Now I know I tend to paint myself in a glorious light. I try to highlight the positive attributes that I have. You know... My ability to swim like a dolphin, play intense instruments like the kazoo and finger snapping, and my greatest goal in life, becoming an exceptional fisherman of items that have fallen down into the deep crevice of my boobie cavern. Not all of us can be graceful creatures. But today I figured I would show you the more "human" side to me, and that I too, have flaws. I think I just heard audible gasps from the crowd, and can practically hear some of your internal thought processes: You mean this woman who tries to pass off mustache sweat as a glow has flaws? Say it ain't so. Oh. It's so. Okay... here it goes. *Deep breath* I...have road rage. NOW WAIT A MINUTE!!!! Let me explain. The problem you see isn't me. It's all the douche nuggets on the road that goad me into a rage of fury. I have two wishes in this world. 1) That my car came equipped with a box of rocks, so that I could have them on hand to hurl at people who are driving like ace-holes. Each rock will come equipped with a note tethered to it that would say: YOU are a douche nozzle. I'm not concerned with a "Baby On Board" window sticker. I want one to say "Lady With a Box of Rocks On Board". See if you'll want to ride my a-s-s then. Douche. My second wish is that the my back windshield had LED lights that would spell out "You Sure Must Be An Ass Man, Because You Sure Are Riding Mine-BACK OFF", or "WARNING: Lady With A Box Of Rocks". *sigh* A girl can dream.
You might be wondering why someone as demure, calm, and classy as myself would be filled with such rage, and the answer is simple. People are ace-holes and don't know how to drive. The other day I went out to lunch with a friend of mine, and the issue of road rage came up. My friend had a theory that the reason why we probably have road rage (she's a rager, too), is because we have to have so much patience during our daytime jobs, that by the end of the day our patience tank has been completely depleted, and we are ready to lob some rocks. Being professional beekeepers does require copious amounts of patience, so I totally get her point.
I will end today's post with a conversation snippet that happened between Leonard and myself, as we were driving along the thruway, and the King of all Douche's that was driving a gigantic white Dodge pickup truck, license plate number IMADOUCHE, decided to ride my rear and then had the AUDACITY to flash his high beams at me, and then proceed to make hand gestures to me, suggesting that I should get in the other lane. Yeah. Well I had some hand gestures for him too. Unless you have a RAGING case of butt rush, get off of mine.
Me: OMG...This ace-hole is going to run me off the road! And now he's giving me the thumb! I'll give him the thumb! Except instead of my thumb I'm going to flash him the Doublemint Twins.
Leonard: Seriously Kristina. He can't hear you calling him a douche bucket. Your window is rolled up. Just get in the other lane.
Me (too busy being enraged to listen): I am busting out in HIVES, I'm so mad right now. HAHA! I'm not moving over. I'm going to box this tool off. Let's see how going forty in a seventy feels. *maniacal laughter*
Douche Nugget behind me: More erratic thumb gestures.
Me, having a death-like grip at ten and two on the steering wheel, plotting new ways to piss the D.N. off even more.
Leonard: OMG, Kristina! PUT YOUR MIDDLE FINGERS DOWN, AND PUT YOUR HANDS BACK ON THE WHEEL!!!!! People carry guns in this state!
Me: I AM NOT AFRAID!!!! Dude's lucky I don't have my box of rocks.
And that my fine friends is an example of how I can be quite scrappy, and have absolutely zero tolerance for people that don't know how to drive. So if you're ever driving along the thruway and you see a lady driving around in a black Jetta, and she's waving around her two middle fingers screaming, "You're lucky I don't have my box of rocks!!!!", it's just me. Remain calm, and help me box the D.N. in. :)
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