Wednesday, June 18, 2008

The Highway is NOT a Mosh Pit...

Contrary to popular belief. And therefore, if you are driving a crappy, rusted out white car with a big pizza delivery light on top of it, you should be paying attention to certain things. Like, the road in front of you, perhaps.

And not, I might submit, to the pizzas residing in your passenger seat. If you are driving badly enough that they may escape from their perch and land on the floor, maybe you need to think about a new career. One that involves not moving objects, such as a stamp-licker for a very rich old woman, perhaps. Or maybe you could fold shirts at Abercrombie and Fitch--that seems harmless to the general population. Yes, go with the A&F job--you will only be endangering the lives of snobby teens who get their heads stuck while trying on t00-small tee shirts, and to them, I say--Darwin was right.

Anyhow--as I was sitting *NOT MOVING* in the left-hand turn lane, (I repeat, the LEFT HAND TURN LANE!!!!!) I noticed that the pizza delivery vehicle behind me was coming towards the Millenium Falcon at an alarming rate of speed, and that its captain was not merging over into the "drive forward and avoid hitting stopped vehicles lane". As he got closer, I then noticed he was not looking through his windshield as a normal person might, but instead had his attention raptly focused on the seat next to him. There was nowhere for me to go, and... he hit me...HARD.

I sat there for a moment, collecting my thoughts, taking a mental inventory of body parts. Okay, so I was alright. Nothing bruised or broken. And the kid who hit me was dancing around in the street, looking like a freaked out kindergartener who couldn't find the bathroom. So he seemed to be fine.

Now, sadly, this has happened to me before, this being hit while NOT MOVING phenomenon. Twice in fact. So, I knew that this was not going to affect me financially at all.
But, oh, my car looked so sad when I got out to inspect the damage!

The back fender resembled an empty banana peel. My trunk was open, flapping in the wind. I tried to close it--it didn't line up with the base. That was because of the big crinkle in the actual frame of the car, up next to the rear windshield. Big white streaks of paint tattooed the side panel. The exhaust pipe looked oddly crushed and dangly.

"You do have your insurance card with you?" I asked the kid who got out of the pizza car.

"Yes," he said. "Please forgive me," he said.

Silence on my part.

"Wow," he said. "I've been a pizza delivery boy for a year now, and there have been a lot of close calls, but I've never actually hit anybody. God has protected me. Do you believe in Jesus?"

Okay, now at this point, I was furious. Not necessarily that the idiot was trying to witness to me, any other circumstances and I would have politely told him, yes, I do, thank you.
But, come on!!! You bash into the back of somebody's inert vehicle, and then try to present them with the "Good News"-- poor timing buddy. If I didn't believe in God, this would be the worst possible time to try and convince me otherwise. Seriously. He was just lucky I grew up a minister's daughter and resisted the impulse to haul back and punch his lights out.

Instead, I moved about 20 feet away and waited to talk to the police, and waited for the Scotsman to show up.

He called the pizza place, and his boss told him to remove the pizza sign from the top of his vehicle. He looked very forlorn, sitting on the side of the road, trying to make friends with the girl whose immediate future he just seriously complicated, and holding his plastic light-up pizza sign. I don't believe he knew that usually, drivers of pizza delivery vehicles don't get second chances when it comes to accidents, and that he was probably effectively unemployed at that very moment. It was almost sad.

Except for the fact that I watched him bash into me before he ever looked up to see what could be in front of him. What if I had had a child in my vehicle? Or what if I hadn't looked up to see him coming and not prepared to be hit--I could have been seriously hurt. AND, he pushed my car slightly into oncoming traffic--I could have slid much further.

So, no, in the end, I am not sorry for Pizza Boy, and that's final.

Updates to come later on what the prognosis is for the poor Millenium Falcon.

smash, smash! at

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Kitty and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Morning...

Once upon a time there was a girl who went to bed with a headache. When she woke up the next morning, it was still there. She also had approximately 17 spider bites, two on her feet. "Ouch," said the girl.

She went to the bathroom, and found that Aunt Flow was visiting. "Double ouch," said the girl.

Next, to brush her teeth...the girl had a canker sore! "Super double ouch," said the girl.

After brushing her teeth, the girl went to get dressed, but before she could put on any clothes, her trusty Scotsman had to put oil on her very sunburned shoulders. He rubbed too hard, and the girl said, "That's enough pain for one day!!!!"

The girl put on her Friday outfit--capris with a tank top and a zippy sweatshirt. She put on some slip-on shoes that wouldn't touch her bug bites. She had hit snooze too many times that morning, so no breakfast before work, but she had cereal for such mornings in her office.

Off to work--a one-hour drive. Maybe life will get better.

Only, about 10 minutes before the girl reached her office, she realized, "Today is NOT FRIDAY! It is only Thursday!! And I have a client meeting!" The girl almost said a bad word to the squirrel next to her car as she pulled into the office parking lot.

Her boss was waiting for her, with reports for the clients. He tapped his foot, and laughed at all the things the girl was holding--her purse, her planner, her sunglasses and regular glasses, her car keys, her ID tag, and her report binder.

"You look like a hobo," the boss said.

The girl ran to the vending machine to grab a granola bar to eat on the way to the meeting. The machine asked for 85 cents, even though the granola bar only cost 80 cents, then, let the bar teeter a centimeter from the edge of the shelf it sat on, but didn't let the granola bar drop into the slot. The girl kicked the vending machine, but nothing happened. "HUNGRY" said the girl's stomach.

