Whole Lotta Nothing Going On

Tonight I am in an excellent mood so, if I bitch, I'm just doing it for the heck of it. Sometimes I just like to bitch; doesn't everyone?

Tonight, at dinner, "A" was telling me that she had a friend at school who went to "George Washington DC." That was good for a chuckle.

My oldest daughter has two friends over and they were talking at dinner about the last time they moved and how hard it was to make friends. I went to four different schools in the sixth grade so I can relate to that.

Due to the fact that I have a loud mouth and no tact, I have always had a bit of trouble making friends. I'm not a mean person - just the sober equivalent of the drunk guy wearing the lamp shade.

My school day woes started in kindergarten. When kindergarten began, everybody paired up two by two like little ark animals. I paired up with Marsha Inman, my first real friend.

She moved and that was the end of best friendom. I never had a best friend again until junior high. I would hang on the fringe of other friend couples, but three was always a crowd.

If somebody's friend was sick, they would hang out with me that day. I was substitute friend. I was the booty call friend of elementary school. As soon as a person's friend came back, I was on the fringes again.

Is it any wonder I like to read so much?

"A" also brought back some school memories today talking about the rope. Does anybody remember the rope?

Our rope hung from the ceiling in the cafeteria/gym. Every now and then the gym teacher challenged us to climb it. I was already blessed with excessive height blended with puny arm strength. I NEVER made it up the effin' rope. That rope mocked me.

When young boys shimmied up the rope to the top, I was so envious. Why couldn't I climb the rope? I hated AND STILL HATE the rope. "A" can't climb it either. I told her she is carrying on a proud family tradition.

Sometimes it feels like those psycho P.E. teachers want you to fail.

"Now Little Jimmy, Let's see if you can do the most freaking impossible physical task there is. Don't forget to pick your self-esteem off the floor on the way out."

Ah, school days - great times, huh?
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My next long-winded bitchy comments involve pedestrians.

Here's the deal.

When I am a pedestrian, I know I have the right of way BUT I always make sure to check that the car in the parking lot will stop before I fling myself in front of it. AND if they decide to stop, I walk quickly and get the hell out of the way. Maybe I am anal, but I consider this common courtesy.

If I am the driver, I try to stop for all the pedestrians. Sometimes, if I'm distracted by say, flying juice boxes, I might not see the pedestrian just exiting the grocery store.

Inevitably, this is the pedestrian that hurls out in front of me and then glares because I didn't stop quickly enough to suit them. Let me state that I have never even come close to hitting somebody. Some people just have a cork up their ass and like to glare.

The other kind of pedestrians I hate are the ones that don't even TRY to hurry. In fact, they walk slowly ON PURPOSE. I am talking about able-bodied young people sauntering into the store while I am waiting, gnashing my teeth.

I hope next time one of those people is in the hospital, waiting for a brain transplant, the doctor is late because he's waiting for some damn pedestrians to move out of his way.

Come on people, hurry up!

Okay, enough bitching. I can bitch more later. I bet everyone can hardly wait.