I'm on a rant today, and you're welcome to join along. Damn, I'm pissed!
This has not been my week. Also, in case I have any chauvinists out there reading, let me say up front I'm not PMSing. I'm just bitching, and there's a distinct difference.
It started with The Winds, as we call them. If you don't live in Southern California you most assuredly have heard of the Santa Ana winds which occur here this time of year. They are strong, usually warm, easterly, winds which create all sorts of havoc. For many people The Winds are just a nuisance. They create a mess of leaves, hot temperatures, and fallen trees.
For those of us who live in canyons, The Winds are an entirely different phenomenon. Especially for those of us who live adjacent to wilderness areas. The threat of wildfires, or arson induced fires, causes us to be increasingly vigilant when The Winds arrive. I, personally, have been evacuated due to fires twice in my years living in this house. Last year we had so much smoke from a nearby fire that my entire family became ill from breathing it.
You saw pictures last week which were taken from my backyard. Our house is the primary wind block for the street we live on. The winds come down the canyon like a freight train hitting the back of our house sometimes at speeds of up to 100 mph (this week it was around 70 mph).
We've had heavy patio furniture lifted 20 feet and end up in our pool. A neighbor's window blew out of their house and into our backyard once. There are no words to describe the intensity of The Winds in our canyon. Our entire house vibrates and the windows shake as if they are going to blow in. And yes, they actually have before.
We get no sleep when The Winds come. It's impossible to sleep when you just know your bedroom window is going to land on you any minute. The entire house shudders as if it is about to become Oz-bound. Sleep is not possible, at all. Fortunately, this time the worst was over after two sleepless nights. By the third night, the winds were less severe and we were able to snooze intermittently. This is how my week began. Sleepless.
In addition to no sleep, my computer decided to die on me. Every blogger's nightmare is to become unplugged, so to speak. Fortunately for me, my local repair guy was able to make all of the repairs in about 24 hours. It wasn't outrageously expensive, but I lost some data. Among other things, I lost the list of a lot of my reader's sites (which I try to visit frequently). As you leave me comments with your URL's, I will rebuild my database.
I thought I was going to write a humorous recap of my encounter with my computer repair guy, but I realized I can't. He now knows all about Twenty Four At Heart and might be reading this very post. Suffice it to say that he is from a very conservative middle eastern country. (You know, where women stay covered in burkas.) When I went to pick up my computer he wanted to show me what data he was able to save.
Wouldn't you know he pulled up my blog with the headline, "I'm Too Sexy for my Blog" first? I may have blushed just a little bit. That was followed by some graphically worded email correspondence from last weekend with BHJ regarding sexual intercourse. To clarify, there were some graphic emails BHJ and I exchanged about fucking people. All in regard to my post, of course, but nonetheless. Masul did not look at me as if I were the same woman he's known for several years after taking a close look into my laptop.
As he stood there talking to me about my computer (with one of the BHJ emails opened full screen), I tried to casually reach over and click onto something else. Masul was having no part of that, however. No, I think he actually enjoyed my awkwardness. Yes, Masul, I receive emails about fucking from men I've never met. Happy now? And by the way, I felt extremely awkward being alone in your store with you while you were looking at me as if I'm for sale. I'm a blogger, not a whore.
Although I fully admit to being a blog whore, which is something entirely different.
In case my week wasn't going well enough already, this is what happened next:
That's the back bumper of my fairly new black 2008 SUV. I know it's a crappy photo; the sun was reflecting off the bumper when I took it. However, it's good enough to see some asshole scraped the whole corner of my back bumper, isn't it? He left white paint behind where my beautiful black paint should be.
I'm a very relaxed person about most things. My house is kid-friendly, I don't freak out over messes, clutter, etc. However, I'm OCD about my car. It's a trait I think I inherited from my dad. I keep my car immaculate. Whenever possible, I park far away from everyone else so it won't get "dinged" from other car doors.
Yesterday I needed to run into the grocery store for a few things. It was a very quick trip, but the parking lot was packed. Having no choice but to park near another car, I parked next to a white Mercedes. (There's a lot of expensive cars around here due to Money Town.) I was thinking to myself someone with a Mercedes would be more cautious because they wouldn't want their car dinged up either, right?
When I came out of the store fifteen minutes later the white Mercedes was gone, my bumper looked like hell, and the asshole left no note whatsoever! Of course I don't know the car's license plate either. This would have pissed me off in any case, but it probably made me even angrier having my history with asshole drivers.
Asshole, you're driving a Mercedes, I think you could have left a note and ponied up a couple hundred dollars to repair the damage you did to my car. Dickwad!
OK, now I'm done ranting. I'm not done being pissed off though. What's making you mad this week? I'm opening my comments to be a full-fledged bitchfest today. You're welcome to bitch about whatever is on your mind. Ready? Set? Go …!!