Censored

When I was in high school, the bane of my summertime existence was the day that the reading lists arrived. I took accelerated English (freshman and sophomore years) and Advanced Placement English (junior and senior years), so summer reading assignments were a sad, inevitable occurrence that I just had to suck up and bear. Kind of like periods.

Junior year was the year that our reading lists exploded, expanding from 2 or 3 books to around 7 or 8. I love to read, I've made that clear before, but there's something about homework over summer vacation that made every indignant bone in my body stand up and say "Hey! No fair! I want to sleep until noon and then watch a movie and then go over to my friend's house and smoke some pot and eat inordinate amounts of Taco Bell!" Healthy, I know.

The summer reading lists were also a big pain in the ass because you never knew which books you were going to study first once school started. What's the point of reading a book in July if you're not even going to get to it in class until after mid-terms when you're just going to have to read it again because you'll have forgotten everything by that point? What was that thing I was saying about no fair?

Now that I live in California, I keep tabs on what's going on in my hometown by checking out Indystar.com every morning, the website for the Indianapolis Star newspaper. When I looked at it this morning, a headline caught my attention: "District pulls book out of students hands." Ignoring the lack of punctuation (copy editors, where?) in the title I clicked in to the story because I was kind of intrigued: was it a specific student that forcibly had a book pulled out of its hands? Was the district being a big bully and knocking books out of nerdy kids' hands in the hallway like in movies and TV shows? Or were they being a big douche and telling students that they couldn't read a certain book? DING DING DING WE HAVE A WINNER.

My alma mater is censoring Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison from junior AP English class.

People, people, people. Song of Solomon was on our reading list when I took junior AP English, oh, let's see, nine years ago. I THINK I TURNED OUT OK. I don't smoke pot anymore. Apparently some parent got mad that the book has (oh no!) sex and (eek!) violence and (oh, Lawdy, save us!) profanity. Profanity?!?!?!?! WHATEVER SHALL WE DO NOW? Our sad little Puritanical hearts and minds just can't take it!

I'm sure the parent in question has no problem with his/her son or daughter having their own TV and computer with an internet connection in his/her bedroom. Or unlimited text messaging on their cell phone. Guess what, Mom and Dad? Your kid knows what sex is, is probably already doing it, and I dare you to check their text messages because you know what? YOUR KID IS SEXTING.

This is just totally unbelievable to me. What's even more incredible is that this book has been on the reading list for that class for over 12 years (my sister read it when she took that class two years before me), and only now some parent complains. It's nice to see this regression of open-mindedness after over a decade of that book being taught with no problems. Oh wait, it's not nice, it's hugely and thoroughly disappointing and disgusting. If I recall correctly, we read A Catcher in the Rye in the same class. WANT TO JUMP ON THE BANDWAGON AND BAN THAT ONE TOO?

What makes me even madder is that I owe so much to that AP English class. Because of that class, and others like it, I was able to complete my bachelor's degree in three years instead of four, saving me I don't even know how many thousands of dollars in student loans. I went into college as a sophomore because I had earned so much college credit from those classes. And I got a 5 on that particular AP test, as did a ton of my classmates, because the woman that taught that class, the woman that still teaches that class, was no-nonsense awesome and new how to teach students about literature. I know for a fact that she's not in that classroom sensationalizing sex and violence in a book; she's in there giving those students an education and showing how it illustrates a story of racism and struggle and heartbreak.

I think these parents should be more worried about when their kids get to senior AP English and get that one teacher who only thinks about sex all day every day and relates every single sentence ever written in every work of literature to sex. Why is the knight green in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight? BECAUSE IT SYMBOLIZES SEX. What was Chaucer talking about in this part of The Canterbury Tales? SEX. Why is the author of this short story talking about the moon? BECAUSE HE'S HORNY AND WANTS LOTS OF SEX.

Protect your kids from that, you pervert. Oh, and by the way, parents? Ever hear of a library? Your kid can still read that book whenever he or she wants.

I'll give you a Ring of Fire

People who sit with their car parked at a curb at 6:30 in the morning with the windows down and the bass turned up blaring Johnny Cash (not that there is anything wrong with Johnny Cash at the appropriate time and volume) when normal people are trying to steal their last few minutes of sleep in the morning NEED TO HAVE THEIR FUCKING BALLS CUT OFF.

