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2003-09-13 @ 4:30 p.m.
Everything I can't say in real life I say in my car

Friendly Fire Kills 8 was the headline on the newspaper at the store today. Now what's friendly about that? Who came up with that term anyway? Were they smoking crack or what?

Yeah, I'm in a bad mood. Kinda bi-polary. Although the happy end of bipolar is still MIA. This morning, in the bathroom, I had a scene straight out of a "Will and Grace" episode. I was Grace naturally.

I was having a difficult morning. Doing some major crying. And then I stepped on the bathroom scale as I was crying and realized I had lost 4 pounds in the last 2 weeks without trying. And suddenly between gasping with sobs, there were peels of laughter. It was vintage Grace. It was like discovering you have a winning lottery ticket just as they're repossessing your car. Thus is the life of a bipolar. Confused, but never boring.

Once I get in my car though, all the anger I've been saving all day, usually gets unleashed. I definitely understand the concept of road rage. I grew up in California and spent many hours on California freeways, waiting, bumper to bumper, just 25 feet from my exit, knowing I was late for work and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

I actually saw road rage in action one day. We were all stopped on the big highway of life. It was hot. The A/C and radio were on. I saw a guy two cars in front of me get out of his car and walk to the car in front of me and lean into it. He was only there for about 30 seconds, and then he walked away. Suddenly the person in front of me, opens his car door and falls face first out onto the asphalt.

Christ. I thought he got shot or something. This was long before cell phones. But rather than jumping out of my car to help I decided it was my duty to get the license plate number of the road rage guy who was now in the process of going around some construction up ahead and "escaping". So I went around the "unconscious" guy's car and gave chase up Highway 101. The road rage guy was really speeding though and I soon lost him.

As soon as I got home however, I did call the Highway Patrol. Of course I sounded like a blubbering 5 year old telling on their brother. "...some guy hit another guy on the freeway...yeah on 101" (its only like, thousands of miles long). They just sort of patted me on the head for being a good Samaritan and hung up. I never heard what happened to the guy who got bitch slapped on 101. Probably went on to bitch slap someone else down the line.

But I do understand road rage. Your car is sort of an enclosed-metallic padded room. I used to scream in my car on the way to work in California. All the time actually. Now I just yell elaborate slurs at people. With the windows closed of course. Everything I can't say in real life I say in my car.

For instance today I was turning left and some woman squeezed into this tiny space on the left side of me. I looked over at her. Slow burn. She looked like Selma Hayak. I said, "Don't even try it Selma". I'm sure she saw my lips moving and thought I was saying "Fuck you bitch." But I prefer more elaborate, made-special-for-the-occasion slams. She did let me turn first, but then she sped up along side me and went in front of me on the next block. She was a yuppie in a Lexus. Naturally. Then it was, "OK, Selma in the Lexus, with Daddy's credit cards and two kids in the back seat."

See how that works? She then continued to irritate others by cutting in front of an old man in front of me. He threw up both of his hands. I doubt if he chose his words as carefully as me.

If anyone ever deserved to be bitch slapped and dropped in the middle of traffic it was this one.

I did see Married Guy's ex-wife at the grocery store today. Always a treat. She's like a high-test yuppie. One of those who power-shop. They push shopping carts like its an Olympic event. I don't know how many times I've almost gotten maimed by these twits swerving around corners, their shopping carts nearly airborne, as they're chatting on their cellphones, making appointments for their next pilate class. Chill out women.

Married Guy's ex is one of these. She's an executive with a local company. I've met her a good 8-10 times and she still doesn't recognize me. Or she does... but its more in the vein of...didn't I hire you once to wash my floors?

I saw her once with her and Married Guy's two kids. They were both hanging on her (she's really tall), and she was generally ignoring them and talking on a cell phone. I felt really sorry for the kids but was glad that at least they had Married Guy for a Dad. He's a great Dad. He's a Dad and a Mom. Lucky them. They need both.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty