Dear Diary,
Today (well, Wednesday anyway) was a magical day. Let me count the ways!
1) My shuttle driver to Portland International Airport. Thank you Odin, Tuatha Dé Danann, various Hindu deities, collective universe consciousness, or perhaps even ancient dung beetle ancestral spirits, for sending me such a talented driver. A driver that only had two speeds:
a) breakneck-batshit-crazy-fast acceleration
b) oh-shit-oh-shit-please-I-don't-want-to-die braking
It took a titanic amount of self-reflection for me to come to grips with the fact that the only thing that could make this jaunt to PDX more special would be if I'd stolen a FedEx truck at gunpoint, loaded the back with 600 kilos of blow then swung by and picked up Lindsay Lohan and Stevie Wonder, asking them if they could pretty please rotate out every few minutes and drive me to the airport with a quickness.
2) The businessman who sat next to me on the puddlejumper flight to Seattle. The man who could not shut the fuck up if he were told, "Any phoneme you utter will instantly cause a catastrophic Rube Goldbergian chain reaction that will end all life in the UNIVERSE". The man who waxed poetic about such a variety of topics, all centered around how smart, wealthy, educated, and cultured he was.
I have to assume he intended to slip me a roofie in my complimentary in-flight beverage, which I smartly refused. I also clenched with such barbaric strength (I like to prepare for the worst) that I'm amazed I didn't stand up at the end of the flight to a perfect tiny egg-shaped diamond; and it also probably helped that I made frequent mention of being riddled with "AIDS, herp, syph, and pretty much anything that'll cause dickrot".
Nothing would deter this man until I pretended to drift off to sleep, at which point I assume he went all Leo (a la Titanic), and painted my portrait. Thankfully the steamy-window-hand-slap didn't happen...unless I've blocked it out.
3) The asshat in the Jeep that thought driving halfway onto the shoulder while being two feet behind me would properly indicate, "Please step aside, my fellow man! I wish to venture faster than most!" The aforementioned asshat also apparently cannot use his eyes in this plane of existence in order to calculate various things like solid objects...
As in cars. Everywhere. That prevented me from making way, or even spontaneously Tony Jaa-ing my Mazda 3 all over I-5 in an attempt to get out of poor Mr. AssJeep's way. The only solace I take in that experience is knowing I probably added substantially to his road rage when I consistently took my foot off the gas pedal every time he got too close, and then sped up again if my drifting back would in any way create a gap for him to change lanes.
Goodnight Diary!
Wubs,
Cacky Poo
No comments:
Post a Comment