City of Trembling Angels

Here in Southern California we sure love our earthquakes. An earthquake happens, even the most minor tremblor possible to still be classified as an earthquake, and it's like a damn nuclear bomb went off. BREAKING NEWS.

There was a 4.4-magnitude earthquake this morning (at 4:04 am to be exact, you can't make that kind of symmetry up, natch) that was centered less than 10 miles away from where we live. It likely would have gone unnoticed by me had I not been up a few minutes earlier to go to the bathroom. Edgar woke up near the end of it looking confused, and after a "Earthquake. It's over. Go back to sleep" from me he was out like a light in promptly 4.4 seconds. HOW EASY WAS THAT?

But you would think by the media coverage that the ubiquitous Big One had just hit. Now, I grew up in the Mid-West, so earthquakes were new to me when I moved to California. My very first earthquake happened in the middle of the night, and garnered the same response from Edgar to me as I gave to him this morning. I've gotten used to them over time and now they're no big deal to me, even though I do get that little thrill every time the earth just magically starts shaking and rumbling underneath my feet. I'm sure I would feel differently if I was driving and a freeway bridge collapsed or my home tumbled down around my head, but that has never happened so I'm a-okay with earthquakes to this point.

This is Southern California. There are earthquakes. But people are all OH MY GOD AN EARTHQUAKE WITH ALL OF THE SHAKING WHATEVER SHALL WE DO, I THINK I BETTER CALL THE NEWS BECAUSE HOW ON EARTH WILL THEY EVER KNOW ABOUT THE EARTHQUAKE. WITH ALL OF THE SHAKING. Seriously, that's what it's like. On a local news station's website this morning, they mentioned in their story that they received calls from locations "all over the Southland" of people reporting shaking, and then listing the wide array of cities that people called in from. BECAUSE ALL OF THAT SHAKING HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE. I just don't get it. The earthquake happened this morning and I was all "geez, I really hope that no fire trucks or ambulances get called from the station near our apartment because I'd really like to go back to sleep now." At no time did it ever cross my mind "I really need to call ABC7 right now because there is obviously no way that they know about this and I really hope they get the scoop over KTLA."

They're the news, people. They know. They're going to talk to the USGS anyways. They don't need you.

Around this time last year there was a mild earthquake, like a 3.0, that was centered out near San Bernardino. Edgar and I were watching TV at the time. The earthquake was literally so slight that I thought it was just Edgar tapping his leg against the edge of the bed. But oh, no, not so. The show were were watching was cut into by BREAKING NEWS, where they proceeded to show the obligatory shot of the seismograph from the USGS shaking it's pen all over the paper while taking a call live from a woman in Fontana. "And I looked at my closet--my closet door was open--and I saw my clothes, and they were just shaking!" And she was so serious that you'd think the Osama Bin Laden himself had broken into her house and staged the worst terrorist attack since 9/11 on her walk-in. And the newscasters were trying to make it a much bigger story than it was, like "Oh, do you have any damages?" And she's all "no, but my neighbor's dog is barking a lot now."

This is Southern California. We have gangs and drugs and paparazzi and Britney Spears not driving all crazy through the streets of Beverly Hills anymore and the Lakers and the Kardashians and wildfires and traffic and pedestrians getting run over on PCH without the drivers of the cars even stopping, AND THIS IS WHAT YOU CONSIDER NEWS? A BARKING DOG? SERIOUSLY, CALIFORNIA? My Caps Lock button shames you.

Count me out

If all of the US Census workers are like the one that came to interview us on Thursday night....well, then, I think they should all just sit down and stop now, because AIN'T NO GOOD GONNA COME OF THIS.

We got selected for the special part of the Census, the part where besides just counting you and getting your ethnicity you get asked all sorts of socio-economic questions about the prior year. The point is that they follow-up with you a year or two later to watch how the picture evolves. We represented 2,500 households. So I'll just say now, please discount 1 out of every 2,500 people when the data actually comes out because ours will be all wrong.

First, the guy was hardly computer literate, and the whole thing is done by computers. He asks, we answer, he enters it on the computer, next questions please. Except he was having a really hard time entering it on the computer. There was one point where we sat in silence for over twenty minutes because he couldn't figure out how to get it to go to the next questions. That's a really good sign, no?

