Many encourage bans on ‘bad’ words attempting to render all language inoffensive. It’s not possible. Other terms will convey the same meaning soon becoming offensive. Use of “Joe Six Pack” during the vice presidential debate offends me, what about my rights? Blue vans collecting donations read, “Northwest Center for the Retarded”. Should they change too?
A couple weeks ago I was doing a lot more driving than I would like, much more than the usual. This translates to exposure of an unusually high amount of stupid drivers, and that makes me rather grumpy. The specific type of driver that I’m thinking about is the one that not only wants to share the road but the specific space I’m occupying at the same time. In order to inform such a driver that this feat is impossible I require a loud horn. You, Honda, have faithfully provided this. However, we need to chat about the location of this horn. In my futile attempt to gain the attention of my fellow driver I merely pounded the living shit out of the airbag.
I understand that for safety, many people like airbags and a very convenient place for that item is the center of the steering wheel. If it is impossible for the horn to be in the center with the airbag behind or to the sides, I contend that your loyal customers should be given a choice. Either an air bag for the occasion that one might get into an accident or a horn in the center of the steering wheel in order to avoid an accident. I would happily take the latter as that scenario happens with more frequency than the first for me.
Loyal Honda Driver
This weekend since we had a birthday party to go to on Sunday, we (Kurt) spent Saturday doing little projects around the house that he hadn’t completed when we moved in six years ago. Shut UP. When we moved in Kurt put in hardwood floors and sealed most of the nail holes with putty, but not all.
This nail putty is nail polish remover with wood chips in it. Just pick a can the coordinates with the color wood and when the polish remover evaporates, presto, little wood plug.
I went around the house doing laundry and collecting trash from our many little trash cans. Sophia occupied herself in her room for once, but after about twenty minutes, she became bored and wanted to play with daddy. At this point Kurt was working on the steps leading to the top floor, so much like a cat would while you read a paper or book, Sophia laid right in the way.
Kurt was filling the holes on the bottom step and Sophia laid across the step above with one arm and one leg dangling in the way. His routine was adjusted accordingly to, move toddler arm, putty, putty, move toddler leg, putty, putty, move toddler to next step up.
Last night Sophia was laying across the steps again. Kurt told me about telling this story to a coworker then asked Sophia, “Do you remember helping daddy finish the stairs?”
“Did you get your first contact high?”
After work Kurt’s job is to entertain the child while I fix dinner. If she’s too rowdy to sit on his lap and watch the news they start roughhousing and he’ll swing her by the arms and toss her on the couch…repeatedly. If I happen to be upstairs at the time, Kurt arrives from work it becomes our bed instead of the couch.
Instead of swinging her by the arms it more of a pillow softball game, Sophia will stand up on the bed giggling uncontrollably and Kurt will swing a pillow at her. He doesn’t swing nor hit her with enough force to actually knock her down, but she purposely falls upon impact. This game could go on forever.
Last week Kurt and Sophia played this game. On one occasion after knocking the toddler down, Kurt put the pillow down at the head of the bed. Sophia got up from her fall, saw that Kurt didn’t have his ammo, retrieved a pillow, and handed it to him to continue the game. Kurt laughed and obligingly hit her with the pillow, then set it down to come tell me about it.
As Kurt tells me the story we hear the most pathetic little cry, “daddy”. She sounded like she was either in tears or near tears. Kurt ran up the stairs to see her leaning off the edge of the bed, holding a pillow.
The last few days I’ve had ‘to do’ lists three miles long and much driving to get things accomplished. Sophia has been quite the little trooper and has done really well. I actually think the more I need to do the less tantrums I get from her. Either way I get worn out. I never really win.
With the vast amount of driving around I had to do I have a few things to tell the drivers around me.
- To the person on the freeway: I am an only child. I don’t share. There are white lines dividing YOUR side and MY side. Respect the fucking lines and stay in your own lane while I’m using the space right next to you. I don’t care that you used your fucking blinker. You need to look beside you before you move because I was *right there* the entire time. Blind dumb ass.
- To the person at the intersection wanting to go straight: When you sit at an intersection through four light cycles because the cross bars for the train are down but no train is coming, it’s time to assume that the lights and cross bars for the train are fucked up and choose a different fucking route already. That happens A LOT at this crossing. You should be familiar with other routes, if not get a fucking GPS, because this isn’t the first time I’ve been stuck behind YOU for the same reason. I’ve seen you before, it’s hard to miss that piece of shit pick-up you drive. So don’t get your panties all in a wad because I drove up on the left side of you in the left-hand turn lane, turned RIGHT, and crossed right in front of you. It’s called taking initiative. The long line of idiots behind you should maybe take some notes on the tactic so they can move as well. I gave you a chance. I gave you three chances. I have shit to do, so either move or I’ll go around. Fuckin’ breathing roadblock.
- To the lady on the side of the road next to a van holding a sign: I know that times are tough and that people are loosing their jobs or have been jobless for many months. I understand that money is tight for a lot of people even if they have jobs, but when you’re prepared enough to carry cardboard and a marker to create a sign I just don’t believe that running out of gas was an accident. I’m guessing you do this A LOT. Maybe you should figure out how much income you have and budget better for gas. I know I’m a cold heartless bitch, but it’s people like you that cause me to not give any money to beggars. I give food and clothing to places that help people in need, but I will never give you money. Fuckin’ career beggar.
December was a hard month to keep any sort of schedule. We went to Hawaii (yeah I know poor me) then had a week off, then Michigan for Christmas, and then home again. We didn’t do swimming the whole month because, what is the point? We were gone half the month, and in the last week none of Sophia’s other classes were in session. So just for some diversion I took Sophia to the play area of a nearby mall. I’m not a shopper. As far as Sophia knows the mall is just a bunch of hallways with a play area at one end. Oh, and they have some pseudo Chinese food there too.
The last three or four times I went to the mall there was this odd guy. He doesn’t look odd. He acts odd. Every time I see him he’s holding balloons filled with helium and carrying on a conversation with various kiosk employees while standing five feet away and slightly bent at the waist as if he’s just about to bow.
I use the words “carrying on a conversation” rather loosely. The last couple of times I came across him he was actually giving the weather forecast while his captive audience stood uncomfortably wondering what to do. I know he sounds a little creepy but he seems harmless. I don’t mean that I’ll have him baby sit my kid, harmless, but if I were stuck sitting by him on a bus I would be ok. I wouldn’t sit in perpetual defense, on guard for inappropriate behavior of a sexual nature.
The poor kiosk employees. It’s funny to watch them react to him. I’m sure they’re all used to him on their own level. I’m sure some of them even welcome the diversion from begging stay-at-home moms to try their product.
I little tip to the kiosk employees…if a woman walks past you zone wearing a men’s sweater, clearly doesn’t wear makeup E-V-E-R, and pushes a $17 umbrella stroller she’s not a big spender. She won’t even consider your product because she knows it serves no purpose. Her house is not one filled with knick-knacks. Try approaching the woman that wears so much perfume you can still smell her ten minutes after she has passed. The one wearing all the labels that the previously described woman wouldn’t even recognize. The woman who, if she’s pushing a stroller it would be the one weighted down with bags of newly purchased items even in a down economy. If her child were a girl, she would be covered in Pepto-Bismol pink as well as all the child’s accessories including the stroller. That’s your target. Your other target might be the man that has is eyebrows plucked.
This is what I do when we have no classes to go to and it’s crappy outside. I watch other people. I’m not sure this stay-at-home stuff is for me.