Friday, January 11, 2013

The Four Way Stop

Is there anything more of a cluster fuck than a four way stop during heavy traffic???  I don't think so. Never are people more indecisive.  Do I go first?  Should I let them go first?  Who goes first?  Who knows?  Nobody knows, that's who.

So what happens?  Everybody tries to go at the same time.  Start, stop.  Start, stop.  Okay, you go.  No, you go.  Okay, I'll go.  No, I'll go.  It's a total cluster.  To be fair, the rules of the road are vague.  Who ever (or is it whom ever?) gets to the intersection first has the right of way...and if more than one vehicle the vehicle on the right goes first.  But if four vehicles get there at the same time who's on the right?  Isn't everyone on the right of someone?  Personally I think someone with a penis must have come up with this rule.

When everyone gets there at the same time, nobody knows what to do...everybody starts hesitating, and the impatient "waving on" begins.  Everyone starts waving the other cars to go ahead...but they all start waving at the same time and the cluster begins anew. brave soul feels the stirring of testicular expansion from rasinette to full fledged grape and barrels through the intersection studiously avoiding eye contact with everyone lest they see a middle finger raised in opposition.

You'd think, with my little road rage problem, that I'd be an aggressive driver...not the case.  Sadly, I am never that brave soul barreling through the intersection.  I want to be...but, truth be told, I'm a wimpy driver.  I may, in fact, be the wimpiest of the wimps.  So wimpy am I that I actually TRY to be the last vehicle at the intersection so I can be sure, deep in my heart, that I am legally bound to go last.  I want no confrontation, no middle fingers raised in my direction, no ugly glares from fellow drivers...I basically just want to get through the intersection physically and emotionally unscathed.   How friggin' wimpy is that???

My friend, Smellie Noellie, is a bold driver.  Years of traveling on L.A. freeways have made her fearless of driving conditions that make me cringe.  Smellie knows no fear and is oblivious to glares and raised middle fingers of fellow motorists.  Any hesitation on the part of others is an opportunity for her to take control...which she does instantly.  I wish I could be like her...although she is a bit of a car snob preferring BMW's to any other vehicle on the planet.  I don't really care what I drive as long as it doesn't break down and the heater and air conditioner work.  I'd like the radio to work too but it's not as vital to me as the other two are.

Since it's a new year, I'm going to try to be more a more assertive driver.  Maybe 2013 will be the year my rasinettes turn to grapes and I finally stop deliberately getting to the intersection last.  Maybe 2013 will be the year my road rage will cease to exist and I'll stop calling fellow drivers "fuckhead", "asswipe", "dickhead", "fuckin' asshole" and/or any combination thereof.  Maybe 2013 will be the year I'll actually try to eat healthful foods.

Even better...maybe...2013 will be the year I win the lottery and can hire Smellie to drive me wherever I need to go.  Then I wouldn't have to worry about silly things like being wimpy, and dreams of testicular's the stoopidist thing.

Thursday, January 3, 2013


It could've been the popcorn...or the fudge...I think that's the only thing I've eaten, except for a couple of Baby Bella cheeses this morning.  I have no idea what all of a sudden causes gas to fill one's body to near bursting.  I swear if I looked in the mirror I'd see the Michelin Man...or in this case...Michelin Woman, staring back at me with a "WTF" look on her face.

Fortunately, I'm alone...The Husband hasn't gotten home from work so it's just me and the animals. They don't really mind suddenly expelled big deal to them.  If there's any noise involved they look a little surprised, but that's about all.  Except for Briley, The Cartoon Dog,...she has a nose that guides her every move.  I'm forced to give her a pizzle chew to keep her from following me around sniffing.  The pizzle stick is usually the foulest smelling thing in the house...not tonight...tonight I hold that honor...although it shames me to admit it.

It started at work right before quitting time.  I went running to the bathroom...actually I walked...really fast, but not so fast that it looked like I was in a hurry...people tend to notice other people running to the bathroom and I didn't really want to draw attention to myself.  I thought I was going to have to be a Sneak A Pooper so I was actually relieved to just have a giant fart trapped inside me...and thank the Lord, it was a SILENT one.  Who'd a thunk I'd be happy to be farting in the bathroom at work???

At this point, I'm thinking I should probably just go home after work & skip riding.  The bathroom at the barn is old and what if I end up having to be a Sneak A Pooper at the barn and the toilet won't flush?  This is oddly one of my worst nightmares...being somewhere having to Sneak A Poop, and the toilet won't flush.  What can I say?  I know it's stoopid but I can't help it.  Pooping is just "at home duty"...

So far so good...fortunately I don't smoke real cigarettes anymore...I use the fake electric ones.  I'd be afraid to use a lighter anywhere around me...scared I'd catch the air around me on fire.  I used to know guys who'd deliberately light their farts.  I've never done it and I'd hate for them to find my charred body and surroundings burnt to a crisp from  accidentally igniting the methane spewing from my hiney.  I also have to admit I don't know what "burnt to a crisp" means.  Does it refer to the texture of the item?  Or is there some kind of item that's a crisp?  I think I've heard Karl Pilkington talk about crisps on An Idiot Abroad.  I think they were some kind of chips in a bag.  But why not call them chips then?  Why call the bathroom a loo?

Too many whys for me...for now, I have to change my location.  The air around the computer smells really's the stoopidist thing.