Then there was the part where he kept entering the wrong information. Like the part where he entered Edgar's mother's name as 'Diaz.' Let's think, Census guy. Have you ever met any woman by the name of 'Diaz'? Or any man, for that matter. We had clearly told him that her name was Elena, then he clearly spelled out her last name, of which 'Diaz' is only a part of it. But then he kept asking questions like "Did Diaz work for pay in 2009?" and "Where was Diaz born?" And it wasn't like he was just calling her by her last name (because just Diaz isn't her last name) because he correctly called Edgar's dad Jose the entire time with all of his questions about him.

Then there was the part where he couldn't keep our assets separate. The interview questions aren't structured well, or at least he wasn't very good at asking them, but he would ask a question that would just pertain to Edgar but look at us like he expected the answer to be for both of us. The questions were asking about our assets and our debts, and when he was asking about our cars, to Edgar, I clearly told the guy "The cars are not in his name. Do you still want the information? Because they're not his so they're not his assets." He was all, oh, only the stuff in his name, and so we were like no cars for Edgar, but then because we had already mentioned the cars he wanted it then. And we were all "These aren't Edgar's." And then he took it anyways. And the same when it got to my part of the interview. Because I was like "You already counted the cars for him. It's not a joint asset, they're individual." So he took them again. So according to the US Census we have four cars. Same with our savings account (my name only). Same with our credit card debts (our cards are individual). So basically, EVERYTHING WAS WRONG.

The packet of information he gave us included a copy of a letter from Congress to the President in 2007 urging him to not cut funding for this part of the Census because it's vital for them to get a good understanding of the economic picture in the country. But I have to say, if all of the Census workers were like this guy, and by 'like this guy' I mean that they're all idiots, then I might have to retroactively agree with Bush on this one, because IT'S A BIG FUCKING WASTE OF TIME AND MONEY.

Skate to the heart

Sometimes, the universe makes me laugh. Because I'm the type of person that takes pleasure in seeing people get what's coming to them. Does that make me a bad person? No. THAT MAKES ME ENTERTAINED.

Take, for example, this video:



Arrogant jackass, no?

Now read this article:

Blunder costs skater a gold

The universe just PWNED you. And I laughed.

Smog Check This

Trying to take initiative last night to get my shit done and not wait until the last minute for everything, I finally got around to opening the registration renewal form for my Dodge Neon last night. It's not due until the beginning of March, but I wanted to be responsible and do the right thing. Also known as not waiting until the week before it's due and then being forced to go the DMV in order to get my new tag in time.

So there I am, responsibly writing my check, la la la la la, putting it in an envelope with my change of address information filled in, licking the envelope, adding a stamp, la la la la la, look at me being a responsible adult, when I unfold another insert that had been sent with it. THIS page said that I had to submit a Smog Check Certification this year.

Um, what?

When I registered this car in California two years ago, I had a Smog Check certification done the day before I went to the DMV, because I had been told by everyone that I knew to have it done before I went because I would need it and they would require it. And so I was at the DMV, DOING THE RESPONSIBLE THING AND REGISTERING MY CAR, and I was all "Hi, DMV lady, here's my Smog Check Certification," and she was all "OH, I DON'T NEED THAT." The Smog Check Certification that I had spent over $60 bucks on the day before, she DID NOT NEED IT.

And now, all of a sudden, two years later, they're all "Oh, oops, we need a Smog Check Certification!" GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, YOU CALIFORNIA DMV MOTHERFUCKERS.

Because I'm pretty sure that my two year old Smog Check Certification will no longer be accepted, even though those things are good for like five years, and it is all their fault. NOT MINE, THEIRS! I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I don't care how cliched it is: I hate the DMV.

Where the sidewalk ends

Today, I saw a punk-ass kid's life pass before his eyes. Apparently it wasn't that impressive.

Shall we start at the beginning?

My husband is sick. He's had this hacking cough since New Year's Eve. No other symptons, just the bad cough. The kind of cough where you're listening to it and going "Seriously, how are you not throwing up right now?" Until two nights ago where it really did make him throw up. LOVELY, I KNOW. We had been asleep for about a half hour and he started coughing, then he sat up and started hacking, and then there was a point where I swear puke came up and he choked it back down. And I was all GO TO THE BATHROOM AND PUKE. DO IT NOW. NOW. GO. STOP FIGHTING IT. GO. Mainly because I knew it would eventually happen and I would prefer not to see it. Puke makes me puke. It's bad. And if he kept fighting it, it was still going to happen, and it would happen all of a sudden, and he would have to make it around the bed first to get over to the bathroom door and that could be problematic in the dark and the next thing you know I'd be washing the sheets and steam-cleaning the carpet in the middle of the night because SOMEONE DIDN'T LISTEN TO HIS WIFE.

Then the same thing happened again last night, and I was like That's it, you're going to the doctor tomorrow morning. We were going to go to IHOP because it's ALL YOU CAN EAT PANCAKES TIME, Y'ALL, but sometimes, as an adult, you have to make sacrifices. This is one of those times.

We found an urgent care clinic close to home to take him to today. It's lovely to mix with Long Beach's finest, you know. And by finest I mean ghettoest.

Side note: there was a 10 year old girl in the waiting room reading one of the Twilight books. Aren't those a little age-inappropriate? I mean, come on, Bella's all like "Edward! Do me! Do me! Do me! Do me! If you don't do me I'm gonna jump off a cliff!" Or something like that.

Okay, so the official diagnosis is that Edgar has bronchitis. So the doc wrote him a prescription for a Z-Pack (also known as a gift from Jesus) and an extra-strength cough syrup. After running a bunch of errands after the doctor's office (since that's exactly what a sick person should be doing), we drove to the CVS near our apartment. We were stopped at a red light on a one way street, crossing a major, busy, two way street that also has a Blue Line track running down it.

Just as the stop light changed to green, out of the corner of my eye I saw this kid in a bright blue shirt darting across the sidewalk into the intersection on his skateboard, in an obviously misguided attempted to make it across the street before any of the cars started moving. The person in the right line and Edgar, driving in the second lane, saw him coming, and didn't even take his foot off the brake. But in the next lane over, there hadn't been anybody stopped at the light. There was a van that was still approaching the intersection, and since the light changed to green before he got there, he hadn't stopped and was already accelerating again. And there goes the kid. Right in front of the van. The kid managed to jump off his skateboard out from in front of the van. He might have even pushed off of the van, I don't really know.

The skateboard ended up under the front wheel on the passenger side of the van.

My heart nearly came up out of my mouth. We just sat there stunned, realizing that we had almost seen a child get killed in front of us. Because if that child hadn't jumped out of the way at the last second, he would have been dead.

And it would have been his own fault. The van had no way of seeing him, and the kid should not have been crossing the street. The street was five lanes wide at that point. The light was green. The van wasn't at the intersection when the light turned green. The van was in the center lane. He had no reason to think that there would be anyone in the intersection.

The kid DIDN'T EVEN CARE. He just came trotting back to get his skateboard, in front of all of those cars that were stopped at the green light going WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED, I'M SO DUMBFOUNDED I CAN'T EVEN MOVE FORWARD. He was more concerned about his skateboard than the fact that his brains were about two inches away from being splattered all over Long Beach Boulevard.

STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID.

My caps lock button may break by the time this post is over.

His behavior was absolutely unacceptable. The stupid little shit thought that he was invincible. He knew, HE KNEW (looks like it still works), that the light had changed before he came off the sidewalk. And yet he did it anyways.

What is wrong with this kid? What is wrong with all of the kids like him?

Things like that make me scared of what it will be like when I'm a parent. Will I be able to get through to my children about how precious life is? About how playing in traffic is definitely frowned upon? That VANS GOING AT FULL SPEED THROUGH AN INTERSECTION CAN KILL YOU SO KEEP YOUR ASS ON THE SIDEWALK?

I hope so.

