"Classics"

I want everyone to think back to an English class. Any English class. Now tell me, did you like every book you were forced to read for it? No? Well you're weird.


Just kidding. But seriously who has liked every single book they ever read for an English class? Or even half of them? I would have to say not me.


This leads me to the purpose of this post. I was going to write this over the summer, and here is why....


One day I was sitting at my desk and calling route. Michelle was next to me, also on the phone, and Pierra was next to her, updating invoices. I guess there was a lapse in work because Pierra started talking about her new book, Ender's Game. I had read this book, so I stated my (low) opinion. To be quite honest, I thought it was really promising, but then it was really violent and his awful brother was just disgusting and then he kills some bully in the showers and then he saves the galaxy. I dunno it was just super weird to me. So, I didn't like it.


Well Pierra decided to take the opportunity to tell me exactly how stupid my opinion made me. She said that Michelle and I did not have one iota of intelligence between us and that we are prime examples of the public school system's failures.

Whoaaa. Slow down there, partner. No need to get so rude.

So I took the opportunity to tell her that just because I have an opinion different from hers does not make me stupid, and if anything the public school system should be proud that they produced at least two students who have brains that can form opinions, not just mindless zombies who nod and drool over copies of the great "classics." Bam. Go cry.


Classics. I hate that word. Classic means old. Classic means long and boring. Classic means that some annoying person someewhere thinks that by reading this "classic," I will be forever changed for the better.


I was so mad when Pierra called Michelle and I stupid. I am not stupid, and Michelle is like, a freakin genius. It was all I could do to stop myself from walking across the room and bashing my stapler on her classic-loving head.


Here's the thing, I am very opinionated, as I'm sure you can tell. I once wrote a blog about how useless I think English class is, and you are welcome to read it. And I hate how people think their opinion makes them better than me. Pierra thought that she was completely right in saying that I was unintelligent for not liking Ender's Game, or Beloved, or The Kite Runner, but I strongly believe that I don't have to like something if I don't want to, and its not stupid to think that so much as it is stupid to just go along with what you think makes you look smart, which is exactly what Pierra was doing.


Now onto The Kite Runner. I freaking hate this book. It makes me want to throw up I am just so disgusted by it. When I told my English teacher that there was no way ever in this world that I would finish that book she asked me why, and I told it was because the sweet boy who gets hurt reminds me of my little brother Jacob and I don't want to read a book where all these horrible things happen. I had tears in my eyes when I said this, because I just love Jacob so much and ohmigosh, that book is so horrible. So my teacher sent me to the guidance counselor.


I am not the sort of kid who goes to the guidance counselor. I don't have deep underlying "issues" like my teacher thought. In her defense, I think she was trying to do the right thing, but really all she had to do was provide me with an alternate assignment. When I plopped down in the soft, cushioned chair in the guidance counselor's office, my lovely (and I'm not being sarcastic, I had a lot of scheduling problems because I was taking eight classes instead of the usual seven last year so I knew her pretty well at this point and I adored her) counselor looked across the dark wood table at me, eyes concerned and hands clasped. A zen garden was on the side of the desk, and posters around the room encouraged to me "say what I feel" and "not be afraid to express myself." I suppressed an eye roll. I did not need a counseling session. The people who approved this book for the public school system did. "So what seems to be the problem?"


I decided to be direct. "Well, Miss S., we're reading this book in English and I don't want to finish it."


"And why is that?"


I explained, and she seemed to understand. "No one likes to read things that make them sad." I nodded eagerly, relieved that someone finally got that I wasn't like, a mental case. I just hated a book. "But are you sure that there isn't something else that would make you not want to read this book?"


I kind of looked at her for a moment while these thoughts went through my head, "Something else besides the rape, the tearing apart of a family, the lewd happenings, the brutal murders, and the fact that it takes place in what a lot of people call 'Hell on Earth' right now?' I mean, no. Other than that the book was perfectly fine."


"I just really don't like this book, Miss S." I said for the millionth time. "I want an alternate assignment."


I don't see what is so hard about that. I mean sure, it's a little bit more work to print one out and all, but for real, I shouldn't have to beg my guidance counselor for a different assignment when the one that I have makes me feel uncomfortable and sad.


