Wake up: The alarm goes off at 6 am and Sparky wants to snuggle. Translation: 6 am and Sparky wants to sleep so he says he wants to snuggle only disguise his lack of willpower in the sweet scent of early morning marital bliss. He will then fall back asleep and start twitching and hit me in the face with his weird thrashing. Just 10 more minutes and I’ll be late and have a black eye.
Shower: Snuggling and dodging flying fists translates to no gym. No gym translates to cold shower. Nice.
Driving: I know I’m an asshole when I drive my black BMW. You know why I’m an asshole? Because I can be. I have 296 horsies at my disposal and a sport mode. (Sport mode is cool.) However, my being an asshole is fleeting. I just want to be away from you. I’m trying to get somewhere. That why I use a car. To go from point A to point B. And I don’t need a lane monitor or a traffic mother to help me learn my limits. I had a mother, she’s dead. Learn from that and get out of my way.
Mr. Seat Driver, I know what a speed limit is. Do you? It means that is the speed you should be travelling at. I fully agree with and follow the 30 kph limit in inner city zones. I’ve read the studies and I want to save kids lives too. HOWEVER, if we are in a 70 zone and you are driving 50, me and my black machine of power will get antsy to get a move on. In fact, if after assessing the situation we decide to over take you, it is in your best interest not to try to prevent it. Sport mode will blow your pissant ass away every time.
Oh and that thumbs up sign? That is my way of not insulting your human dignity with my middle finger and yet allowing me to release my bile. Yes, its meant ironically. Fucking krauts and their sensitive feelings. Stop crying, learn how to drive or get off the road.
Oh and Mr. Seat Driver, you are allowed to pass tractors.
Tractors: This is so common an occurrence that I sometimes have to pinch myself to really believe that I am trailing a tractor. I get stuck behind tractors all the fucking time. What happened to me? Why am I living in a place where farm equipment is more common than not. And chickens. Jesus Christ. Chickens are not the type of bird I am used to seeing when I drive. And they had better abide by the contract. I’m not gunning for them and I might slow down, but one never knows what a chicken is going to do. I will crash my car for fur, not feathers. Just kidding, Sparky. Ha ha…ha?
Bees: Listen. You are only allowed one sting do you really want to waste it on someone who ushers you out of the house all nice and stuff? I was not even bothering you. I was walking all nice and quiet when one of you decided the underside of my upper arm was a threat. It is, but only to my brother. There is no excuse for that behavior. No wonder you’re dying off. You sting like Krauts drive.
The Dentist: Six month cleaning appointment = 2 cavities in the very far lower back. This translates to a very big needle popping into my facial nerve which translates to a lot of crying and flipping out because no dentist has been able to give me a shot on my lower jaw without hitting that fun facial nerve. You know the nerve that runs all over the side of your face that when hit feels like someone took jumper cables to your face? That nerve. Its a real beauty, that nerve. I tell my dentist he will have to give me drugs so that I am drooling by the time he tries to hit me with that needle because frankly, that is the only way he will be able to get near me. Roofies would be a good idea. A lot of roofies. He recommends an herb. An HERB. Do I look like an herb type of person? No. I am a synthetic drug type of person. I’ve tried them all. Better life through chemicals. I need the strongest drool inducing pharmaceutical to get through that appointment.
I am not an herb sort of dental patient. He knows this. The last time he fisted my mouth, he popped that big long needle into my facial nerve. He had to hold me down for three minutes while he worked the needle out of the side of my face. And I was skiddish before that happened due to a Siberian dentist and a root canal. I’m really not kidding. He was Siberian. Siberians have a whole different approach to pain management and I think it starts with “Stop Crying. You don’t know pain until you’ve experienced a Siberian winter. ”
Now? Now I brush and floss religiously. Why? Because genetically, I got screwed. I got my dad’s big teeth and my mom’s small jaw. This prompted the pulling of 10 teeth and 4 years of braces. Oh and wonders of wonders I got the “get a cavity if you even think about not brushing” gene. The Wonder Twins brush so seldomly, they were nicknamed Moss Mouth. And you know what? Not a cavity between them. Bastards.
After the bad news was delivered, Dr. Pain asked if I had had my teeth bleached. Uh, yeah, if by bleaching you mean loads of coffee and tons of cigarettes, then yes, I bleach every day. I think he was just trying to be nice. Huh.
I think I’m done now. I have to go finish my book. I have my group here at the house tomorrow night and since I’m actually leading this one, I should probably finish it this time.