I don’t think there is anything worse than being stuck in traffic. There’s nothing worse than being behind a Sunday driver on a Monday morning in rush hour. In the left lane of a four lane highway. Coming up to lights with BIG trucks in front of both lights.
Or driving to the beach for a glorious week… dreams smashed as your everyday world anger and frustrations exlode, full blown, sitting in the car, in traffic…and your older car threatening to overheat. And then, and i really loved this, having my ex husband tell: BE HERE NOW.
Be… here… now… BE HERE NOW? No no no… you don’t understand. I don’t want to be here NOW…
You gotta pet peeve. Throw it out there… come on… pony it UP…
|
go ahead, play, talk, and be excellent to each other. oh and whatever you do, DO NOT push the recommend button on PONY PARTIES… these are here for fun, but we don’t want to take up space on the recommended diary list… |
36 comments
Skip to comment form
How do you pronounce your handle? I keep saying, “pee ‘fore I ate”, and I have a feeling that might not be correct. ;o}
I published right on top of you, and I’m sorry. It seems that the 24 hour period is a rolling one, not fixed. I wish that it could be the other so that I could write ahead of time and publish during a slow spell (if there even are any of those on this fast and furious blog). Boy – you guys done good!
I’m riding an ’87 Electra Glide Classic over the hill from Napa County to Sonoma County through the redwoods and the wine country-so that part is not so bad, but today I got behind aq damn old diesel pickup truck and by the time I got to work I felt like I’d taken up my old Marlboro habit again, except without the breaks between puffs.
is a bitch!
Walking down to the taqueria I have to stop and pet, like….three dogs!
When I DID commute, I developed the theory of traffic as hydrodynamics.
Just shows how bored I used to get!
so I have no drive to work. Allow me to rant about my living situation.
As some of you know we had a devastating flood here on Sept. third. I am still staying with my friend as promises to fix it up have not happened. The owners promised that the house would be better than new. I had four feet of muddy water on the first floor and she said they would bring in cleaners, carpenters and what ever needed to be done.
So far, the cleaning crew has been the 78 year old landlady with a dirty mop smacking me on the head when I try to pass behind her. She did hire a carpenter since the counters and cabinets are wood. So far nothing happening there. He does have all my outer doors sitting on the patio so the house is wide open. I waited two hours for him to show this morning but he hasn’t appeared. He did wash my car but my street is gone so I can’t drive it. What is it with Mexicans and this obsessive car washing anyway. The streets are muddy and dust is everywhere! They did get the refrigerator fixed but I am afraid to plug it in since I got knocked on my ass last time. There is nothing to fill it with anyway.
Oh I didn’t mention that I have eight cats living upstairs in a bedroom and shitting in the shower. I can’t find any cat litter and forget my bucket when I go to the beach for sand. I go over there every morning and evening and do the shit detail, feed the big dog, and the chickens, and collect eggs. I also have a small white dove with a broken wing who has moved into the bottom of the pool, and I feed and water her.
I have decided that enough is enough so I have hired my own people to come in and clean on Monday. I plan to move back in on Tuesday doors or no doors!
Otherwise life is very good! I just don’t feel very well today especially when the health department is going door to door and advising about Cholera, Malaria, and Dengue. I forgot to mention the hordes of mosquitos.
That Pacifico in the fridge is looking mighty good right now and its eleven twenty one. My next rant will probably be coming to you from rehab! Thanks for listening.
That sounds very wrong
about traffic and life annoyances built into such things as telephone service, postal service, etc., were permanently altered during my 3 1/2 years in India.
The streets of New Delhi were filled not only with cars and careening trucks but bullock carts, bicyclists, rickshaws — and cows.
Near our home was an intersection known as “glass alley” because trucks piled high with wooden cases of Coca-Cola in bottles (this was the 1970s) would speed into a left-hand turn and fall over, regularly, weekly.
But the wandering cows, the sacred cows, were an enormous traffic hazard. And woe to anyone who hit a sacred cow. Crowds would mobilize out of nowhere to threaten such a careless driver.
This was all underscored as one prepared to take the exam for a driver’s license. Word of mouth and the driver’s manual made it perfectly clear. The manual read:
“Remember, cows can’t read.”