The Health Care Crisis Crisis

So, I saw an interesting post of facebook. So credible, I know. So, I Snopes-ed it. (Yes, I just made up a word. Yes, that's how I roll.) Apparently, it is legitimate, assuming Snopes is legitimate, but that's always up for discussion... The post is a letter to the editor or something similar that a doctor sent to a local paper in Mississippi. I can't find the original, but here is Snopes' quote:

"During my last shift in the ER, I had the pleasure of evaluating a patient with a shiny new gold tooth, multiple elaborate tatoos (sic) and a new cellular telephone equipped with her favorite R&B tune for a ring tone.

"Glancing over the chart, one could not help noticing her payer status: Medicaid.

"She smokes a costly pack of cigarettes every day and, somehow, still has money to buy beer.

"And our president expects me to pay for this woman's health care?

"Our nation's health care crisis is not a shortage of quality hospitals, doctors or nurses. It is a crisis of culture — a culture in which it is perfectly acceptable to spend money on vices while refusing to take care of one's self or, heaven forbid, purchase health insurance.

"Life is really not that hard. Most of us reap what we sow.

"Starner Jones, MD

"Jackson"

Now, if that don't just about sum it up, I don't know what does. And, to those who read and agree with the response on Snopes that was apparently sent in to the paper regarding Jones' letter, I must say I beg to differ. There is an Us and a Them. The Us pay for lazy turd-cutters to sit on their growing asses. The Them take advantage of the system and are perfectly capable of getting off their lazy asses and supporting themselves. Now, I realize and agree that there is a slippery slope in determining who can and cannot get government support, but let's be real, we already do that--otherwise we would all be getting government support and none of us would be working. (Could you imagine the deficit? On second thought, could it really be much worse than it is now?) So, that argument is null and void in my book. We need more realistic and accurate ways of measuring qualifications for government assistance. Because, I for one know that my husband and I have nothing to drink in our refrigerator right now but water--and it isn't bottled but from the tap and is just in a pitcher in the frig to be cold. What I mean to say is, we can't afford groceries most weeks, so we don't even have milk right now. And, we don't qualify for food stamps. So, yes, I do get a little fucking irritated at the fat cunt in line buying $400 worth of meat when I can't even buy milk because she has food stamps and I don't, and I'll be damned if she doesn't look awfully capable of pushing that really heavy meat cart around. Can't she get a job doing that?

"The NAACP Ain't Got Nothin' on N----- Hatin' Me..."

Alternate Title: N----- Against All Caucasian People

My lovely (and instigating) mother sent me another bullshit article from the Athens paper. Apparently, the NAACP is pissed because all the darkies are getting suspended more than the chalkies. I mean, really. Are you surprised? Aren't most of the men in prison black? If it's the blacks that are causing the trouble, bringing the guns, drugs, and fights to school, shouldn't they be the ones suspended? I speak from experience, having spent 10 weeks teaching 13-14 year old kids from the projects and poorer side of Pauling County. I wrote-up six kids. They all received ISS, not suspension. Of those six, only one was black. Yes, just one. And, we all know which side of racist I lean on. That should tell you something right there.

Why I Fucking Hate Teachers

I got this in an email:

The dinner guests were sitting around the table discussing life. One man, a CEO, decided to explain the problem with education. He argued, "What's a kid going to learn from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?" He reminded the other dinner guests what they say about teachers: "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach." To stress his point he said to another guest; "You're a teacher, Bonnie. Be honest... what do you make?"

Bonnie, who had a reputation for honesty and frankness replied, "You want to know what I make?" (She paused for a second, then began...) "Well, I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could. I make a C+ feel like a Medal of Honour. I make kids sit through 40 minutes of class time when their parents can't make them sit for 5 without an I Pod, Game Cube or movie rental. You want to know what I make?" (She paused again and looked at each and every person at the table.) ''I make kids wonder.. I make them question.. I make them apologize and mean it. I make them have respect and take responsibility for their actions. I teach them to write and then I make them write... keyboarding isn't everything. I make them read, read, read. I make them show all their work in math. They use their God given brain, not the man-made calculator. I make my students from other countries learn everything they need to know in English while preserving their unique cultural identity. I make my classroom a place where all my students feel safe. I make my students stand and sing O Canada every morning, because we live in this great country called Canada . Finally, I make them understand that if they use the gifts they were given, work hard, and follow their hearts, they can succeed in life." (Bonnie paused one last time and then continued.) "Then, when people try to judge me by what I make, with me knowing money isn't everything, I can hold my head up high and pay no attention because they are ignorant.............You want to know what I make? I MAKE A DIFFERENCE. What do you make Mr. CEO?"

