Life Lessons! (Peppered with PARENTHESES and interESting CapitalizaTION)

The reason you all have not had the pleasure of my company lately is that things have been…irritating at best, thunderous rage-inducing at worst. But, today things have looked a little bit up, and I have decided to look back at the last week in a new light. The first glass of wine light. Just kidding of course, I’m totally on my second glass.

Lesson #1 Ix-Nay on the Ussing-Cay

So, my sister called it first, but it’s true. I am a total guttermouth. But only when I’m full of rage. The problem? I’m full of rage on a semi-regular basis. It’s encoded in my DNA and I’m just not sure there’s anything I can do about that. And you don’t need to chastise me about the rage, because when I am full of it, I am aware of it, and I am wracked with guilt. So…keep it to yourself, mmmkay?

Anyway, I first started having twinges about the constant cussing (and if you live north of DC, yes, it’s very funny that I say cussing and not cursing. It’s hiLARious. I get it) when my sister started linking to me all the time and I realized that it’s probably a little jarring for people to go from a blog about lovely and freaking (see? I’m trying) hilarious children to one where I channel old ladies and cuss (I still get it. It’s funny. Move on, Yankees) like it’s my job. Although that old lady did cuss and so I’m giving myself a pass on that one.

Also, since my parents probably never read this blog before she started with the linking (which I’m not against, and look what good has come out of it!) they probably are a little taken aback by the constant dropping of f-bombs (not my dad possibly, though, I’ve heard about what goes on during golf) and at the age of 28, I still live in fear of them. What if they react the way they did when they caught me coming in from outside with my coat unzipped! I still remember that moment with an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It was not pretty. (Before you get concerned, what happened was, I was only allowed outside after promising to zip up my coat and wear a hat. And then I, um, didn’t. And I was completely busted coming up the front steps by my dad at the exact moment I was trying to re-zip and re-chapeau and then he said, “Why don’t you have your jacket zipped up?” My response: “WWWWWWWAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! I’M SORRY!!!!! WWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” Ugh, always with the dramatics with that one. No wonder she never got to go to Maine.)

The point of that rambly section? Me=scared of angry parents. Blog=no more bad words.

The final reason why the cussing must go is that my nieces and nephews have started an alarming trend. They are trying to do a little thing called READING, and they are alarmingly computer literate and it would be just my luck for 2-year-old Marty to learn a certain word that starts with luck because Mommy left the wrong screen up and his brilliant sisters started reading aloud. (Because she is soooooooo like that. Terrible mother, that one!) Unlikely, but why risk it?

Lesson #2 I am too attached to my car

Picture this: A girl and her boyfriend are driving to beach. Girl is driving girl’s car because she doesn’t like it when other people drive it and um, oh yeah, her boyfriend didn’t offer to even though he got off work 2 hours earlier and doesn’t work with children who could use Lesson #1 (Hi!)

Girl (Guess who it is!): Ah, my car. I love my car. This is the best car in car town. I loooove her.

Boyfriend: Snorrrrrrrrre

Engine Light: Hi! Here I am! I work! This is how I light up! And I am here to give you a panic attack!

Girl: AAAAAaaaaaahhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHH! The engine light! We’re all going to die! And I’ll have to get a new car and I LOVE MY CAR AND OH MY GOD YOU ARE A BOY WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH MY CAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I’m quoting, it’s allowed. It’s required by law, actually…shut it.)

Boyfriend: huh, engine light. SSNNNNNNOOORRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

Girl: (whimper) my car is sick. (whimper)

Boyfriend: SSSSSSSSssssssssnnnnnnnnnnoooorrrrrrrrrreeeeeee. And P.S.? I’m asleep.

To move this along, boyfriend redeems himself by dropping off girl’s car at seemingly reputable repair shop but then takes a half step back by unwisely calling girl AT WORK to tell her that the light is demanding $1500 to go away. Girl freaks out, CRIES at WORK, which is the worst thing ever and calls her dad and probably gives him a mini-stroke by crying semi-hysterically and saying that she was having a crisis. (Probably too strong, that crisis phrase. But she was very sad! She LOVES her CAR!) Brilliant dad lays down the law that we don’t negotiate with terrorists and offers multiple plan Bs for the sick sick poor little car who just didn’t deserve for that stupid light to come on!

Goodness, this isn’t moving along at all, is it? Basically, reputable repair shop not so reputable and the breaky break costs exactly nothing to fix. Jerk.

Lesson #3 Get thee a warranty, post haste.

The reason the breaky break is free? Still under warranty. I will now have a warranty for everything. I don’t care if it’s a scam, I will always get it. I will warranty paper plates if you want me too. I’m sold.

Lesson #4 Mormons are everywhere I go.

This is not a lesson so much as something I have noticed. If you get a lesson from it, I am not responsible.

Now, I read a book about Mormons, and then that Mormon guy is on the run for marrying all the girls in all the salty towns, and then I went to the beach where my sister and I had the full-of-ick experience of watching what can only be described as a husband and two sister-wives enjoying the pool during adult swim. (I know. Go throw up. I’ll wait.) And let’s not forget the HBO show with naked Bill Paxton EVERY FIVE SECONDS!

Finally, I watched What Not to Wear (because everyone should) and saw one Mormon who safety pins her clothes together and then I think I saw some other ones who looked so freakishly similar and had so many children that if they’re not Mormons they are the main characters from Flowers in the Attic (I’m not saying they killed their mom, but I’m saying there’s a chance they are brother and sister) . At the very least, they are related to Timothy Busfield.

No comment here about Mormons though, because what I learned from that book? Is that Mormons? Will cut a bitch. (That expression works no other way. Baby steps, people!)

Lesson #5 I am not meant to drive a Pontiac Grand Prix

So, you get it. The car issue was not good. For anyone. Especially anyone who had to deal with me during that whole debacle.

But.

The one thing, the only thing, that could make me laugh (at least until I got to my sister’s and 6/7 of my nieces and nephews were in attendance and significantly cheered me up) was my rental car.

People? I drive a Mazda Protégé. It is itty bitty. The Grand Prix? Is full size. Full size is code for gigantic, humongous, not small, and also for “Erin, you should really know better.”

I have driven a few full size cars before. My mom’s, my aunt’s, and my psycho psycho tried to kill me roommate’s.

I have driven in a full size car when my grandmother who used to live with my uncle’s family at the tippy top of the tallest hill in Massachusetts ( I totally spelled that right on the first try!) would throw the closest grandchildren at hand in the car and careen down the hill to the ice cream store. (And also when the psycho psycho tried to kill me roommate tried to, well, KILL ME.)

And careening? Is the only thing you can do in a full size car. Things are rattling (Heh. I wrote thong first), the side mirrors are the size of your head (And my dome? Is not small), steering wheels that are too thick for you to wrap your hands around are rotating on their own, you can’t reach your bag even if it is just on the other side of the armrest, and you have to pull your seat up so close to the steering wheel that you knock your hips into it if you ever try to get out. (The real cause of hip replacements in the 70+ population? I think so.) How are you supposed to drive like this! You can’t.

You must careen and hope for the best. And that? As cheesy as it is, is not the worst way to get by. And while I do have more things to write about I have to return the rental at a sinful hour and must rest. Good night! We’ll finish this tomorrow.