"I know but are you sure-"


Alright. Enough was enough. They win. "You know what?"


Miss S. looked at me expectantly, as if I was about to reveal that I was from Afghanistan and that I hate reading this book because I knew all the people in it, and I had walked the same streets and breathed the same air and even used the same escape route, and that it was just too painful to relive all that.


"I think I'm just gonna read the book."


Miss S. looked uncertain. She really is nice. "Are you sure?"


"Absolutely." I stood up and began gathering my things. "I think I can handle it. Thanks for....this."


"You know you don't need to if you don't want to." She seemed ruffled by my abrupt change of heart, but I was not going to sit through another minute in that office.


I smiled broadly, quite a feat considering my immense annoyance and frustration. "Not to worry. I'll come back if I need to."

Yeah right.

So I finished the book, but my annotations were less than stellar and some of them were quite rude, but they asked for it. If I was going to have to read that book I was going to say exactly how I felt about it.


The other day I expressed my opinion on this book again, and my friend Dave told me that someone had said to him that I was "uncultured" because of my words. Umm excuse me? Uncultured? What the crap I am NOT uncultured.


I believe that culture is what makes a nation great. I love all the nifty holidays, I love the outfits, I love the food, the music, the traditions. I think culture is great. I want to live in Africa for crying out loud. I also want to live in Russia or China. It is so annoying to me that someone would call me uncultured because I do not like a book. One of the great things about  American culture is that we have freedom of speech, and I realize that I'm getting at someone for using theirs, but I just want to say that uncultured does not mean opinionated. I can have my own opinion, and that does not make me stupid or naive or anything like that. Conversely your different opinion does not make you smarter or more cultured than me.


So just shut up and get back to your book club and I'll go do something productive.

Salesmen

Salesman: (noun) A liar. One whose selfish attitude will eventually expose him to the anger of many well-meaning secretaries and any honest, sane people.


I've prolly mentioned this before, but in case I haven't, I am a secretary at Preventive Pest Control. This job comes with a lot of responsibilities, and before you snort "secretary....whatever...." and roll your eyes and think that I'm stupid or something, I wanna state that secretaries prolly have one of the top 10 toughest jobs. We have to deal with irate customers, less than enthusiastic co-workers, and last and certainly least....salesmen.


I hate salesmen. I'm sorry, Troy, Josh, and Jordan. I like you guys, but all other salesmen SUCK. Except for Matt T and Clayton B. I lovee those boys. But that's it.


I think I will tell a couple stories from my job to illustrate whyy I would ever hate those charming young men who walk around with sensible haircuts, no tattoos, smiles on their faces, and promises of the moon on the tips of their tongues. So sit back, relax, and watch how salesmen have ruined my life.


Story #1: "I'm 21, I'm married, I have kids that I need to support....No I umm....lost my wedding ring...."
One day I was sitting at my desk, prolly sharing a laugh with Michelle (shout-out! I absolutely LOVE this girl! I need to call her for Sunday chat after this....), when the phone rang. Michelle looked at me. I looked at Michelle. We looked at the receiver. Whoever picks this one up will not have to take the next customer. Michelle smiled expectantly. Oh what the heck? I picked it up.


"Thank you for calling Preventive Pest Control, this is Nicole speaking, how may I help you?"


At this point a very nice man began speaking. I smiled. Michelle had been silly to give up this phone call. It's a nice one. Then I started zoning into what he was saying. My mouth dropped open. I blinked rapidly and reached for a tissue (as you should know from this post, my nose knows, so this is never a good thing). "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"


"Well it's like this," he patiently said. "One of your salesmen, Penser Sallen, came to my house and demanded to speak to us. Last week a salesman had been rather rude to my wife, so we had put up a 'No Soliciting' sign. So I asked him if he was selling something? He said no, so I asked him if he wanted us to buy something from him? He said yes. I asked him to leave, and pointed out the 'No Soliciting' sign. He refused to leave. He said that he had a wife and kids and he needed to support them and if I could just listen to him I would be very happy. I said 'no thanks, but if I ever need pest control I would be happy to look up the number myself' and I asked him again to leave. He continued to stand there, not moving, at which point I had to escort him off the property myself. So I don't want to cause trouble, but is there someone I can talk to to report this?"