His jaw dropped, he went silent.

That CEO must be a flaming retard. CEO's make a difference--at least I know a good bit that do. And, I have never had a teacher that did any of those things (must be because I'm not in the holy land of Canada). Honestly. I am substituting right now, and anyone stupid enough to be a teacher is beyond me. I still live by the motto of those that can do and those that can't teach. Hell, those that can't teach administrate. I may sound like a hypocrite right now, since I'm sort of teaching, but I would never do this for real. It's a fucking joke. And, just so you know, teachers make a whole hell of a lot more money than they like to let on. Hell, with a couple years experience and a master's, they make more than I would as an Engineer. So, to all the asshole teachers out there, here's a big FUCK YOU.

The end.

Confession: I Hate Dogmar Midcrap

Dagmar Midcap aka Dogmar Midcrap is the stupid bitch of a weather girl on the local CBS affiliate. And, I hate her. She's a complete idiot. We are having a massive amount of tornadoes in Georgia right now. This moron called Monticello "montechello--like the instrument. I mean, really. You work in Georgia. Learn how to say the names of the God damned cities. I can't help it you're a Canadian. It's not Dackula. It's not like Dracula. It's Daquela. It's not Winder, like the southern folk call windows. It is Winder, as it wind it up. OMG!

Past Due: Spoiled Brat Sneer

I haven't just flat out bitched about something that irritates the shit out of me lately, so I'm past due. I fucking hate people that go on and on about how they have no debt. Good for fucking you, but seriously, the rest of us didn't have Mommy and Daddy buy us a car when we turned 16 and another one when we graduated high school, pay for our college, pay for us to get drunk every night in college, buy us a new car and/or a house for graduating college, pay for our mortgage(rent)/utilities/groceries/cruises/spa and salon services/etc. even though we have a job. And, we have fucking debt because we worked our ass off to get where we are, and we're sick of you going on and on about how the economy isn't so bad, and you're doing so well, and you're just so perfect and happy and blah, blah, blah. Shut the fuck up. Go work for one single thing in your pathetic excuse for a life. Then, get back to me on that high horse of yours.

My Dog is Not Discriminatory. He Hates Everyone.

I am sick to death of people asking me if my dog is racist or somehow insinuating he is racist--especially when they imply I made him that way. Pepe "I-am-a-chihuahua-who-thinks-it's-a-rottweiler" Patron is not racist. He is not discriminatory. In. Any. Way. He fucking hates EVERYBODY. Get the hell over it. He growls, barks, and otherwise makes an ass of himself to everyone. EVERYONE. If he doesn't know you, he doesn't like you. Period. Does he need some Cesar Millan on his ass? Probably, but he's not aggressive. He doesn't bite. In fact, he runs the other way when you come toward him. Which, in my opinion, is probably pretty damn smart. And, he's my dog, and I don't give a shit if he hates people he doesn't know because he loves the shit out of me.

What spurred this hatefest of obscenities, you ask? I went down to the hospital today to see Dad, who is cancer free and won't have to do chemotherapy, by the way! Yay! I digress. I took Pepe with me because he loves to ride, and he hates to be left at home alone. I leave him home all day in the crate while I'm at work, so I figure he deserves a little ride.

So, at the hospital you have to pay to park in their garage. Pay. At the hospital. Yeah, I've never heard of that either. So, I get my ticket, and park, and go see Dad, and come back. All the while, Pepe is sitting quietly in the backseat wrapped up in a blanket with a coat on. He's warm and toasty, and he's happy. And, he knows there is a ride home to look forward to. Trust me. I know my dog.

So, I get ready to leave, and I drive down, down, down, and I finally drive up to the exit. I give the lady my ticket, and Pepe's head pops out the window. Well, the lady has a sock cap on and her hood pulled up (it's cold as shit today!). It scares Pepe. So, of course, he starts growling. And, that bitch had the audacity to say to me, "He ain't used to seeing black people, is he?" The fuck you say, bitch? I should have said that. But I'd hate to get my ass kicked by her, and then be blamed, and be put in prison for a hate crime.

So, I politely try to say, no. I say, "I think it's your hood. I think it scares him." To which she replies, "Oh, he thinks I'm a thug." Oh. My. Fucking. God. No, he does not think you are a thug, but I think you are a racist bitch. He thinks you are someone he doesn't know, and he thinks you look funny with all that piled over your head, and he is scared of you because you are only, oh, I don't know, TWENTY times his size?