The girl went to the meeting with her boss and the clients. She looked quite silly in her Friday outfit, among all the slacks and pressed shirts of everyone else. "What a day," said the girl.

Halfway through the meeting, she needed to scream and roll on the floor because of cramps, but she sat there quietly instead, drawing pictures of kitties with horns and pitchforks stabbing the word "THURSDAY". The drawing didn't help.

The meeting was finally over, and the girl went back to her own office--finally, breakfast! OH, and 75 unanswered emails that have arrived within the last two hours! She still had a headache, a bad sunburn and 17 spider bites. The girl had tears in her eyes by this point.

The girl went to the printer down the hall. When she came back into her office, she ripped her pants on a desk drawer. She kicked the desk, but like the vending machine, nothing happened.

The girl searched and searched until she found a sewing kit. She sewed together her pants. It was now time for lunch, and the girl was glad that her terrible, horrible, no good, very bad morning was finally over.

What bad thing could possibly happen on a Thursday afternoon?
(And, by the way, where was her wallet?)

"the end" at

Friday, June 06, 2008

In the heat of the gym...

My baby bro, The Gangledorf, graduated from high school this weekend. It was a memorable ceremony, packed with fainting, nervous breakdowns and cheering for odd achievements-- could you expect any less from an event attended by the Kitty? Of course not.

First--The Fainting: Outside, the weather was warm, but not too bad, with a strong breeze (leftover from the tree-toppling storm the night before) to keep things bearable. BUT, inside the highschool gymnasium, with every family member of an over-populated senior class squished into high-rise bleachers (standing room only) and nary an airconditioner in sight (though they did have one really big fan--good for them), it was UNBEARABLE! Like entering a vortex that suddenly plops you next to the sun, hot.

Now, take that heat, top it with a giant nylon graduation gown, high heels, a huge case of the nerves (probably couldn't even eat her breakfast, poor thing) and a make-shift stage, and what do you get? "Could everyone please rise for the national anthem... performed by... CRASH!!!!"
She fainted--fell flat on her face. The crowd gasps. Several teachers run to her aid.

The principal (NOT anyone's pal, unless you play football) says from the podium 20 feet away: "Everyone, everyone, please calm down. Parents, I don't have any idea who that girl was (because she's an academic top 10 instead of an athlete, perhaps?), but I'm sure she'll be fine. Let's carry on and salute some students who deserve some REAL recognition."

And he carried on.

1. He made no effort to go help this poor girl, instead trying to keep the graduation moving along.
2. The apparent reason he wanted the ceremony to keep moving was so we could get to the part where he was planning an impromptu speech.
3. The impromptu speech was 40 minutes long.
4. Did I mention the nearly sun-temperature heat??

1. They spend a lot of time talking about all the athletes in the class who deserve to be recognized for their heroic attitudes (but don't mention all the cheating and drug using).
2. They enjoy incoherent rants about "courage" (winning football games), and apparently four other character words that I didn't quite make out amidst the rambling, but apparently there will be posters next year.
3. They point out graduates with learning disabilities and talk to everyone those students have ever met about their "struggle" to get to this moment.
4. They praise kids who graduated after ending up in wheelchairs, though they ended up in those wheelchairs after drag racing and nearly killing many of their companions in the process.
5. They make sure to mention where they themselves played football in college at least twice.
6. They cry some actual tears about "heroic" athletes.
7. They then cry about the "heroic" athletic directors.
8. They mention where they played football in college again.
9. No body understands the run-on sentence fragment filled words that are coming out of their mouths amidst all the tears.
10. They give 40 minute speeches in 90 degree gymnasiums filled with trapped people who just came to see their kids walk across a stage, grab their piece of paper and turn a tassel on their hats.

Ah yes... but we will have to wait to get diplomas until several other speakers dazzle us with their gems of glorious thought:
1. The Salutatorian- Rambled on about the things she learned in high school, including "you must cut in the cafeteria line to get any food" and "germs spread really quickly when you come to school sick--you can infect the entire student population" and "something about academic teams and nonsense words"... Now, I was on academic team, you didn't hear me talk about it in my graduation speech, however. I'm proud of that fact to this day. NO need to go about spreading the word that you are a prime "wedgie candidate". NO need.
2. The Valedictorian- recycled some dreck about believing what you believe and not what others tell you to believe. (Actually a well-delivered speech, but WHAT a revelation! I mean, come on people...)
3. The Class Speaker (voted for writing the speech that is the best representation of the Senior class)- Compared high school to... Monopoly. "Do not pass go, do not collect $200--go straight to jail, or the principal's office" (I guess if he treats you to an impromptu speech while you're there, it could be considered jail. Maybe this girl was brilliant! Ha!)
4. Some girl warbles a song about "spreading your wings and remembering something".
5. The senior choir ensemble sings about being "33 for a moment--life just passes by...blah.."

They get their diplomas, shake hands with the Colossal Ass in a Graduation Gown, turn their tassels and we get to lea... NO!!!! There's a slide show!!! With pictures from middle school!!!

(I'm not the only one who thought this whole process reeked of idiocy. The Gangledorf, who was wearing an entire SUIT under his graduation gown, says he doesn't quite remember what happened... he couldn't see through the rippling heat waves eminating around his head! He also forgot his tassel, so no turning. We're not sure he officially graduated without that all-important step!)

sitting in the top bleachers, sweating through a white dress at