"Oh my," I muttered. Penser Sallen is most definitely not married and he does  not have kids, and unless the female population has suddenly found itself infatuated with males who make a living off of lies, then he is nowhere close to either of those chapters in his life. "Oh my. You'll probably want to talk to my manager about that. I'm so sorry. That's unacceptable."


"But do you know if he is married? Was he at least telling the truth?"


I bit my lip. What was I supposed to say to him? I had to remind myself that even though I may despise a good part of our sales teams, they are a part of our company and as a secretary it is my job to do some damage control. I took a deep breath, "I'm not personally acquainted with all of our salesmen, but I do know that the majority of them are in their early twenties....and single."


Story #2: "You won't see any bugs ever again. EVER....What? Well yes of course we don't have technicians! Who needs those guys when you have magicians?"
One of the catch-phrases in our office is, "It wasn't an overnight problem, it's not gonna be an overnight solution." Soo true. So when salesmen go around promising a complete annihilation of stinkbugs all up and down the East Coast with just onee spray of our power-sprayer, they are lying.


I cannot COUNT how many times a customer has called me and said, "What do you mean you can't get rid of them? I paid you to!" Here's the thing....ants, mice, roaches, spiders....etc. we can get rid of for a good nine months. Stinkbugs are a whole different issue. Listen to me as I type loud and clear; WE WILL NEVER GET RID OF STINKBUGS.


And I don't mean "we" like, Preventive Pest Control (even though that is true), I mean "we" like anyone. Only an act of God will get rid of those pesky beasts, that or a nuclear bomb. I'm serious.


So somee salesmen walk around being all, "Oh yeah no problem just one puff of our magic pixie dust and you'll be all good. Stinkbugs, rats, spiders, centipedes, all will flee before you! You have but to sign this check....Go on, don't you believe in magic?"


Here's what I believe in. Honesty. GET SOME PENSER SALLEN.


I'm sorry. You just have no idea the amount stress he puts me through :(


Story #3: "No there is no cancellation fee. Yes, oh could you sign next to the paragraph regarding cancellation fees? Thank you very much sir. No, no penalty at all."
This is the most annoying thing. The salesmen actually think that they can convince potential customers that there is no cancellation fee. Of COURSE there is a cancellation fee, what are you dumb? I don't understand how people even glance at one of our contracts and do not realize that there is a clear cancellation penalty. This really ridiculous guy called in the other day and tried to argue with me about his cancellation fee. I looked at his notes and he had had this conversation SIX TIMES already with almost every single secretary ever to walk PPC's hallowed halls. He asked, once again, for a copy of his contract. I copied it and then helpfully highlighted every single place that it even hints of a cancellation fee. That was a lot of yellow.


Story #4: "You silly goose! This official looking document that says contract is lying to you! This is not a binding contract."

This guy called in the other day and here was his tale of woe. He was sitting in his house, tired from a day of hard work, when one of our salesmen knocked on his door. He graciously let them inside and listened to them explain our company. He signed papers. He signed several papers. There were several signatures on each paper. He did not look at them. He had no idea what he had signed. The salesman (Penser Sallen, I do believe) told him that it was not a contract, he just needed proof from his supervisor that he had spoken with him. The customer signed. And signed and signed again. And then....never looked at it? Not even afterwards?


That's right. He didn't seem to even think there was a reason to. Listen, if my John Hancock was so super popular that day, I would look at what I was agreeing to.


And not only that, but all our customers get a welcome letter that explains their contract in such explicit terms a baby could understand it. That's right. A BABY. But, woe is he! He did not read it, and wanted no cancellation fee.


Not on your life.


Story #5: Eliminating the Competition
Some salesmen will run into people who already have contracts with other companies. This is where the salesmen will convince the customer to leave Terminex or whatever and come with us! The customer will say, "Well....there is that cancellation fee...."


"Not to worry!" Super Liar exclaims gallantly. "I will cover the fee!"