I don't do anal

Having gotten myself into a spot of debt problems (called STOP BUYING SHOES AND OTHER SHIT) I decided after Christmas in 2007 that I was going to go debt fee. Mind you, this was before all of the "Aaack! Oh my god, recession! Cut up your credit cards and run for your lives!!" talk and was prompted by my realization that I would one day like to own a house instead of renting an apartment and that if I didn't start working on a down payment now I would never get there. I've been largely successful (at the paying off debt part, not the saving part). I essentially stopped using my credit cards and paid off a few store cards, leaving me with one student loan and three 'real' credit cards with balances. One balance was small, around $600ish. The other two cards were higher; one tottered around $4000 and the other around $3500. I paid off the largest card in the summer of 2008 using part of a generous early-wedding gift that my grandmother gave Edgar and me. I paid the $600ish card off in April using my tax refund. I had planned on that tax refund to go towards the other large card, but Bank of America forced my hand when they increased the interest rate on the card (which I had never ever once paid late on). Not long after that I got a notice from the other card where I had paid the large balance off that they, too, were increasing my interest rate.

No problem, I thought. I have my one "big" card left and even though it's still got a high balance it has a limit of $6000 so if I ever have an emergency I'm fine. I happily went about my business. Happily going about my business has ended up increasing the balance on that card though; add up that day you realized that your wedding china was on sale with free pieces thrown in for purchasing a certain amount with that time in Solvang where your husband got you drunk and made you think it would be an EXCELLENT time to sign up for a wine club with that other time you needed to buy a new laptop, and it all equals Damn I Thought I Was Supposed to be Paying This Thing Off.

No problem, I thought. I pay more than my minimum balance each month, maybe not double but always more, and it's still not a big deal because I have a huge cushion on the card for emergencies. And a great interest rate of 9.99%. You see where this is going, right?

About a week ago I read an article online talking about credit card practices that some banks are pushing through ahead of all of the credit card regulation that's going to be happening in the next year. One of those detailed a certain bank that would be greatly increasing the interest rates of even their good customers, offering them "rebates" on their interest the next month if they paid on time and/or spent a certain amount every month. Didn't sound too great for me. I don't want to use my credit card anymore, and this article talked about how a person (whose description was very similar to mine) would have to put over $750/month on the card to break even on the "rebates." All in all, not a good deal. Seeing as this article was talking about the bank for my "big" credit card, I crossed my fingers and hoped that it would not apply to me.

I was wrong.

I got a notice yesterday from the bank that my interest rate would be increasing to 29.99%. YES, THAT IS TWENTY-NINE POINT NINE NINE PERCENT. I mentioned my current interest rate is 9.99%, right? That is TRIPLE my interest rate. Let me repeat, I have never ever been late on one single payment. EVER.

Oh, but wait, the bank says. The bank says, hey, if you pay your minimum payment on time, you can get a 65% rebate on your interest. We won't give it to you until the statement date of your next month's statement, so we're totally going to screw you up the a-hole for the daily periodic interest rate for two months, but LOOK. SIXTY FIVE PERCENT!

Hello, bank? It's me. Do you realize that I'm not stupid? Do you realize that you will be DOUBLING my minimum payment because of this? And that you're an absolute fuckhead because of the fact that instead of letting me opt out of the interest rate increase and just pay the account off while not using the card anymore, you're actually requiring the account to be closed if I opt out? Unlike any other credit card company where you can opt out under the agreement and pay your card off at your current rate but keep it open and if you ever use it again you automatically accept that higher interest rate? Do you realize that I know you know that I don't want to close the account out because it has a high credit limit and closing the card will slash my credit score because my available credit will plummet? Do you realize that I know you know I know this and that you've intentionally selected my account for this position because I have a good credit score and am obviously the type of person that would want to preserve it and you know you can play me?

I swore to myself when I started this blog that I was not going to ever mention by name my current or any former employers. To quote Chandler on Friends: Can...open. Worms....everywhere! Too much trouble can come of it. But I've decided to change my stance on this just this one time because I am so super pissed off and because I never intend to go back to the mortgage/insurance industry. I'm comfortable burning this bridge.

FUCK YOU CITIBANK! FIRST YOU LAY ME OFF IN THE MIDDLE OF A GODDAMN RECESSION AND THEN YOU COME BACK TO POUR SALT ON THE WOUND? WOULD YOU LIKE SOME FUCKING LEMON JUICE TOO?