But the worst part is this woman obviously can't see she is being ridiculously racist and hateful because she keeps going on about how cute he is. My God, lady. You just accused me of having a racist dog, and now you want to tell me how cute that is? What-the-hell-ever. She goes on to tell me that I better watch out because someone might call and report me for leaving my dog int he car. Yeah, someone like YOU.

Don't Spare the Rod

It still surprises me when people talk about spanking like it's child abuse. I came across this article that goes so far as to say that "corporal punishment is like smoking", as if it's addicting. Any sane parent can tell you that it is very hard to spank your children. My dad used to cry when he spanked me because I cried. It's hard to believe that spanking can somehow facilitate abuse, which is what the article implies: "It's a rare human being who can refrain from stepping up from a mild, relatively harmless dose to an excessive and harmful one." I beg to differ. My parents never abused me. Never. Not even my stepparents. Physically, anyway. Emotionally, well, I guess that is a topic for another day. I digress. Any parent that can't keep from stepping over the line is an abusive parent, and spanking or not spanking will have nothing to do with that.

To support their claim, the article goes on to say that "[m]ore than one-third of all parents who start out with relatively mild punishments end up crossing the line drawn by the state to define child abuse: hitting with an object, harsh and cruel hitting, and so on." When I was a kid, you got whipped with a hickory or a belt, and you liked it. Or you got whipped again. But you didn't like it too much. Or you got whipped again. I can hardly call getting whipped with a hickory child abuse. It wasn't like it left a scar or even a bruise. My parents whipped me hard enough to get the point, but they never actually hurt me. Sure, I cried like a fountain, but they were crocodile tears. (And, they worked. Hehe.)

The article goes on to say the following: "The key is corporal punishment's temporary effectiveness in stopping a behavior. It does work—for a moment, anyway. The direct experience of that momentary pause in misbehavior has a powerful effect, conditioning the parent to hit again next time to achieve that jolt of fleeting success and blinding the parent to the long-term failure of hitting to improve behavior. The research consistently shows that the unwanted behavior will return at the same rate as before. " I really just can't believe that. When I got whipped for something, when it came to me getting whipped because I'd had my warnings and time outs, I got the point. I didn't do that shit again. And, I would bet you a hundred bucks, most kids would rather be whipped than be grounded. I'd venture to say it's also more effective that grounding. Grounding just pissed me off. Made me want to rebel.

You may be modern and believe that spanking is child abuse. I believe it is not. And, I can assure you my kids will get a swat on their behind. They will also get an explanation, which is something I think a lot of people forget about. It doesn't matter what the punishment is, if you don't explain to your child why you are upset and why what they were doing was wrong, bad, or dangerous, the kid is going to repeat the offense. Children can understand that they shouldn't do something because it makes Mommy sad. That tactic works. So, I say, swat the behind, and then tell them why, and you'll get a happy, healthy, and safe child. Of course, that's just how I was raised. And, I didn't turn out a murderous, raping, anarchist, menace to society. I'm a college educated, salaried engineer, who pays my taxes and my parking tickets. I'm no model citizen, but I'm a decent human being. And, I'm fairly certain I didn't get this way because my parents grounded me.

All I know is that when I was a kid, and whipping was the norm, we didn't have to lock our doors. Now that spankings are child abuse, I have to lock my doors. I can only believe there is some sort of correlation there.

Just Like a Pig

From Cagle Cartoons, by Gary Brookins:

Priceless. Absolutely, utterly priceless.

Thought: As if some specific type of person would sue with no grounds... Where have I heard something like that before???