Bull. Yes I am right. That is complete and utter bullshhhh


That salesman will NEVER pay that fee. Oh he may try, but if they are anything like Eff and Pill Tearfart they will never give it a second thought. Which is really stupid, because the Tearfart twins don'tt get commission if a really irate customer calls in saying she won't pay until Eff coughs up the cash. So, Effer and Pill, you're idiots.


Ever since that day with Penser Sallen's fake wife and kids I would look at the sales teams in a different way. I used to love them! They would invite us to join their ping pong games. They gave us food. They smiled and were attractive. What wasn't to like?


Unfortunately I was given a rather rude wake-up call, and if there is one thing I could take away from this job is that "salesman" is synonymous with "liar," and that under those carefully toned arms and mussed hair is a tricky, deceitful, scheming, awful slimeball who deserves to be shoved into a river full of very hungry alligators. Ok I'm too nice for that. But really, they deserve a big kick in the pants.


I will never date or marry a salesman, even just a former one. And my sons will never take a summer sales job, or any sales job. That's just it. I cannot stand salesmen. They are like, in my top three least favorite people list, and that includes terrorists. Maybe top five. And how sad, right? Because they really are cute....

My Future Husband and Underdogs

So I was talking with Heather on the phone the other day (I loveee talking with this girl on the phone! She is so cute and nice and stuff :)) and she asked me what she is passionate about. And that got me thinking about what I'm passionate about. I thought, hmm, politics?

I realized this passion awhile ago, but it came full circle when my bff Julia was over and we were gonna watch a movie. I turned on the tv and Fox News was on. I stood there for a few minutes, perfectly content as I listened to all the politics of the moment, when Julia said, "umm, Nicole....?" I realized then that some people don't love politics nearly as much as I do. And its funny because I remember as a little girl vowing never to even get into politics because I thought it caused too many arguments and anger, and who wants that? Well, I still think that about it, but now I'm really into politics.

But I didn't want to blog about that. I thought, hmm, what do I love? And then I realized two things that I love. And those things are my future husband (yes I do love him), and underdogs.

So let's learn about these things, shallll we?

Qualities that my future husband WILL possess
(in no particular order)

Funny: I love to laugh, and my husband will have to have a great sense of humor. We will laugh about the silliest things and fall more in love every time we do so.

Sweet: My little brother Jacob is the sweetest little naive boy you have ever seen. He is nice to everybody and always just perfect. My husband I hope will half the man Jacob is.

Sensitive: I hope that my husband is the type that, when he sees me having a bad day, he watches my favorite movie with me, or gets me my favorite ice cream (phish food or neapolitan) or gives me a lovely bouquet of my favorite flowers (baby roses, orange and pink, or tulips).

Smart and Hardworking: As the primary breadwinner for my family, my husband better be smart. I want him to get the best education he can, and for him to work in an environment where he can use it. I will not marry a slacker.

Brave: As cliche as it sounds, my husband is the protector of our family. I will not marry someone who shies away from protecting his children or his wife. And he will stand up for what he believes in and not let others walk all over him. My husband will have a backbone. Also, I need to know that if a robber breaks into our home and tries to kidnap our children that my husband will roundhouse kick him in the face.

Loyal: This is connected to the last one. My husband will be Mormon, and he will always stand up for his religion and he will always defend my and our families honor.

Honest and True: My husband will always keep the law, and he will be fair and honest in his dealings with his fellow men. He will also never cheat on me, and will never have the desire to do so.

Happy: I hatee it when people walk around with rain cloud over their heads. Be happy! I have a quote that I wrote on my white board back in January. It says, "Happiness is a gift." because it is. And the best thing is that this gift is constantly available. You can open it any time you want. You can share it with your friends and give it to others as well. Sometimes, people throw away their gift of happiness, and they think that since they threw it away they can never have it again. Well they can, but they choose not to for whatever stupid reason. My husband will not be whiner or complainer and what's more he will walk around with a huge, genuine smile on his face.

Dedicated: This covers so many things. He will be dedicated to my happiness, welfare, his family, the church, his work, and his morals.

Handsome: No I am not shallow. Aside from his stunning personality my husband will also have a stunning face. And he will never bald. Ever. And he will be all muscular and stuff.

Gentlemanly: All I'm asking is for a little respect! He will open doors for me and say, "please" and "thank you" and always give up his jacket if I am cold.