Yes, this is where I live

Keeping in the tradition of Friday night date night, Edgar and I walked down Pine Avenue last night to have dinner at a place called George's Greek Cafe. We've walked by it every weekend since we've lived here, usually always saying "Hmm, we should give that place a try sometimes." And would then continue on down the street to Rock Bottom to get $3 beers. BUT, since the drinking has been kiboshed since I'm trying to get pregnant, we've started trying out the places we've wanted to go.

We got a nice little table outside on the patio right against the sidewalk. We started out with their hummus, and dear lord it was the most delicious hummus I have ever had in my whole life. I'm planning on having pregnant cravings for it once I'm knocked up.

But then, out of freakin' nowhere, these two ghetto teenagers that had been walking back and forth in front of the restaurant ran by a table a few tables down from ours, grabbed a plate off of their table, and threw it on the ground. Then they ran away down the street laughing and yelling like the little tools that they were, holding up their pants that were down by their knees.

Welcome to Pine Avenue.

Why would you even REMOTELY think that it's ok to just ruin someone's dinner like that? What the hell is your problem? Do you have a disease that prevents you from wearing your pants around your waist instead of belting it around your knees?

Motherfuckers.

What is the music coming to?

I'd like to preface this post by reminding everyone that I am 25 years old, not 80.

That being said, what the hell is this world coming to? I kid you not, on the radio this morning I heard a song that had these lyrics:

Shorty's like a melody in my head that I can't keep out
Got me singing na na na na na na na na everyday
It's like an iPod stuck on replay

(It probably ups the funny quotient even more if you actually read it in your head with an 80 year old man's voice.....)

Elsewhere in the song he sings about how he met his "Shorty" at the mall and about how he's in the kitchen cooking her things that she likes, later failing to rhyme the word 'likes' with 'wife.'

So you're such a bad songwriter that the only melody you can think of to accompany the feelings that you have for your Shorty is fairly monotone and sung with a 'na'? And you're comparing it to a broken iPod? If I was Shorty I would not be impressed.

Really? This is what music is now?

What ever happened to song lyrics that actually meant something? I know that every song in the American music canon can't be chock full of meaning and symbolism and messages about the current state of affairs, but this is just ludicrous. And I like a good, silly, meaningless pop song as much as the next girl, but please. It's like these people weren't even trying. At least be entertaining. Don't be a song where I'm just waiting to hear the ridiculousness of the next word and marveling at your inability to use words correctly in your vocabulary.

Side note: I got an email yesterday at work where this lady (who was also using selective capital letters as I do to make a point--but doing it incorrectly) kept using the word 'fallacy' in her email, but put into the context of her sentence it was clear that she had no idea what the word 'fallacy' meant. Word of the day toilet paper isn't for everyone.

I'm gonna win the lottery and buy a helicopter

Seriously, I've had enough already. These bat-shit insane drivers that I've been encountering on my way home from work this past week are driving me ABSOLUTELY LOONY. I will soon be one with the bat-shit.

I'm pretty sure that's unsanitary.

My drive home from work, while taking less than half time now that I live in Long Beach as compared to when I was living in West Covina, is kind of like an obstacle course. First, there's the "Ooo, here? Maybe here? Oh no, gone to far!" game every day of trying to figure out when exactly to get over to make a left-hand turn from Crenshaw Boulevard onto PCH. The standard left hand turn lane is far to short to handle rush hour traffic, and instead of that overflow spilling to the next lane and backing it up, there's one of those yellow-line-on-each-side lanes that runs up the rest of the street. People who are savvy to the traffic at that time of day know that when they see a line of traffic in that yellow enclosure that they need to suck it up and get in line. But then there are the ASSHOLES who don't get over and then stop in the next lane with their blinker on, blocking traffic, and try to intimidate you by playing chicken with their front bumper to get in front of you. GO TO THE BACK OF THE BUS, MISTER.

After navigating this minefield, it's on to PCH, which is nothing but a plethora of stoplights, and the four miles that I have to spend on it every day take up over half of my commute time. And then you have to watch some jackass in front of you bounce around from lane to lane, always trying to get ahead, thinking he's a race car driver, and ten minutes later he winds up RIGHT BACK IN FRONT OF YOU. It doesn't work, dude. Save yourself the trouble.