Kids, You Might Want to Hang on to that Bike

Apparently, people just don't get it. Some "influential auto safety group" wants the driving age mandated to 17, or even 18. They cite the fact that "car crashes are the leading cause of death among teenagers" as their reason. Well, let's see. If we raise the driving age to 18, then the leading cause of death for those 18-20 would be, um, car crashes? Yeah. It isn't about the age, jackasses. Sure, there is some factor of immaturity that goes into those idiots racing at 120 mph in their new Mustangs (um, first of all, parents, don't buy your dumbass teen a new Mustang), but really, it's the inexperience that contributes so highly to these crashes. They even say in the article that the graduated licensing laws helped decrease the number of teenage deaths. Well, let's see. That makes sense because... Because A) fewer teens are driving at night or with too many distractions (passengers, cell phones, etc) in the vehicle, and B) because they have more EXPERIENCE (Driver's Ed, more driving hours supervised by a parent, etc) by the time they get to drive at night or with too many distractions (passengers, cell phones, etc) in the vehicle. "One study from the 1990s found that the rate of crash-related deaths among 16- and 17-year olds were 18 per 100,000 in New Jersey [a state that issues licenses at 17], compared with 26 per 100,000 in Connecticut [a state that issues licenses at 16]." Now, call me crazy, but if the entire population of 16 year olds is not driving, then how likely are they to be killed in a driving accident? Not nearly as likely, right? Right. So, the numbers actually aren't that great for your argument. I am all for keeping kids alive. I mean, I lost three friends in three years in high school--all to car wrecks. But, unfortunately for these activists, only one of them was under 18. They admit that the graduated licenses have helped, so why can't we keep going down that road? Raising the driving age just puts the inexperienced drivers starting that much older. So, you spare a death for two years, not impressive. Spare a death, period. Then, maybe you will impress me.

Imports: Take Heed

Since it is blatantly obvious that you Yankee imports have no idea what's going on down here in Bible-Belt Georgia, let me help you with one little thing: the driving laws. Now, I know that up "Nawth" they didn't make you do this stuff, but you can either do it or get the fuck out. We're really tired of your attitudes.* All items below came directly from the Georgia Department of Driver Services 2008 Driver's Manual.

Use Headlights Properly

• Use high-beam headlights only when driving in rural areas and when other cars are not nearby. You must use your headlights between one-half hour after sunset to one-half hour before sunrise; at any time when it is raining; or when visibility is limited. (Yes, that says when raining, and, no, it does NOT say turn on your flashers!)
  
• You should dim (lower) your headlights when:

• Within 500 feet of an approaching vehicle so as not to blind the driver.
• Following closely (within 200 feet) behind another vehicle.
• Driving on lighted roads.
• Driving in rain, fog, snow, or smoke.
• Vision is reduced to less than 200 feet.

Fog

If possible, avoid driving in heavy fog. If you must drive, follow these guidelines:

• Reduce driving speed.
• Reduce speed further when you see headlights or red tail lights. These indicate the presence of another vehicle and, because of the fog, it may be more difficult to accurately judge the distance between your vehicle and others.
• Dim your headlights. Bright lights produce a glare in heavy fog, actually making it more difficult to see than when using regular headlights.
• Do not drive with parking or hazard lights on.

Georgia’s Law Concerning Pedestrians

The driver of a vehicle shall stop and remain stopped to allow a pedestrian to cross the roadway within a crosswalk:

• When the pedestrian is upon the half of the roadway on which the vehicle is traveling, or when the pedestrian is approaching and is within one lane of the half of the roadway on which the vehicle is traveling or onto which it is turning. “Half of the roadway” means all traffic lanes carrying traffic in one direction of travel.
• When making a left or right turn at any intersection.
• At stop signs, after coming to a complete stop and before proceeding.
• At traffic signals, even when the light is green, if pedestrians are still in crosswalk.
• When entering a street or highway from an alley, driveway, or private road.
• When approaching a blind person who is crossing a street or highway if he/she is carrying a white cane or being guided by a dog.

Other Important Laws

• Unless a sign posted at that intersection prohibits doing so, it is permissible to make a “left turn on red” from the left lane of a one-way street onto a one-way street on which the traffic moves toward the driver’s left. You may proceed only after making a complete stop, yielding to all traffic and stopping for pedestrians, and making the determination that you can safely make the turn.
• Unless a sign posted at that intersection prohibits doing so, it is permissible to make a “right turn on red” at an intersection controlled by a traffic control light. You may proceed only after making a complete stop, yielding to all traffic and pedestrians, and making the determination that you can safely make the turn.
• The driver of any motor vehicle, when traveling down a hill, must not coast with the gears or transmission of the vehicle in neutral. (This includes you people trying to save on your gas mileage.)
  
• It is unlawful to drive across a dividing section, barrier, or unpaved strip which separates two roadways at any point other than at an authorized opening or crossover.
  

*Disclaimer: This is a broad generalization of City-folk. This does not necessarily include all Northerners or Yankees and may include some natives of Atlanta who just don't have a damn clue how to drive. Please do not take offense if you are a Yankee or import who can drive well and knows the driving laws. Otherwise, take offense. I'm tired of your ass!