Loving to his family and others: My husband will always make his love for me and my children and his parents and siblings and mine very apparent. He will show us through word and deed.

Kind: There is no way in the world that I would marry someone who isn't kind. Mean boys are simply stupid to me. If you want to be my friend, be kind. I hate bullies. They are the worst kind of people and I honestly just can't stand to be around them. They make me want to throw up. They disgust me. Even when they are mean to people I don't particularly care for, I feel sick and upset and I almost always find myself standing up for their unfortunate victims. Which leads me to the other topic of this post....

I love under-dogs

I think this love first stemmed from patriotism. Who knew that such a small, rag-tag army could defeat the uniformed, trained, imposing British forces, start their own country, and not fall on their face? And not just remain standing, but become a world power? The US was truly an underdog.

Movies have also influenced my love. Legally Blonde is constantly in the state of inspiring me. Elle Woods never gives up, even when she could settle for so much less. I love and admire her character so much that I even named one of my birds after her.

My parakeet Elle was also an underdog, or should I say, underbird. She was a parakeet flapping around Howard County, MD. By the time we got to her, she was scared, skinny, and missing many, many feathers. Thinking about it, it's almost impossible to recognize the tiny, frightened bird which flew into my neighbors face, clearly looking for a home and someone to love and feed her. Now, Elle is healthy, loving towards us, and best friends with Chloe, our other bird.

Chloe is another underbird I want to talk about. When our beloved bird Mandy died, I was heartbroken. It was very sad for me and I knew that I needed another bird in the house, flying around and pooping and singing, or else I would just go insane. Some of my siblings accused me of being heartless and they even said that I never loved or didn't love Mandy anymore because it was only a couple days after our beautiful bird's death and I was already asking for a new one. For the record that is not true. I did, do, and will always love Mandy. But I needed another bird friend, so to the Pet Store we went.

When we walked in there was a cage (or a house, as we like to call them in our home) almost immediately upon entry. Inside was a tiny green, yellow, and black parakeet. She was pretty, but I had decided that my new parakeet would not have a hint of yellow, because Mandy was yellow. But I soon discovered that this was the only parakeet in the store. The person there said, "this one is four months old. She loves to play with her toys, but if you want a younger bird we have a shipment coming in in a few weeks." I knew that if you ever want a bird that will truly connect with and love you it is best to get one that is one month old, at the very oldest. Otherwise they are much harder to train and connect with. I asked the man there if she would give us kisses and perch on our shoulders and he said that it was very unlikely. I was again heartbroken, but I knew that I could not wait a few weeks for another feathered friend. I needed a bird, and this bird was it.

However I think that even if there were other options I still would've picked Chloe. She had been there four long months. She had watched as her other bird friends had been chosen by loving families and taken home to palaces of swings and calcium bars and wooden perches. She was the only one left. She was lonely and sad. I knew that she needed a friend as much as I did, so Chloe was my new bird.

It took a long time for the other members of the family to warm up to her, and even for me, too. As mentioned before, four months is a lot of time to make up for. For many weeks I would sit with Chloe and try to hold her as she would peck my hands till they bled. It was a miserable experience, but I had dedicated myself to that bird the moment I had heard that she was four months old and that our friendship was unlikely. I did not want to give up, and I refused to. I was going to make this malicious bird my friend, and she was going to love me and my family and they were going to love her.

Well, good news! Chloe is now a sweet bird. She has turned out so nicely. She loves us, and we love her. She sits on our shoulders and gives us kisses and flies around singing all the time. It can actually get pretty obnoxious, but it is also so rewarding.

My favorite Disney Princesses are Jasmine, Belle, and Mulan. These three princesses are my favorites because they are underdogs. Growing up, everyone loved Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty and even Snow White. I never heard of anyone loving Jasmine or Belle, and some people even said that Mulan wasn't even a princess, so why did I like her anyway? Just to clear things up, Mulan IS a princess. A Disney princess. She may not be the princess of China, but she is a princess. So suck it you haters.

During the Olympics I always cheer for Sean White and Apollo Ohno, but there is a special place in my heart for the other members of their teams, and I cheer even louder for them. The background of my computer is JR Celski, 'cause I think he's just fabulous. Also, Micheal Phelps vs Ryan Lochte. Umm hello? Ryan! It's not that I don't appreciate talent and hard work, it's that I do.

