|I don't remember putting out the Welcome Mat...
||[Jan. 31st, 2008|11:57 am]
So, as if stomach flu wasn't fun enough and four half days of training wasn't tedious enough and four otherhalf days of trying to make up for spending the mornings IN training wasn't stressful enough...|
Who invited THAT bitch?
And apparently she's texting all of her charmless-loser-squatter friends to join her...
The Aches and Pains Gnome arrived mid-morning, and Mr. Glassy Eyes snuck in sometime during the night.
Damn. For heaven's sake...I just want to catch up.
Although it does serve a secondary purpose -- my "don't fuck with me" hormone levels must be running high (no, it's not a girl thing and it isn't testosterone -- that's just out there and aggressive. This is like a trap door spider...just waiting.)
So, this pindick runs right up behind me this morning and tailgates me, doing the weaving from side to side as if...suddenly his car is going to fit alongside of mine in the lane? Now, I'm doing close to ten miles an hour above the speedlimit and I'm in the lefthand lane because in less than a half a mile, I'm merging onto the highway, which you do from the lefthand lane on 270.
I'm a firm believer in moving right to let someone else pass. I try to be pro-active, but sometimes I don't see ya -- and if you flash your lights, I'll move right over, if I can. But don't ride my ass. Because you know what I'm going to do? (thereby ensuring that someday someone with road rage shoots me dead?)
I will slow down...or speed up, just enough so that there's someone beside me going slow, then I will slow down to match that person's speed and trap your aggressive ass...until you head blows up, or I get bored. Now, in this case, it worked for a wee bit, but my designated "trapper" exited. And PinDick drives up beside me, and actually swerves toward me, like he's going to run me off the road.
But I don't even flinch. Because for starters, I have BOTH hands on the wheel and a Jersey barrier on the other side, so I have a good chance of riding it out. (Yay, defensive driving school!) While he's got one hand busy holding a cigarette and giving me the finger.
(Which, to digress a moment, is the pussiest gesture I can think of, besides sticking your tongue out to someone. All other countries have such lovely, grand, expressive F-you gestures and WE pick the wimpiest one. Jeez. No wonder the world hates us. It's such an "I'm an asshole" kind of gesture.)
But also, he's failed to take several factors into account. For starters, look at my CAR, mister. It's got dings, it's filthy (although to be fair, that's mostly because of a defective windshield installation where the f-wit left a gap that makes it rain inside the car and I can't get it washed until it's replaced) and the windows are COVERED with snart (dog snot+art). Do I not look like I would gladly take a hit in order to prove a point? Hey, I'm in MY lane, Dude...you lose. And you're the kind of guy who scrubs his freaking tires and Armor-alls them so they're shiny. Like you're going to risk your baby....
Plus, this whole cold thing has made me mean as a rattlesnake tied in a foursquare. So, go ahead...