Country roads, take me home
To the place I belong
Athens, Georgia, dawg country
Take me home, country roads

Revolting Bolt

Usain Bolt is a jackass. His showboating arrogance is absurdly rude and uncalled for. Even the IOC has criticized him. What makes this so profound is that he can't even wait to cross the finish line to start his flagrant show of disrespect. He starts slowing down 10 meters before the finish, throws his hands up, beats his chest, and looks around, as if to say, "look, no one is even near me". He even refuses to congratulate his competitors or even just shake hands after the event. If he would have just run out his races, he might have actually beat Michael Johnson's record by more than a pathetic 2 hundredths of a second--a difference so small that I'm not even sure the timers are capable of recording it without a margin of error that would make that record irrelevant. I realize he is probably the fastest man alive, but it just makes for some terrible sportsmanship. This is the Olympics. The Olympics is for champions. And, champions do not start showboating before their competition is even over. Champions are not sore losers. And, they are not sore winners, either.

The Majority Minority

White Americans will no longer be the minority--by as soon as 2042. And, quite frankly, I'm looking forward to it. I'm so damned sick of all these foul cries of discrimination. He said she said, and you're guilty until proven innocent. And the fuck-off who accused you, and slandered your good name, gets a big, fat settlement. I'm tired of being discriminated against because I'm white. Yes, reverse discrimination is alive and well. And I'm just sick to death of this bullshit. I'm sick of there being a Black History Month but no White History Month. I'm tired of seeing signs in Spanish instead of English--not even in addition to English, just purely in Spanish. I'm tired of there being an NAACP but no association for the advancement of non-colored people. I'm tired of being unable to say what I want and do what I want without being prosecuted by some money-hungry, lazy ass whore who won't fucking work to support her five children by different daddies. I am irate at the disclaimer that comes with the 1st Amendment: You have the right to free speech, as long as no one is offended by it. Last I saw, there was no disclaimer in the Bill of Rights. So, yeah, I'm looking forward to being a minority because some shit is going to change around here, or I'm fucking leaving.

Everyone Fat by 2048!

No wonder we're all a bunch of fat asses. People are too damned lazy to go DOWN a SINGLE flight of stairs. Yes, down. Yes, one flight. I get so sick of having to wait on the elevator to stop at the 2nd floor for someone to get on and go down ONE FLOOR. It's, like, 12 whole steps. Just take them! I can almost understand taking the elevator up one floor. Especially if you are elderly, extremely exhausted (for whatever reason), or injured, or if you have your hands full. I can even almost understand going down one floor in the elevator for most of those same reasons. But, when you are 23, 100 pounds, and chitter-chattering away on your cell to some other idiot (which is plenty offensive enough on the elevator as it is), TAKE THE STAIRS. You are completely able, and you are wasting everyone else's time. And, no, it most certainly is not faster to wait five minutes for the elevator. No, it isn't.

*For the record, I work on the 5th (top) floor of the building.

Why You Don't Have 5 Children

So, this couple, on their mad dash to their plane, for which they were late, of course, forgot their child. My question is this: HOW THE HELL DO YOU FORGET YOUR CHILD?! I realize these people don't know what birth control is or where babies come from (hyperbole due to their choice to have five freakin' kids), but even if you have a dozen kids, how do you forget one? They are your children. Your flesh and blood. The worst part to me is that they didn't even realize they were missing child number five until forty minutes into the flight. FORTY MINUTES. And even then they didn't realize it. They had to be told by the airline crew. The police have said they will question the parents after they return from vacation on grounds of "suspicion of parental negligence". Um, can this really wait until after their vacation? Oh, sure, let the lunatics keep their kids in some foreign place where they can get lost and become another Madeleine McCann. Seriously, people, seriously.

Braves v. Nationals (07-19-08)

Because you can go to the Braves website or ESPN and get the real play-by-play, I'm going to give you the I-was-there-sitting-in-the-stands-with-the-Atlanta-smog-and-100 degree heat-play-by-play.

My company gets Braves tickets every year for those who want to go at no cost to employees or their families. My brother wanted to come this past weekend, and that was when our company game was scheduled, so I begged for another ticket. Then I find out his best friend was planning to come. Um, Bubby, were you planning on mentioning that to me? Seeing as it is my house and my food and my water and my electricity you little assholes are using. And it is my company that is giving these tickets to us. So, I heard through the grapevine that we had a metric-shit-ton of extra tickets, and, being the great big sister that I am, I begged for one more. So, here we are--Travis, and me, and my brother, and his best friend--all going to the game.

