PissedKitten

If you can read this post from a reasonable distance and chew gum without falling out of your chair, you just maybe, possibly, be capable of operating a motor vehicle.

Conversely, if peering at the screen is in any way obfuscated by glaucoma, cataracts, rheumatiz’ medicine or if you’re fidgeting in your chair from an overdose of Geritol that is threatening to overload an already-soggy pair of Depends, maybe there’s a slim possibility that your driving privilege ought to be revoked and you should do all your shopping on TV.

I don’t mean to sound overly bitter, it’s just that far too many senior citizens have been trying to introduce me to my Creator during the past several weeks.

And I’m not a granny or grampy-hater, I just wanna live!

OK, so I have a car. Why is that an invitation for suffering and humiliation at the hand of my local grease monkey?

It broke down the other day- I mean why wouldn’t it? It’s mechanical and mechanical things are prone to wear and malfunction right? I accept it, it pisses me off when it happens but I’m at peace with the possibility. What cheeses me is having to deal with arrogant “experts” who immediately claim superiority over your mechanical abilities merely because you’re a girl.

All the “Honey, you probably don’t understand blah, blah, blah” and other condescending BS that I had to endure was well worth the satisfaction of stumping the knuckle-dragger’s diagnostic skills with my ailing American-made SUV and later fixing it myself with calm logic and a little research on the web.

I even managed to stay relatively clean while making the repair.

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Rodney Dangerfield used to say, “Now I understand why tigers eat their young.”  I’m with Rodney.  Kids today show no respect, yet think you are “dissing” them if you aren’t kissing their ever-lard’ning butts.

Shame on us all for bringing up the worst, most selfish generation since the Flintstones.

It seems to me that people need a variety of activities in their lives. If they have too few, they tend to build in drama and unnecessary turmoil. And leisure time? Forget about it! Leisure time is the staging area for future unhappiness. Look at people who spend a disproportionate amount of time either at work or away from it. Their lives become routine and the next thing you know, they’re having affairs and/or forming addictions- or they’re screwing up someone else’s life. It doesn’t matter if you’re a housewife or an office worker- don’t piss me off, get some variety and butt the hell out of my life.

Gawd! I’m completely surrounded by pansies. I don’t mean to criticize, but come on! We are all sitting here around the table at what is supposed to be a nice restaurant and everybody’s bitching amongst themselves about how slow the service is. Worse, they’re doing it without taking a moment to bitch at the one person who can do something about it; our waitress. I mean, how many mojitos do these bims have to swallow before they grow a pair and say something?

So I say something to get the waitresses’ attention– and my friends totally freak! They go from catty snarks about how the chick parts her hair to attacking me for telling the waitress that we’re ready to order. I was even nice when I said it. Next thing I know I’m getting eye-daggers from everyone around the table. No one appreciates that we are finally getting some service and that maybe, just maybe we all will feel better once we get some frickin’ protein in our stomachs. Instead, I get to look forward to hearing about next week is how so-and-so was embarrassed by my little “outburst” at the restaurant.

That’s the thing, everyone seems to bitch about rather than to the person that is causing them grief. What’s with that? I look at every situation like I’m ready to give first aid to any gash that starts dripping; with direct pressure. If someone is twisting my nipple (in a bad way), I let them know about it directly– I don’t tell anyone else first, that’s for later. “First, twister gets the bitchin’”- I like the sound of that.