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Wednesday,
January 2, 2008
Cranky
Oh,
yeah, I'm cranky. Everything hurts, I have no idea why, I keep waking
up every couple of hours because various body parts are throbbing and
not in a fun way, asprin and ibu don't help (and I envy Greg House something
wicked because Vicodin works for him whereas I may as well be taking
sugar pills), and as a result I'm real cranky.
And since a comedian (screw using the feminine version -- I'm cranky) is only funny when she's taking her demons out for a walk, let's see if my ranting can amuse you good people out there. There was something I really wanted to talk about earlier, but it's completely slipped my mind (that's another thing that sucks about getting older -- I get good ideas, but unless I write them down that second they're gone, daddy, gone). Until it comes back, however, let me ask why, when there are plenty of parking spaces around me, would someone decide to pull into the space right next to me as I'm opening my car door? When I see something like this, I let the person finish getting out of their car before I pull into the slot. Better yet, I find another freaking parking space.
But no -- old Homer almost took my car door clean off when I was out shopping today. God forbid he should park in the empty space on my right side -- that would obviously prove that he had a small penis or something. I could understand him wanting to get Gladys out of the car as fast as possible so that she could toddle into the quilt store, but if he'd parked on my right side she would've been even closer to the door. Instead, she almost wound up with my door in her damn lap.
Yes, I'm being unsympathetic. I get that way when I see a bigass Ford come within millimeters of my car, dunno why. Then again, this is Dallas, and every day where I don't get pranged or t-boned is a mitzvah.
Hmm. Nope, still can't think of the thing I wanted to talk about. Oh, well -- if it comes back, it comes back. Pity, though -- it would've made for a good rant.
Oh, wait a minute -- I think the two Vicodin are actually kicking in now (they're from Lyndon's suspected case of shingles last year, by the way. He didn't take them because the antiviral headed it off, and narcotics don't affect me much so they've sat in the medicine cabinet until today). I don't feel quite as homicidal as I did earlier, which is an improvement at least.