We leave the house at like 3 PM to take Pepe to Momma #2 (no, not Poopoo Mom, Travis' mom) because he had, like, 7 shots that morning, and he can't be left alone after those shots since he might swell up and die. (Chihuahua's are very prone to vaccine reactions.) We drop him off, and head to Sonny's to eat dinner. (We had a coupon for $5 off the "Feast for Four", in which you get sliced pork, sliced beef, BBQ chicken, and ribs, three sides, garlic bread, and four drinks for $34. So, we got it for $29. Pretty good if you ask me...) We left Sonny's around 5PM to head for the game. We wanted to get there a little early, get parked, and see if there was anything cool going on pre-game, since we never get there early enough to see.

But, then, we hit a snag, as we always, inevitably do. There was construction on I-75 going into the city. Shit. I fucking hate Atlanta. There is construction on every single damned road in the metro-area 24 hours a day 7 days a week every single week of the ever-lovin' year! And of course it is always where we need to go. So, after going about 2 miles in 30 minutes, we got off the interstate and headed for the surface streets with Mom on Mapquest. Now, Atlanta is renowned for changing the names of its streets on a daily basis, and, apparently, none of the mapmakers have caught on to the concept yet. So, here we are without the GPS (left the damn thing at home because we "knew" where we were going!) and Mom with the defunct-since-yesterday maps trying to find a familiar road. We finally decide that Ralph David Abernathy is the Georgia Avenue Mom is talking about, and we start seeing little signs that say "Turner Field". Now, to you assholes that put up these tiny little signs behind ENORMOUS bushes and trees, you should be tied to the bumper of a Pinto and driven around Atlanta at rush-hour. That's the kind of punishment you deserve for making those damned signs so small and so hidden you can't see them unless you are making an illegal U-turn and hitting the curb while 57 cars honk at you and your impending doom.

So, once we finally get on Abernathy going the right way, we cap a hill, and there it is: Turner Field. I swear I heard the angels going "ahhhhhh" it was such a magnificent sight after the 15 minute ride that took us 2 shittastic hours. We immediately parked. I think Travis sensed that the blood vessel in my forehead was about to burst, and my massive coronary was not far behind. Did I mention I hate traffic?

And, there we are, off to the races. We get inside and rush to our seats. Thank God I took a piss at Sonny's, since I had two huge glasses of their pink lemonade, and then I sat in a car for two hours just to rush to another seat without finding a bathroom. I, amazingly, made it, like, 7 hours without taking a leak. I think that's a record for me.

We sit down, and all of the people from the other office (in Alabama) are already there. They got to take a nice cozy chartered bus. The only person not there yet was from my office in Atlanta. Funny, huh? And, like clockwork, my brother proceeds to curse like a sailor. Yes, my dears, it runs in the family. So, I have to whack him upside the head, and remind him that I am, for all intents and purposes, at work, and to shut the hell up.

Finally, I can enjoy the game, or so I think. Then, Mr. and Mrs. I-Let-My-Shithead-Child-Run-Wild-In-Public sit down behind me. Now, I understand children don't enjoy sitting for three hours at a professional sporting event. So, leave the little shits at home! I got pretty sick of getting hit in the head or shoulder, having Daddy save me from impending blows by sippy-cups, toys, or programs, and listening to Mommy say "Stop that." "Sit down." "I'm a raging retard.", so I moved to the opposite end of TrashCan, TReed, and Bubby (as they'd been for bowling the night before). Finally, some peace. And, I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. My-Child-Is-Perfect were pissed at me for moving and so obviously telling their little angel "fuck you" (in a few less words, of course, i.e., no words) because I was just such a bitch for not liking children. For the record, I like children just fine--when children (or adults that act like them) are not raising them. Got it?

But, the game was pretty boring, and talk soon became more entertaining, unfortunately. Because my brother and his best friend spent the better part of the day being lazy and worthless as they are so apt to do, Chappelle's Show on DVD became the topic of conversation. (I made the mistake of not having cable with a couple of shitheads at my house, and all there was to watch was the "Chappelle's Show" Box Set I got Travis for Christmas.) So, of course, the evening turned to Lil Jon talking to Lil Jon and was fraught with "What?"s and "Yeah"s and "OK"s. There were even a few "Ha ha ha"s in a deep voice and some "Pardon me madame"s in the same deep voice. (See below.)

And, even though the Atlanta smog looked like the dust from a nuclear fallout, and the temperature was somewhere around hell, it made for an entertaining evening. I will say, though, that when I go back in September, I'll be taking my Magellan, with traffic reports.

Final Score: 2-8 Washington

Show some Respect!

