September 2003

September 27, 2003
Mother of fuck. Karma's a bitch.

I got hit today. Or, more accurately, my car got hit today. By another car. Smashy boom boom, like.

It wasn't a high-speed collision, luckily. It was actually maddeningly slow, largely because the other "driver" plowed into the side of my car at circa 5 mph. Plus, I laid on the horn for what seemed like 11 hours, pre-crash. Laid on the horn, as in, the following "flashed" through my mind as I held my palm steadily down on the center of the wheel: "Hey! You! You're getting verily close to hitting my car! Very close, indeed! Now, you're closer! Much closer! Closer still! Halt! Achtung! Nyet! oh. shit."

Crunch.

The good news is no one was hurt. Mike and the little girl were in the car - we were returning from a joint grocery store sojourn. That'll teach us to do something together with the kid. I wanted to lean back and say, "See honey? Bad things happen when mommy and daddy are together." But I didn't. The restraint.

The wee tot did learn a new word, though. So, at least we can focus on the positive - sure, my car is all messed up, but there was education to be had!

Me: Are you ok, sweetie?

The little girl: (cheerily) FUCK!

Me: Honey, do you have any boo-boo's?

The little girl: (cheerily) FUCK!

Me: Um hm. (pause) Does anything hurt, hon? Any boo-boo's?

The little girl: (cheerily) F-F-F-FUCK!

The other driver emerged unscathed, as well. And despite my occasional ravings (ha. ah ha ha.), I really don't wish anyone harm. Even the fucking loon, geriatric, assball, barely-speaky-English, Coke bottle upon Coke bottle glasses wearing, handicapped placard possessing, has no fucking place at all behind the wheel of any moving vehicle, ever, driver. The one who came to a complete stop at the intersection before looking left and right, taking the right of way into her completely incompetent, fumbling asstard hands, and ramming my car. Fuckjob. Assnut.

Not that I have a sweet ride, but for the love of jumpin' Jesus, it was new. Now it is most definitely not new. Now it's dented.

Now there shall be calls to insurance companies and body shops. Now there shall be headaches and missed work. Now there shall be checking of policy to see if I ponied up for the "free" rental option. Now there shall be extended vocabulary lessons to try to purge the expletive with newly learned clean-talk (unlikely). Now there shall be a call to a doctor if my shoulder is still tense on Monday.

Life is messy, sure. But is it out of the fucking question to keep a tiny little corner clean?

September 22, 2003
To the fuckshit in the gay little green Kia Sportage (it's a whole new class of car - the GUV) who tried his best to run me off the road this morning (lucky for me and my daughter, your best fucking SUCKS)...

You fucking piece of shit. That white dotted line on the road? That's for LANES, you fucking asstard. I guess thirty generations of inbreeding have done your family no service at all. Nice mustache. Got a hot screen test for "I'll Take Anything Up My Ass (That I Can Haul in the Back of my Gay Little Kia Sportage) - Number 11" later today? Fuckhat. Nice pretending not to hear my horn, blowstump. And nice, also, pretending not to see me pull up beside you to yell at your gay little mustachioed face and flip you off repeatedly. (Don't worry folks, I told my daughter "earmuffs!") Fucking coward. Not so tough when I'm all up in your gayface, are you? Thank your lucky fucking stars I'm on a new course of anger management treatment. The old me would have driven you into a lamp post and pulled your dick-necked, gay-mustachioed, pants-wetting, rag of an excuse for a body from the steaming wreck of ass you call a car and pushed my fucking thumbs through your fucking ocular cavities and straight through the back of your fucking head and flown your lifeless shitbag body from my antenna like a flag.

Alright, people. Please remember that we're all in this together.

Let's be careful out there.

September 7, 2003
Scenes from a late Summer, early evening stroll:

The little girl: "biatch!"

Me: "Sweetie! What?"

The little girl: "BEE! ATCH!"

Me: "Honey... what did you say?"

The little girl: "biatch."

Me: "Um. Look. A red car."

And later:

Me: "Finger out of your nose, please."

The little girl: (no response)

Me: "You diggin' for gold in there?"

The little girl: "ya."

Me: "You find any?"

The little girl: "ya."

Me: "Good. That's going right in the college fund."