’m called again to get my flu shot. By now the entire room of old men vets all look at me every time my name is called. I’m the only female. Some of them have been waiting this entire time. I’m sure Buck (who went with me so I could use the carpool lanes) gets disgusted looks every time I leave the waiting room. Anyhow, they’ve called my name 167 times so far – I’m cheerfully embarassed.

But poor Buck, Sitting next to him this whole time is one of those homeless vets. You know, the unwashed, mentally challenged, beligerant, rambling incoherently but loudly about missing some meds. He kept poking Buck and following him around the waiting room every time he moved. My Mr. Tolerant he’s not. I’m betting he won’t go with me again.

And to top it off, my left arm (pneumonia shot) is an angry red and very hot and I can barely lift or use it. No warning about that you know, shut up and take it!