Namaste, Motherfuckers

So something has been bothering me for a while. At first I just thought it was me. Me and the wife. Because we're a little louder than other people but we have a hell of a lot more fun. So we get some looks. Occasionally a comment is made. Case in point: An older "gentleman" remarked, "Well, someone's happy!" after hearing me laugh at Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant. Well sir, I didn't realize happiness wasn't allowed on holidays. I'll change to the more appropriate wake behavior accordingly.

But then I talked to a friend today who has had similar experiences. She shared one with me that happened to her over the weekend at the mountain. So I thought maybe it's just people with money. People who think they are better than everyone else.

I've even tried to explain it away by telling myself it's PMS and I'm taking things personally. The woman who blatantly glared at me this morning while we were both dropping our kids off at school? Maybe she had PMS too. Or hadn't had her coffee.

But today, on the way home, I almost hit (with my car!) a man who was crossing the street, in the dark, wearing all dark clothes. Crossing at a random point in the street, not at a crosswalk. He was nearly impossible to see. And when I slammed on my breaks so that I wouldn't hit him? He flipped me off and sneered at me. Seriously. He fucking flipped me off.

So there it is. People are just assholes. Everywhere I go. I am surrounded by assholes. You have probably encountered them out shopping. Waiting at the gas station. At your kid's school play. People are mean. Mean, mean, mean. And there is no excuse for it. 

Hey, we're all stressed out. We all feel frustrated at times. But that poor woman waiting tables might have just lost her dog and doesn't need to be yelled at because your coffee wasn't decaf. Your neighbor might have some chronic illness that prevents him from shoveling the snow in his driveway. Who knows what goes on in anyone's life on any given day? Have some fucking compassion. Life is short but the days are long and we could all use a little kindness.

Stop being assholes. Just quit it now.

Take up my new motto if you like. Feel free to share it with your friends and family. Use it as a greeting when you see the mailman or you're getting your favorite burrito.

Namaste, motherfucker.
Namaste.

****UPDATE****
Just to prove my point, an anonymous coward just tried to comment on this post, asking me politely to "Move back home you fucking Californicator." I guess he/she didn't realize I moderate my comments for this sole purpose.

Namaste, motherfucker. 

Excuse Me, Your Pony's an Asshole

I stopped buying my pumpkins at the grocery store a few years ago when I learned about pumpkin patches. It's a little cheaper, but it's mostly the experience. It's like a little mini (I mean super tiny) amusement park. My favorite part is the petting zoo. The one I went to today had chickens, goats, bunnies, a giant pig and a lone little pony.

I wanted to pet the pony. I love ponies. I always wanted my own pony. So I pet the pony. I walked up to it and said "Hi, Pony!" as I reached out to pet its back. The pony whipped its head around and bit my leg. I got bit by a pony. I screamed more from shock, but it did hurt. Kind of a lot. J thought it was because I was wearing a skirt and it didn't like my naked legs. Well, fuck you pony. Don't you know ponies aren't supposed to bite? You're supposed to be cute and eat grass and let me pet you. Cute animals biting is just wrong. Pony, it's your job to be fucking cute! How hard is that? Seriously, pony.

Pony bites hurt. Even when they don't break the skin. I have a red welt on my leg and I'm sure it will bruise. I didn't tell on the pony. I mean, maybe it just had a bad day. Maybe it didn't get the right hay that morning. Maybe the chickens were calling it names. Or maybe it's alone in its pen because it's just an asshole. All I know is, I'm not petting anymore stupid ponies. Sorry ponies, blame me not petting you on the black and white jerk at the pumpkin patch.

The Asshole In My Shower

No, it wasn't a man. Not that I would know what one looked like if it were. Non-self-imposed celibacy is for the birds.

So, can you guess what I might possibly have found in my shower? Not a million dollars. Not the fountain of youth. A spider! Crazy, right? Because I haven't seen 50 bajillion of those in my house. Guess what else? It was a baby black widow! Awesome, right? Not really. Because of course I didn't see it until I was in the shower. Soaking wet. And guess where it was? Right over my head!! It just gets awesomer, right? (Awesomer is a word. Shut up, spell check.)

So, yeah. This bitch wasn't content to just sit upside down on the ceiling over my head. No, she enjoyed lowering herself up and down on her little yo-yo web, wiggling her legs at me. I almost got shampoo in my eyes trying to keep one on her. Up and down, up and down. I'm sure she thought it was hilarious.

Well, guess who got the last laugh? Yeah, that's right. Did she think I'd never leave the shower? That I was her prisoner? Dumb ass. And even dumber for not hiding while I went to go get the bug spray. Bwa ha ha.....

I swear I should change the name of this fucking blog to The Spider Chronicles.