This also leads me to how I make friends. I think that one of the major reasons I am friends with people like Shannon is because we were so adamantly not before. Thus, my low opinion of them makes them an underdog to me, and I want to be their friend all of the sudden. Not to say that I only go around becoming friends with those that I previously despised. Not at all. It's never something I plan, and some of my best friends like Julia and Gina were just my friends from the start. No rudeness involved.

This all leads me to the purpose of this post. It is entirely possible that I will completely despise my future husband for awhile upon meeting him, but then this will lead me to further examine his character for redeeming qualities, because, as I said in a previous entry, whenever I don't like someone I say to myself, "somewhere out there is a mother who loves this piece of extremely smelly poop, and I have no idea why, but it would hurt her feelings if I am mean to him and I intend to find out the reasons that this annoying brat is even remotely worthy of love." Something like that.

In addition to my underdog syndrome, I also blame Jane Austen for this atrocious possibility that it will not be love at first sight for me and my future honey-smooch. If it weren't for Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, or my friend Seul who is the biggest romantic I have ever heard of, the thought that a man I initially dislike might very well be the one I marry would never have occurred to me. Ugh. What a terribly wonderfully romantic story.

Let me end this post by writing a letter to my future husband....

Dear Honey-Smooch,
I love you! I think you're handsome and funny and kind and stuff. Keep being so fabulous, and if you're not fabulous, then make yourself that way. Also, I'm glad you're not a bully or a salesman. If I know you already (which I seriously doubt) and we're not friends it's prolly 'cause we're having an Elizabeth-Darcy moment. Don'ttt worry though, I think I'll meet you when we go to college. Oh and I promise to never call you "hubby." I HATE that expression.
I love you! Keep being so wonderful and dreamy <3
Love,
You're Future Wife

Baby you got the keys....

I am so into driving. I lovee it! I think it is one of the best things. I'm not like, a stunt-driver, but I am good at driving. I put on my lights, I use my signals, I pay attention to road signs and other cars, I stop for pedestrians, I really am a very courteous driver. What annoys the crap outta me is people who someeehow got their license and they absolutely SUCK at driving.


The other day I was driving Julie and Joseph to school. It was raining. I was being very careful, because when it's raining you especially have to be a good driver. Apparently, I was the only one who got that memo.


I swear, everyone turns into idiots when it starts raining. Water is so powerful. It makes people lose their minds. I hopee that I never see any of those people near the beach, or a small pond. Or even a puddle, because I will have no idea how I would anticipate their behavior. Because apparently when it rains you have to pretend that your brain got flushed down the toilet or something.


The worst drivers? Truck drivers. And not even the big semis, even though I hatee driving around them. No. I mean (and I really regret saying this) the F-150s. And 250s and 350s and any other truck like that. Those drivers are STUPID. No exceptions. At alllll.


You know what else makes drivers lose their minds? Traffic circles. I do not understand how this is such a hard concept. You do not switch lanes in a traffic circle. Unless you're an ambulance or whatever. That's fine. But everyone else had better stay put. The other day, I was driving in a traffic circle and not one, but two idiots tried to get into my lane. And guess who they were? Truck drivers. I never would've guessed....


One time I was driving with my friend Peter in his totally awesome red mini cooper with racing stripes, and these boys from school pulled up in the lane next to us. "Race?" they called, and Peter, the walking testosterone bundle that he is, nodded his head and gunned his engine. "How exciting!" I thought. Peter suddenly looked very manly and handsome as he gripped the steering wheel and stared ahead at the road we were about to tear up. I sat comfortably back in my seat and decided that I should drive with Peter more often. I had completely changed my mind 4.5 seconds after the light turned green.


We were off like a bullet. Peter's car goes 0-60 like, 4.5 seconds. I know this because he was yelling out the speed as he floored it.We were going so fast. I was terrified. And to make things even crazier, the boys had absolutely lost all sense of self-preservation. There were I think four cars in this street race and the boys were all taking it very seriously, complete with insane lane switches and loud, manly yells of bravado. I swear I was about to die.


