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A few things have been pissing me off lately. I know. I had such a good happy run there! I was all smiley and peace loving and shit. But then Danny had to say the word. The send me into a panic/water storing/straight freak out mode word.


In case you're unfamiliar, this is a tornado.

Fucking tornadoes ihatethemsomuch. Sooo much. I do not even get the point of them? It’s like wind gets an inferiority complex on being the most mild of the weathers so it goes all bat shit crazy and kills cows and people. Not to mention all the damage and then insurance companies cry. It’s so pointless. Plus, in the end? I still don’t respect wind. YOU HEAR THAT WIND? I still don’t respect you. I can still drive in you. I even enjoy a slight bit of you every once in a while. So this tornado business is ineffective. Quit it.

But Danny thinks wind is super awesome crew when it starts spinning. He gets all worked up, runs outside, calls his little dork weather buddies, pulls up secret access NWC sites. Meanwhile, I’m in the corner crying but he doesn’t care. Because tornadoes are his mistress and he loves them. He wants to crawl inside a tornado and live forever. Ass.

Then I have to deal with the weatherfools breaking in on my important programming.

Brilliance courtesy of The Lost Ogle.

I appreciate them for saving my life but they, like Danny, are practically jumping out of their skin with excitement. Oh, since I can’t get it to link in the caption, find the Lost Ogle here.

Whatever. Tornadoes.

The other thing is people in the fast lane going slow. I’m about to go Barry on them.

The other other thing is my neighbors are back in garden mode. These people. There’s literally a green line between our yards. They already have a full lawn and ours is still kind of dead. They water constantly which makes my back yard a mud pit. But I can’t really say anything because they love Jesus and flowers and caring for animals. Somebody has to. I just wish they would back off a bit.  Or do our lawn too.

Tell me something that either pisses you off (misery loving company and all that) or something really great that will make me forget the hell of tornadic activity, drivers and neighbors.


It was totally like this! Except with a bat and a troll.

I know this guy! Not the people in the car but the guy with the bat! It’s so exciting! I love when people I know show up in the news for crazy shit. It’s the greatest.

Barry was a strange little man who lived down the road from us. And, trust me, to be called weird in that neighborhood was saying something. We lived next to a musician, a beer distributor, a puppeteer and a mechanic whose high ass constantly mispronounced simple words like gazebo.

*UPDATE* Yes, I am remiss for not mentioning Brian, who was a beer drinking bastard with a set of remote controlled panties. You can see how I wasn’t sure the right way to phrase that.

Anway, Barry. He had  glasses and a whole Rick Moranis except insane vibe. He was nice though, I would never expect him to take a bat to a truck. CRAZY! He lived with a complete weirdo who worked night shift at a hospital and would steal all the janitorial supplies. So you would go to their house and find like, 80 stacked up lava soaps.

Every year they had a throw down awesome crab boil.

So to recap:


crab boil

lava soap


The End.

Oh, and, um, I have a hernia. On my stomach. It’s true. So next time you see me,  please, don’t push it like a button. Thanks.

Sometimes, I think the universe is trying to communicate with me.  Signs and all that, or like, ok  this one time?  When we lived in that little house on 16th the phone rang and I was all, ‘ugh phone why are you on me with the ringing?’ because I don’t like answering phones.  But this day I felt compelled to pick it up.  I did and immediately this crazy bitch starts freaking out on me with this real urgent sounding message…in Chinese.

I know!  Madness.  So I was like, ‘umm, sorry wrong number’ but she wouldn’t calm down and I just hung up.  This happened two more times over the week.  Each time I was the one that answered the phone, even when Danny was home, and people, I do not answer phones.  If you’ve ever tried to call me you know this.  The only rational conclusion was that the universe was trying to tell me something urgent.  Only the universe?  Speaks fucking Chinese!

Needless to say, I did not get that message.  Hopefully it wasn’t that big a deal and I really hope Universe doesn’t expect me to do something like save the world or recruit a super cool mutant to go bust my girlfriend out of an secret government facility.

And now I think Universe is trying to send me another message and this one I do. not. like.  First, we have the great yoga ball bail out.  Then, on my commute home I see this.

Truck nutz.  With a z.  A “z”, that makes it even worse.

No, I’m not going to include a picture.  Because, uh. Offensive.

I’m not a prude or anything but…  It offends my sensibilities.  It does.  And it’s not like I can look away, or change the channel or put the book down.  I can drive into oncoming traffic but short of that?  What?

Here’s my list of why I hate them:

  1. They are just gross.  They are vieny and wrinkly and old manish.  If I had a testicle mold i would make sure it was like the superman of balls – not some true to life dangly mess.
  2. My english major brain can’t wrap my mind around them.  What am I supposed to think of these nutz?  Is it literal?  Like I’m to assume that along with its nuts your truck has some kind of a heart and functioning kidneys?  Why?  I tend to think this cause the nuts are so real looking…  Or maybe a metaphor – for how much of a bad ass you and/or your truck is?  This makes sense I suppose, especially for the tendency to associate balls with brawn or something.  Or maybe it’s just some kind of analogy?  I don’t know!!
  3. It makes me wonder about the Truck Nutz counterpart.  Can you imagine trucks driving around with Truck Labiaz?  I don’t want to have to wonder about this!
  4. Look, you’re driving a giant, unnecessary truck.  So, I already know you’re a dick; there’s no need to add a set of silver testes to it.  That’s just redundant.

Why am I seeing all these things?  What is it Universe?  Why me?

Ok, so, I understand wearing a huge camouflage coat on the morning commute.  After all, you are occasionally in the words where a colorblind deer might spot you.  And of course, I get why you’re drinking Nati Lite this early – I mean, it’s beer or therapy am I right?

Hey, I even appreciate why you stick your hillbilly cousin in the bed where he could fly into the ditch given the slightest bump.  That’s just natural selection.

I like the nightlife, baby.I like the nightlife, baby.

But god why why why do you have to drive a giant, hulking monstrosity?  Is there not smaller truck that can cart you, your girlfriend, your boyfriend, your kill and your afore mentioned idiot cousin?  You have to drive a tank?  And don’t even get me started on your insane side mirrors.  Why do they have to have an extra ten feet sticking out from your car?  Do you have a need to see 50 cars behind you but miss me, the person who’s trying to pass you without getting sucked into your wind vortex?

This shit is unacceptable.  Un. acceptable.*

It gives me the road rage.  What about you?  Who or what on the road makes you wish for a set of police spikes?  And, more importantly, how do you cope?  Do I even have to tell you I like to flip them off?  Only my husband insists this is dangerous so I’ve been trying to keep it under control.

*I have a kind of love/hate relationship with larger vehicles (exceptions being giant trucks and Hummers – those are just obscene).  On the one hand I really like the small, hybrid cars (trendy!) because they are good for the environment (whatever) and they come in a bunch of cute pastel colors (like Easter!).  On the other hand, lots of yuppies still drive SUVs and they look cool driving on the backdrop of the ocean or the mountains so…

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