Give me liberty, or give me Prozac

I know he ain’t fit’na be beepin’ at me. (Use that phrase if you ever get honked at...straight from my friend Megan's mouth.) To my mom’s dismay, I have been using my traffic finger quite a lot these days. For instance, if someone cuts us off while mom’s driving in Gainesville I always offer to give them the finger. It’s just the right thing to do :) I just honestly don’t know where these people took driving lessons. They drive like a bunch of maniacs. They obviously didn’t learn the safe driving techniques like I did from my cousin Jarrod (Did I mention that they know him well in driving school?) Anyways, while Christmas shopping late one afternoon in Gainesville, we got honked at. Well, I turned around and looked at the honker. He made some finger motion. I was shocked. I couldn’t believe the man had just flicked us off. I couldn’t let him get away with it, so I gave him the finger right back. Then, he honked again. Unbelievable, I thought. Well…come to find out, this guy wasn’t giving me the finger, he was trying to get us to turn on our lights. Oops. But anyways, all these idiots on the road just really irritate me these days.

Now, onto the toilet paper wars. Has anyone ever noticed how completely helpless men can be sometimes. For goodness sakes. Maybe it’s just me, but I get so tired of having to change the toilet paper roll, every time. Like,…they can go into a bathroom, finish, and leave one square of t.p. hanging on the roll, and not think once about replacing it (I’ve often wondered why they leave that one piece. As I’m writing this, mom gave me the answer. She says it’s because they don’t want to use the gluey piece). Somehow, it is my turn to change it, EVERY TIME! Geez. That’s just a guy for you, though. I declare.

I have also decided that if I were to ever have kids—right now, that’s not looking too promising. I’m not good with pain. Well, that and the fact that I’m going to wind up with ugly, bad kids, b/c God has a sense of humor…and I’ve talked bad about everyone else’s kids :) (Disclaimer. I have never talked negatively about Allie, Gus, Belle, Cooper, Waylon, Wyatt, or Mazie)—Anyways, I am SO sending my hypothetical kids to Grandma Cindi just as soon as they turn 13. Lord, I can’t stand the whole teenage, holier-than-thou, know so much crap. And I swear, if I hear “whatever” one more time from a teenager, I’m going to scream! What’s really bad is that I know that I was like that, too. I’m not special…I behaved just like a teenager when I was that age. However, I am ill-equipped to deal with it on a daily basis myself. If I were to listen to my idol Madea, I would take her advice of “You just gotta have patience with these chill-rens, you just got have patience with ‘em.” But I ain’t got the patience, and I don’t intend on askin’ the good Lord for it either.

Oh, another random thing that’s been annoying me lately. Have you ever known someone that uses the same phrases in every conversation that they have. Now, mind you, I know several phrases that I say repeatedly. Such as, I say “Goodness” a lot. I especially use it when I’m talking to customers, and not really listening. But day in and day out, some people use the same phrases over and over and over. This ain’t Good Times, and not everything is “Dyno-mite!” Find some new phrases or I will have to resort to finding a rusty plastic knife to slit my wrists.

Oh. My. Gosh. I almost forgot. I am SO incredibly sick of people asking me about my pedigree. I am related to the Sheffields (obviously…Cedar Key), the Watsons (Levy and Gilchrist),and the Arringtons (Levy and Gilchrist). If you don’t know anyone with that last name, I’m sorry then. You must be living under a freakin’ rock. I seem to be related to everyone in the Tri-County area in some way or another. But, considering that I work in Trenton, but was raised mainly in Chiefland, people still look at me as that “poor white trash.” I, literally, have people that come into the Journal and will wave me away with their hands b/c I am not up to their status. They refuse to have me help them, b/c they don’t know me. And along those lines…I have a really hard time being nice to people who throw out their names like it’s candy in a parade. I had someone call me at work last week trying to get a last minute obit in. I was willing to take it…but they didn’t want to send it in until well after we would’ve had the paper made up. When I said that wouldn’t work, they asked me if I knew who their mama was. WTH? That’s not going to help you a bit, honey. So sorry. Arghhh…

Finally, (there are dozens of other things that bother me…but I better shut up at some point) I HATE when my phone starts screwing up. Tonight, I have had umpteen million text messages. None of which I can respond to easily. I’m walking around with a freakin’ dinosaur of a phone…after the unfortunate incident that my last phone had (it involved tiny pockets in my jeans and a toilet—my phone got swimming lessons). And now, every time I go to text someone, my phone dies. And I have to restart it, and it dies again. Stupid piece of junk. I’m thinking of getting a Moto-Q. Unfortunately, I’ll have to pay out of pocket…and it’s like $450. Bleh.

Lord knows, if my phone keeps actin’ up, people keep using the same phrase, teenagers keep saying “whatever,” people keep askin’ for my pedigree, guys keep leaving me the gluey piece of t.p., and people keep drivin’ like a bunch of ninnys, the doctor’s going to have to up my meds. I’m tellin’ y’all, I’ve had it. “Give me liberty, or give me Prozac!”