This really irks me. When a funeral procession is meeting you in the road, you get over and STOP. How hard is that? Why can't you do it? It is a showing of respect, and the dead person in that hearse is a mother or father, daughter or son, brother or sister, and/or a friend to someone. Sure, he's dead, and he doesn't know you're disrespecting him. But his family isn't dead, and they do know, and that's just plain shitty. Take a minute and a half out of your oh-so-busy-and-important day and get the hell over. Don't be a dickhead.

A very important person to my boyfriend and his dad passed away last night, and if you don't get off the road when the procession goes by, I might just have to have to kick your ass. OK?

*Oh, and I definitely want a hearse like that when I die.

Don't Forget the Little People

So, while I think this guy is a royal jackass because he forgot the little people when he got "famous", I still think it's kind of cool that I know someone who is "famous". Yes, I knew Mr. Brantley Gilbert when he was a kid. We went to "the" country club (Deer Trail Country Club) together in little ol' Commerce, GA. I never heard the kid sing back then, but, oh well. And, yes, he was cute back then, too. Anyway, his music isn't too bad. He's doing pretty good it looks like. But don't expect a returned email from him. I knew him when he was the squeaky-voiced dork he used to be, and I can't get the time of day from the guy. Punk. But don't take my word for it, you can go check him out for yourself on MySpace.

The "Phantom Slamming on of the Brakes"

And Other Driving Horrors You should Avoid, Asshole!

Everyone hates traffic and bad drivers, and there is no shortage of either here in the lovely city of Atlanta. Being from the country, the most heinous driving crime I'm used to is Mr. Farmer driving his tractor down the road at 20 miles an hour. Granted, that's no fun on a tiny road where you can't pass, but this just doesn't compare to city driving. There are some obnoxiously frequent occurrences on our city streets and interstates around metro-Atlanta. I have decided to outline them for you in the hope that maybe, just maybe, those of you who drive like complete morons will get the hint and either wise up or just move the hell out of Georgia. If there are any I leave off, please let me know. It is of the utmost importance that this list be full and complete, so as to insure optimized traffic flow in this overly crowded and transportation-challenged area.

1. The "Phantom Slamming on of the Brakes"--it is absolutely absurd to slam on your brakes in the middle of smoothly flowing traffic when there are no signs of reason. This creates a catastrophic jam for miles on a crowded rush hour interstate, something like a Butterfly Effect. And just so you know, seeing a cop on the road or the side of the road is no reason to slow down and certainly not reason enough to slam on your brakes. News Flash 'tard: By the time you see the cop, his radar has definitely seen your speeding ass.
2. Rubbernecking--which goes nicely with number 1. Do not slow down to look at that gruesome wreck on the other side of the interstate. Move your ass! You are going to cause a wreck because you are ogling at the one over there. Read about it in the morning paper, and save me the wear on my brakes, k? Thanks.
3. Left Lane Riding--the left lane is for passing, not driving 50 miles an hour in a 70 miles an hour zone. "Keep Right Except to Pass." Sound familiar? It should. Because it is plastered all over the interstate. So, do it! And don't get in the HOV lane if you are going to go 50 miles an hour. That lane is there for a reason, and that reason is to allow conscientious drivers who carpool or ride motorcycles to move through the slower moving traffic. If you are going as slow as (or slower than) the other traffic, you are defeating the purpose. Move your ass!
4. Turning without Signaling--you have little blinky lights on your car. Do you know what they are for? Apparently not. Because no one uses the damn things. They are for signaling for a turn or lane change. Yes, such a miracle invention exists! So, would you kindly use them before turning. And, no, it does not count if you slam on your brakes and start to turn BEFORE you turn on your signal. No, that just won't fly.
5. Turn Lane Signaling--a less than horrible offense, but it can be made more horrible, much more horrible. Once you are in the turn lane, it is safe to turn off your signal. Really, it is. Just reach over and click it off. Now, doesn't that feel good? When you are in the turning lane, it is pretty safe to say you are turning, and people probably know that. However, it is not not not acceptable to get in the turn lane without using your signal, and then turn on your signal once in the turn lane. No! We already know you're turning, idiot. We figured that out when you nearly clipped our bumper getting into the turn lane because you didn't use your signal and tried to killed us! See number 4. And do it.
6. Doing Your Makeup--get up 15 minutes earlier and save me the stress of having to drive on the road with your swerving and slamming on the brakes. End of story.
7. Talking on Your Cell Phone--I understand talking on the phone because you are a busy, important somebody. But shut up. If you can't walk and chew gum at the same time, you have no business driving while talking on the phone. This applies to head sets, too. I don't care if you use your hands or not. I care about whether you are using your brain. Because you aren't. At all. Shut up and drive. And you better as hell not be texting while you're driving. Or I'll kick your ass.
8. Driving without Headlights in Rain/at Dusk--I don't know how they do it up there in Yankeeville, but down here, we have laws. And those laws say to drive with your headlights on for one hour before sunset and one hour after sunrise. There is also one that says to drive with your lights on when it is raining. Because if you hit me because I can't see your black car driving in the dark rain, it's your ass.
9. Driving 15 Miles an Hour in Rain--yes, you should use more caution in inclement weather, but let's be realistic. Your car has tires on it, right? Let's look at those tires. Do you see those little grooves in there? That's for traction. Do you know what traction is? If not, you can learn about it here. Now, those little grooves in there allow the rain water to go through so your car can still touch the road. Isn't that amazing?! So, stop driving 15 miles an hour because you're reading this while driving, and get your ass out of the way.

