I actually wrote this on Thursday and, being the self proclaimed Queen of Procrastination, never quite got around to posting it then....
Even though today is Thursday, it's my Friday. Thankfully in my current job I work ten hours a day, four days a week. I have to say it's fabulous having three days off a week. So fabulous in fact, that you'd think I'd have nothing to bitch about, wouldn't you? And you'd be entirely wrong.
Fridays are generally welcome to everyone who is forced, through no fault of their own, to work for a living. Some people like working...or so I've been told. In all my life, I've only met one woman who said she would keep working if she won the lottery. I admit I question her sanity. On the other hand maybe it's just a ruse on her part and she would really only come to work just so she could have the satisfaction of telling her bosses to go fuck off. That would make way more sense to me. I always think I'd like to do something like that but I'm always so afraid of hurting people's feelings that when the time came, I know I'd chicken out. Confrontation is my Kryptonite...and bugs...confrontation and bugs are my Kryptonite.
So sometimes it's called "Casual Friday" but at our barn it's called "Fun Friday" because none of the bosses are at work and everyone can do what they want. There's always lots of snackage and laughing...tons of laughing. I only know this because occasionally I have to work on a "real" Friday and there's a lot of shenanigans going on. Shenanigans I happily participated in.
Since today is "My Friday", I've decided the weekly name is "Fuckwad Friday". Things did not go my way. Admittedly, some of it was my fault. Managing time is not my strong suit. Most of the time I try to tell myself that I work better under pressure. But the simple truth is I procrastinate. Never do a job today that can be put off till tomorrow...that's my motto.
The Husband, man of my dreams, taught me about mottoes...he has many mottoes but his favorite is "A working woman's a happy woman." He tells me this every time I complain about my job. I want to hit him when he says it...really hard...but I don't. 'Cause I really do like him...and there's always the potential elder abuse charges. Just kidding...sort of. I wonder if there would be "elder abuse" charges if the abuser was an elder too? (Note to self...must research this.)
I forgot my first appointment and managed to arrive in the nick of time...only to be stood up. Back to the office where I attempted to look busy while waiting to leave early for the "All Important Hair Appointment" with Crazy D, The Root Doctor. After puttering around until I had about two hours till appointment countdown, I remembered I had another meeting in another town about thirty minutes away...give or take a few minutes depending on traffic. I blame old age AND menopause for my faulty memory. When I was young and unshriveled I had a spectacular memory...I think...I could be wrong.
The downhill spiral started on my drive south to the neighboring town...and included my encounter with Fuckwad #1 driving something similar to this. Only not as new...and slightly more compact.
Admittedly I've never been a fan of this style of car...but doesn't it look like it should be center ring at Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey with clowns pouring out of it? I wonder how many clowns could fit inside? You have to feel for the bottom clown who must be the most non-claustrophobic person on the planet. I would die...or at least think I was going to die if I had to be bottom clown. It's probably how they train junior clowns...the senior clowns get to ride up front and get out first. It's the clown caste system.
Fuckwad #1 is at the top of the Fuckwad Squad for the day simply for being a booberdoober. Not just a regular, every day, old person booberdoober. #1 was a RUDE booberdoober. If I'd had the foresight to whip out my iPhone, I could have had video evidence. But since it's illegal to use the phone while driving it's probably a good thing that I lack foresight. The way my luck was going, CHP would've nailed me for sure.
I started out in the slow lane where far ahead of me was #1 behind a semi...all of us were in the slow lane. When I caught up to #1 & the semi, I signaled and moved into the passing lane to go around both of the slower travelling vehicles. Before I could get around #1 to pass the semi, #1 pulls out in front of me to pass the same semi...no blinker, just a buttinsnky move...and after being in such a big friggin' hurry, #1 just stayed in the passing lane without passing...driving side by side with the semi.
"You asswipe motherfucker" I screamed at the top of my lungs...basically to myself since there wasn't anyone with me, windows were up, A/C was on, and music was blaring. Considering my whole kryptonite/confrontation thing, it's probably better that I scream at myself rather than a complete stranger who may very well have their own road rage issues and ram their car into mine just to ensure their status as king or queen of the road. Honestly, I think my way of handling road rage is way more peaceful than Fuckwad #1 if, by chance, he/she was a road rager of the ramming variety...even if my way is completely childish and immature...plus it does make me feel better at the time.
#1 actually sped up enough for me to get around the semi before the passing lane went away and the road became single lanes. But then, when it went back to a passing lane again #1 jumped in front of me again. This time I was a little more subdued...
"Really? You Fuckwad." I didn't even raise my voice this time. Maybe because #1 was at least doing the speed limit. Even though I wanted to go faster than the legal speed limit, it seems wrong to get mad at people who won't break the law with you...even though you really want them to.
All my hysterics were for nothing...as usual. After a brief encounter with Fuckwad #2 who did the same thing to me as #1 had, for which I'm embarrassingly proud to say my response was only mildly rude..."Are you fucking kidding me?" That's it... and it was said in my regular speaking voice. There may have been a slightly defeated, resigned, why me, whiny tone...but the volume was definitely low.
It's kind of embarrassing to admit that not only did I actually scream these words out loud in my car but I do this on a regular basis. Never in a million years would I call someone the names I call them when I'm safely ensconced in my car out of earshot...no matter how mad they made me. When someone is a buttinsky in front of me at the store, I don't scream and shout calling them horrible names. I put on the benign old lady smile and act like I didn't notice. Which if you think about it means I'm being a doormat. But in order to speak up I'd have to not only acknowledge but overcome the whole confrontation/kryptonite thing.
What is it about being in the car that makes me allow myself become so enraged that I'm compelled to behave like a spoiled three year old throwing a fit? Do I just think I'm invincible because I'm surrounded by a steel barrier? And I'm not alone in this little bit of juvenile behavior. I bet you could find at least one news story a day that started in road rage. Fortunately most of them don't end up in death or dismemberment...well, at least not the dismemberment part. It would be a little difficult to be involved in a spontaneous road rage incident that allowed the time needed for dismemberment...or the proper tools...that would require a little more planning I'd think.
I made it back in time for the "All Important Hair Appointment" in spite off the best efforts of the Fuckwad Squad. So now my roots are no longer a shade of blinding white. No longer do I look like a member of the Skunk Woman Tribe, however as my aforementioned behavior indicates, I'm still a member in good standing of the Assholian Tribe...it's the stooipidist thing.