Once I can mercifully get off of PCH, I end up on the 110 freeway. Joy of joys, the on-ramp is one of those lanes that continue on to the next exit; it's not forcing you to merge right away. So it's often my luck to get stuck behind some jackass that's getting off at the next exit and therefore has no need to accelerate above 30 mph. Or they're Asian (OH YES I DID). Or some person in the lane you want to merge into that wants to get into my lane, but every time I speed up they speed up and every time I slow down they slow down and it's just like "Um, excuse me, can you quit annoying the fuck out of me so we can do this?" And then the next lane over is no better because it's loaded with semis that are getting off at the next exit after that. A girl's only choice is to dart into that lane, gain some momentum, keep her eyes on the next lane over in the sideview mirror, and jump over whenever there is sufficient space.

This is where my problem has been the last two days. I don't cut people off. Even if you're pissing me off, I don't cut people off. Mainly because I don't trust other drivers, and I really don't feel like them fucking up my lovely red Dodge Neon and forcing me into another five years of car payments. Because I only have liability coverage. UNDERINSURED AND PROUD OF IT. So for the last two days, yes, TWO days, I have waited for that appropriate gap to get over, and all of a sudden cars are all up behind me about to run over me. As in they are like hundreds of yards behind me when I check that lane before I move over, and then all of a sudden they're on top of my ass. As in they are so far back that you can't even judge how fast they're going, because how could somebody that far back ever catch up to you. Which leads to the question: If I am going over 70, and you can get to me that quickly and are about to run over me, you've got to be pushing 90, SO WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN THE #2 LANE? I'm all about the driving fast and the getting home as quickly as possible, and I waste no time in the #2 lane. The purpose of the #2 lane is to get myself at a sufficient speed to move into the #3 lane. Ninety mph is definitely #4 lane material. RULES OF THE ROAD, RIGHT THERE.

So the first time, it's this old purple ghetto Windstar. He was way far behind me when I checked my mirror, far enough back that if he was going at normal #2 lane speed he never would have caught up to me. But this....this....DOUCHEBAG! Oh my god I said it again, he made me say it....time warps to the back bumper of my car and I can see him in my rearview mirror throwing his hands up and yelling and trying to be all hard, and when I see that, IT JUST MAKES ME SLOW DOWN. Don't push me. So he finally gets into the next lane (where he should have been all along) to pass me, and flips me off as he drives past, leaning forward just to flip me off a little bit more as he pulls ahead like "Oh my god oh my god oh my god I have so much middle finger for you that the first time you saw it it wasn't enough!" And I was all "Dude, you drive a 14 year old purple minivan. Not impressed."

And then yesterday, same thing. I get in the #2 lane after checking to make sure that the next vehicle is far enough back. Which he totally was. But again, he all of a sudden put on his super speed and starts FLASHING HIS LIGHTS AND HONKING HIS HORN as he starts to catch up to me. Dude, I can see you. You're going 90, why are you even in this lane?

I'm not even getting into the part after the freeway with the people who have mental blocks that prevent them from crossing bridges at more than 15 mph and then people who have stupid philosophies on when it's okay to drive through a crosswalk.

My conclusion: My was is the only way, and those motherfuckers need to never drive again. Ever.

Black ski masks

Um, Charter. Again? Really?

Our bank account was charged another $30 from Charter Communications today despite the fact that we do not have an account with them and that means WHY ARE YOU STEALING OUR MONEY? That's now over $80 that they have jacked from us.

This is gonna be interesting.....

Apple a day my ass

Today was the first day that I've hated my new computer. Hated like the way that you hate that girl in high school who never had to wear the same outfit twice and always had the perfect hair and designer makeup and an expensive car. But she was really nice and so you felt bad to hate her, but you still hated her and wanted to throw her out a window? That's how I hated my computer today. But I didn't throw it out the window, just like I never threw that girl out of the window, because I'm better than that.

