Ain't No Rest For the Wicked

I wish it were socially acceptable for me to just become a total beach bum straight out of high school.  I honestly don't think I'd be unhappy if I were to spend the rest of my life running through the water and dancing on the sand-iPod in one sweatshirt pocket and a strawberry lollipop on my tongue (I'm really craving a lollipop right now).  Of course, it wouldn't do for a woman over  the age of about 25 to be wreaking havoc  on the beach in a bikini, so I'd have to quit at that point.  But hey...live hard, die young.  I don't think it would be a bad way to go.

As we turn the sharp corner back into reality, I'd like to point out that Spring Break is pretty much half over and I've barely made a dent in the grand monster truck of work that I've been assigned.  Unfortunately, I'm driving the SmartCar of empty willpower and procrastination.  SmartCar will get eaten alive by monster truck, then will have to be scraped off of the grill with a spatula.

Yay.

Not all is hopeless, however.  I'm off to Mormonland tomorrow for a week of snowboarding, which I'm very much looking forward to (not looking forward to slaving away on a DBQ at the hotel instead of unwinding at the jacuzzi, but you can't always get what you want.  But if you try sometimes...YOU GET WHAT YOU NEED!)  GG2 seems to be doing better, which always makes me happy.  I will know more on this subject when I next see her in person, which will hopefully be as soon as possible.  On the relationship front, things are still still pleasantly stable (I don't think that should come as a surprise; neither one of us are terribly tumultuous people).  Adding on to the "Things Are Alright" list, if things go my way, Tyler Durden will keep this current short-haired and slightly-stubbled look, which most definitely suits him.  However, if he continues to resist my feminine wisdom (see below), I shall have to bribe him.  I'll come up with something.

GG2: Who are you going to believe...your instincts, or your female friends?

Tyler Durden: My instincts.

Me: INCORRECT ANSWER, SIR.

Finally, I'd like to give a shout-out to the charming young man in the blue pickup truck who first tried to merge directly into the side of my car on the freeway without a blinker, honked at me angrily as soon as he realized that my car was so inconveniently (yet law-abidingly) located in what must have been his personal lane (there is no other reason for him to have been so ridiculously angry), then proceeded to follow me all the way to La Jolla just to roll down his window and yell profanities at me at the stoplight on the La Jolla Village Drive off-ramp.  After he finished, he then turned around to go (this is important) back up north on the 5...he had DRIVEN PAST HIS EXIT just so that he could inform me of my status as (and I quote) a "fucking cunt-brained whore" as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Now, I would have said something clever back to him, but I don't believe this gentleman had the ability to understand when he was being flayed alive by well-chosen words, so the effect would have been lost.  So my usual strategy when dealing with unsavory people was rendered useless.

However, I'd like to take this opportunity now to right some of the wrong.  Although I can't respond with a devastatingly witty retort, I have one last option.

"If you can't answer a man's arguments, all is not lost; you can still call him vile names." - Elbert Hubbard

To the charming young man in the blue pickup truck:  And you're a cocksucking, squealing prison bitch.  I'm sorry that your pimpled dick is smaller than my 4-year-old cousin's pinky finger.

Over and out.