Now don't get me wrong, I lovee going fast. I hope no cops read this, but just in case I am not going to say how fast I have gone, but suffice it to say, I have gone very, very fast. It was exhilarating, and I will totally do it again....on a deserted road. That's the problem with boys like Peter. They pull stunts like that when other people are around. It's dangerous. Just go off by yourself to drive like that.


Now onto merging! Let's discuss this for a second. If there are two lanes, two cars can drive side-by-side. It's like a party. Each one has his own little personal space and it's fine. Whatever. But, pop quiz! What if there is only one lane? Can you drive side-by-side? If you said "yes!" then you gave the very wrong answer. There is only room for one. You have to get in line. That's just the end of it. Because if you don't, then you could crash, or go off the road, or otherwise make an idiot of yourself.


Well, someone made an idiot of himself the other day and unfortunately I got a very good seat that was super-close to all the action. This was also when I was driving Julie and Joseph to school. There is a traffic circle, and then the two lanes merge into one. It is very obvious what's happening, complete with road signs and everything. I was clearly ahead when the lanes merged. I expected the red car behind me (not a truck, surprisingly) to do what everyone else seemed to know how to do, and that was drive. How very silly of me, because I should have realized that he of course did not know how to drive because A) it was raining and B) we had just come from a traffic circle. How could I have expected him to process all that? It was just too much apparently, because all the sudden, I see this red thing right next to my car. I looked over, and the lane is ended. There is one lane now, and this butthead is trying to drive next to me. I was so mad. There wasn't room for him. I was ahead. We were going 45 mph. My sister was in the passenger seat and my brother was in the back, both on the side that this idiot was seconds away from smashing. All because he couldn't get it through his head that he needed to wait. My foot slammed on my brakes the same second that my hand smacked down on the horn. The guy looked over and realization dawned on his face. He had been stupid. He had nearly crashed into me. He had nearly hurt three teenagers. He stepped on it and got out of my way. I was so mad. I called him a very un-lady-like word, but I don't regret it.


All people who put others at risk when they get behind the wheel of the car are that word. Now I realize that even the best drivers get in accidents or make mistakes while driving. I understand. Things happen. But I also happen to understand that some people are not nearly as conscious of the lives they are taking into their hands when they drive. It's not just you that gets hurt when you decide to answer that text, or fiddle with the radio, or completely zone out, or disregard road signs. You're being stupid, and not only that, but you're playing with lives. So yes, if you are such a driver, then you are that word.


Thank you for reading this post, and I hope that the next time you decide to grace the road with your presence that you will remember this nugget of wisdom from none other than Rihanna....

Baby you got the keys,

so shut up and drive.

The "Motherland"

Ohhhhkay I have been needing to blog about this for awhile. The other day, I got on facebook. I was minding my own business, looking at my notifications when I saw this in my newsfeed, "Back in Africa....so glad to be in the motherland" and then there were all these comments like, "yeah we're all from Africa blah blah blah" or something stupid like that.

Whyy is it stupid? Because this girl is NOT from Africa. She's Indian. So then I was just like, whatever she's dumb. So then I went to work, and my co-worker suddenly tells me that we're all from Africa. I think it was because we were watching the Shakira video for "Waka Waka" and there were all these people in it that were Chinese and Italian and Indian and Australian and clearly not African and I commented on how confusing that was. Then she was all, "Oh we're all from Africa. If you study your ancestry you have African blood in you, probably from back in the slave trade."

Umm....no I don't. I am mainly Western European, and I do have an Native American great-great-great(?) Grandma. Also, one of my very very old ancestors was a king of Jerusalem. So no. No African blood here thank you very much.

I know this doesn't seem like a big deal, but it severely annoys me when other people try to put Africa or really anything on a pedestal on which it really doesn't belong. I am not from Africa. I can name a billion people who are not from Africa. Actually, I can just save myself the typing and say "China." Those people are from China. They are not from Africa. They don't have African blood running through their veins, and I bet that 999,999,876 of them will never go to Africa.

I'm not African, you're not African (maybe you are, whatever....). and actually, I don't even consider myself French or British or Swiss or Jerusalem-ish, I'm an American girl. That's where I'm from.