The impetus to this font of hate was my feeble attempt to transfer my iTunes library from my old crappy computer to the new computer. I thought I was being so good, I went to the Apple website and everything, and I was following the directions, following the directions, followng the directions, but nothing would go right. If I had some blank CDs, this would have been a much easier process. But I didn't, so I followed the directions to use my iPod as a hard disk to transfer the music. Except that's where the Apple directions turned into a total FAIL. And I'd just like to note here that I have the newest version of iTunes on my computer. And the Apple website directions are for the newest version. FYI. So it tells me for the new computer that I need to backup the things that I have in that iTunes library so they don't get erased when I load the new music on there. Okay, simple enough. So it says to go File>>Library>>Consolidate Library. EXCEPT THERE WAS NO 'CONSOLIDATE LIBRARY.' Way to suck, directions. So there was no way for me to save my new music, which totally sucks because I have about $45 of recently downloaded music on the new computer. So I chose the next best option, which was Export Library, so something like that, and saved a copy of it in a different folder. I think that works, right?

Then, the directions wanted me to move the original iTunes Library folder on to my desktop. This is where the window came in. The computer wouldn't let me do it. No matter how hard I tried. It kept saying that I needed administrator permission to do it, except I AM THE ADMINISTRATOR, so what the fuck?

I'd like to also mention that at this point I was about three hours into this project. Three hours in because everytime I tried to copy the iTunes folder from the old computer onto the iPod, it would copy copy copy copy for about 10 minutes then tell me the disk was full. So I'd have to cancel it, make the folder smaller, and try again. And then it would do the same thing. Again and again and again and again and again and aren't you as frustrated at my computer after reading all of this as I am? Because if you aren't, you have no soul.

At this point, I do what I always do when computer problems have me down, and I called my Dad. Daddy. The man who, despite being 2300 miles away, can fix everything. HE COULDN'T FIX THIS. He also laughed and told me that I could just download a program on the old computer that is already on my new computer that would allow me to hook a USB cord between the two and transfer all the files I wanted. Of course, Apple never told me this because Apple wants ALL PC USERS TO DIE.

At this point, I just aborted the whole project, because the only thing you should ever spend over three hours on is the director's cut of Titanic. Or The Lord of the Rings. Both were pretty cool. Or childbirth. NOT FUCKING WITH YOUR ITUNES LIBRARY.

Everyone who is not me is not allowed to drive ever again

That sound this morning? The one where you were like "What the hell is that? No really, what was it? Should we be scared?" Were you wondering what that sound around 7:00 this morning was? That was my head exploding.

It goes like this:

I was driving to work this morning. There are two big bridges that I have to cross on my way to the freeway. On the first bridge, each side begins as three lanes and then the two right lanes merge a little way up. Before I reached the base of the bridge, I could see that somewhere up around where those two lanes merged that there were flashing lights and some stopped cars. I got in the left lane, as I normally do, but I notice a semi-truck merging from another lane that connects to the bridge before where the accident was was. Me, being surprisingly nice and giving for that time of morning, I decided to be cool and leave the space between me and the car in front of me for that semi, because I figured that he was going to have to get all the way over to get around the accident. He didn't get over. And I'd just like to note that I left ample time for him to move over before what happened next. Since he hadn't gone, I figured that he didn't have to get over into the far left lane, that the middle lane was not being blocked by the accident. So I sped up a little, catching up to the car in front of me. At which point, THE SEMI DRIVER STARTS TO COME OVER IN MY LANE. And I'm talking come over into my lane in a way that if I hadn't slammed on my brakes, if I had gone forward even two inches further, this guy would have creamed me against a concrete barrier. My throat, being very froggy in the morning because of this head cold that I can't seem to shake, croaked out "What the FUCK?!" in a way that sounded liked a barking dog as I slammed my fist into my horn until the semi had pulled past me. Cops be damned, I was using that horn. And then, AND THEN, once the semi had moved back to the other lane after he cleared the accident, and I drove past him, HE had the AUDACITY to flip ME off. And I was like "Oh no, oh no, FUCK YOU, Mr. Semi Driver, you take THIS finger!" I swear, I wanted to be one of those crazy people who would stop her car on top of that bridge, forcing him to stop, in order for me to get out and yell at him that no, you did not get the right to flip me off, since you are the one that is A COMPLETE AND TOTAL DICKWAD. I'm the one that was being a courteous driver and left plenty of space for you to move over, but then you didn't.

Excuse me, China Shipping? You have a driver out that right now that NEEDS HIS BALLS CUT OFF.

What's the point of this story? That there is NO POINT IN BEING A NICE DRIVER, BECAUSE YOU JUST GET FLIPPED OFF ANYWAYS.