Bathroom Etiquette

Since I am thoroughly grossed out and appalled by the people who use restrooms I have to use, I'm writing some pointers about bathroom etiquette. The following list is probably far from complete, but it would certainly make my potty experience much better if people followed these guidelines:

• Peek, Don't Push--don't push on a door to see if someone is in the stall. Bend your lazy ass over and peek under for signs of occupying feet. Or peek in the crack to see if there is an animate mass in there. Some doors don't lock well, and some don't have locks at all (a whole other problem), so be kind, I don't want you seeing my behind.
• Flush the Toilet--and check to see if all your poo and paper went down. Sometimes, by no fault of your own, the toilet doesn't get everything. But, it is your responsibility to flush again. Don't make people walk into that. And if you do walk into that, just flush it. It won't kill you. It is stupid to walk into another stall just because there is a piece of toilet paper left in the bowl.
• Tell People You Used all the TP--Don't walk out of a stall knowing you used all the toilet paper, or it was all gone when you got in there, and watch someone else go in without telling them. That's just rude.
• Clean Up after Yourself--Don't leave a mess anywhere in the bathroom. Pick up paper if you drop it. Wipe off the seat if you drip on it. Sweep away hair if you lose some on any surface of the bathroom. Hair is absolutely vile once it leaves your head (or whatever unmentionable it came from).
• Wash Your Hands--this is so important I wrote an entire blog about it. Don't throw your hands under running water for an instant and say they are clean. They are far from it. And I really don't want to open a door after you knowing you probably had all kinds of nasty, unsanitary, bodily fluids all over your hands.
• Don't Talk on Your Cell Phone--I understand you can't talk on your phone at work, but don't go into the stall next to me to do so. I'm trying to potty in peace. I know whomever is on the other line really doesn't want to hear me fart or flush the toilet. Because, hey, shit happens. It's rude to those in the bathroom, and it's rude to the person on the other end of your phone, even if they say they don't mind.
• Bathrooms are for Eliminating--Don't go in there to have gossip hour or spread out your entire make-up bag all over the counter because you were running late this morning and had to clock in before doing your make-up. People need to get to the sink. When you are standing there chit-chatting (which is so gross, anyway--who talks in a bathroom?!) or putting on your make-up, you are in the way. Move.
• Don't Drip Your Wet Hands Everywhere--while I applaud you for at least attempting to wash your hands, you do not have to drip them all over the counter and sling them all over the floor before drying them. Keep the counters clean so people can sit down their things while washing their hands. Bathroom floors are absolutely disgusting, and no one wants to have to sit their things on the floor because the counter is soaked. And floors can become quite slippery when 27 people in a row sling their wet hands on the floor as a preliminary drying procedure.

Like I said, I'm sure I've missed some things, but these are the items that immediately come to mind. Be courteous. Bathrooms are gross enough without your help.

How to Wash Your Hands

Because I am really disgusted by the women who use the bathroom at work, I am going to teach you how to wash your hands--properly.

1. Use hot water, if the place actually has hot water
2. Use soap--you'd think this would be common sense, but apparently not
3. Wash your hands for two choruses of "Happy Birthday"--it just happens to be long enough
4. Rinse hands from fingertips to wrists--this keeps the dirty part from rinsing over the clean part
5. Dry hands with paper towels--don't open the door with wet hands, seriously

Now, there should be no one walking out of the bathroom without washing their hands. And their should be no one who turns on the sink and throws their hands under it and walks out the door. And there should be no wet door handles. And there should be no reason why I have to open the door with a paper towel so I don't have to touch the piss-stained door handle someone just touched. Ew.