Archive for the ‘rant’ Category

Dear Lady in The Green Subaru:

This is not the first time it has happened.  I see you pulling out of the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru line as I am pulling in.  There are four cars separating us.  You pull away.  I wait in line for my turn.  Four poeple get their coffee orders before I do.  I order a coffee and a bagel.  I wait for my bagel.  All in all, this ends up taking AT LEAST five minutes.  I leave Dunkin Donuts and then somehow, usually in Livermore Falls, about fifteen minutes away from my destination, I catch up to you.


Logic and speed and time should all work together and tell us that I should not be able to catch up with you.

I drive at a reasonable speed.  I do.  Maybe five or ten miles over the speed limit.  Nothing criminal.

You on the other hand, do not.

You drive slower than freaking death.  Seriously.

I know your license plate number.  I know your little curly head peering over your steering wheel.  You, lady in the green subaru,  have become my arch nemesis.  Its on.  Big time.


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I’m Just Saying

If you have bronchitis, you probably should not go the theater and cough throughout the entire play.  That’s all.

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Its a Well Known Fact

that if we have clear blue skies and beautiful beach weather, I am destined to work ALL freaking weekend.

But I am not bitter.  Not at all.  Really, I’m not.

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Dear Livermore Falls Drivers,

I have come to the conclusion that you are collectively, without a doubt, the worst group of drivers possible. I am not sure what it is- did you all have the same incompetent drivers’ ed. teacher? Is it some sort of adverse affect from the mill? Is there a direct correlation between Nascar fans and driving abilities?

Here are a few pointers I am going to give you:

1. Blinkers. The car companies made them for a reason. Use them.
2. You see me coming down the road (at a pretty good speed, I might add) you wait….you wait….. you wait and then….when I am about 100 feet away from you….. you pull out? This does not make for good driving. No, my friends, it does not.
3. Speed limits. Okay, I am not a strict follower of these either, I will admit. Sometimes I feel like the speed limit is a suggestion, but I am reasonable. If the limit is 25, I will go 35, maybe, if I am feeling really reckless, I’ll even go 40. However, you riding directly up my ass will not encourage me to go 50.
On the other hand, if the speed limit is 50. you driving 25 is unacceptable and you bet your sweet little butt that I am going to give you a little nudge to pick up the pace. (An even bigger offense? Committing number 2 and then pulling a number three. Inexcusable.)
4. Texting and driving? Really, do I need to say anything here.
5. And finally, under absolutely no conditions, not once, not ever, have I muttered these words, “Wow…. who was that guy who just peeled out? He is so hot. Quick someone write down his license plate number so I can look him up and ask him out.”

Me and My Grown-Up Volvo

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Old Friends and New Babies

babiesAbout 20 years ago I met the mother of these two sleeping cuties.  Funny how some things change so drastically and yet some things never change.  The crazy reckless girl who would do anything, anytime, anywhere is now a mom.  This girl was my partner in crime.  Literally.  Now she has two car seats in the back of her truck and knows what a boppie is and how to change a diaper in under thirty seconds.

As time goes by and all my friends are getting married and having kids, I am finding that I have less and less in common with them.  Don’t get me wrong, I love kids,  I appreciate how cute and sweet and impressionable they are.  But when they’re not your kids, you don’t want to spend ALL day talking about them, ALL day looking at them and goo-ing over them.  An invisible line starts to form between those who do not have kids and those who do.  The line becomes visible when someone utters those horrible words, “Someday you’ll know what I mean.”  Puh-lease.  How would you like it if I said, “One day you’ll realize that not everyone’s life revolves around breast milk and onesies.  Some of us go to work, do things other than play groups and story hour.”  Now that’s not very nice and I would NEVER say that to my friends who are moms because I value what they do and the choices they have made.  I do, I do.  Someday I may have kids or I may not, but either way I think that moms are undervalued and overworked.  I watch my friends who have kids and I think to myself, “How do they not just lose their shit?  How do they remain so calm, so patient?”  I value what they do, I do, I do.  But does it make me less of a person because nobody calls me Mom?  I don’t think so.    So value me and my choices, don’t tell me that I am missing out on the best that life has to offer.

But you know what?  That line has not formed between me and Meg.  She is still the same girl I knew way back in 8th grade when we were giving Ms Gallaghar a serious run for her money.  She listens to me when I talk; she asks questions about my life.  She is honest about what it is like having kids, she doesn’t paint a picture of perfection and bliss, of some special world that only those who have kids get to enter.    We still  giggle like teenagers.  Now we just do it with babies in our laps.  Heck, sometimes we even get them to giggle with us.

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31200685I chose to take a step class because I want to get my fat ass back into shape.  I did not take your step class because I wanted to hear you sing.   Because guess what?  That freaking song “Free Your Mind” is annoying enough as it is without you screeching it through your headset and it reverbing off the walls.  Also, I do not want to join you in any singing, hooting or hollering.  I am not the “woo-hoo”ing type of girl you seem to keep mistaking me for.  My ass hurts, my legs hurt, I can’t breathe, my boobs are flying all over the place, I have sweat in my eyes and you are asking how I’m feeling.  Really?  Really?

And another thing, I think you need to learn to count.  If a step is called a “three knee repeater”, then shouldn’t you only do it three times?  Why do we a do three knee repeater eight times?  Nine would make more sense.  Then we could say we are doing three three knee repeaters.  But eight?   This makes absolutely no sense.  And when you tell me we are going to do something two more times, don’t think I don’t notice that we actually do it four more times.  I’m on to you and your sneaky little ways.

And what is the matter with you?  Why don’t you ever take a sip of water?  Maybe in weird step instructor land you robots don’t need to rehydrate, but here in the land of reality when we exert ourselves, we need water.  We need to breathe.  Yes, breathing is nice.

And all your words of encouragement?  Enough already.  Why don’t you try a different route?  How about some honesty?  Instead of, “Looking good team.  Looking strong,” what if you said what you really thought?  “Don’t quit on me now fat ass.  Keep moving.  You know why this is hard?  Because you’re lugging around thirty pounds of fat…. now do something about it!”  Maybe that would motivate me a little more.  Instead of being perky and bubbly, what if you just barked orders at me like some sort of drill sergeant?  Then I could have a real reason to hate you.

Okay…. see you next week?

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Quick Rant

1.  Cyrus is in his fourth cast.  Yes, that’s right, fourth cast.

2.  I have been single for so long now that when I get invited to weddings, people don’t even bother to give me an “and guest” option.  There is nothing more awkward than sitting at a table full of six couples and you.  Sort of the sucker punch to the gut this week.

huh,  so much for making a list of ten things I am thankful for. damn sucker punches to the gut.

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