Tuesday

So I'm driving along on Franklin, headed home after work. Came over the little hill under the overpass at Vine and the 101, pass a guy in a souped-up 60s-model Camaro convertible, who had just flipped his blinker on as I was passing him. He looked at me as I was passing him and called me a "cunt."

Immediately my heart began to pound and my hands started shaking and the fury rose to an almost unbearable level. I watched him in the rearview as he spun into my lane, passed the guy behind me, and then pulled up alongside me. I took that opportunity as he passed me, looking at me, to yell, "HEY! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU CALL ME?! DID YOU CALL ME A CUNT?" To which he replied, "blahblahblahblahblah!!!!" Yeah. I couldn't tell a word he said. Oh well. Either I assume all men are assholes or this guy really called me that because I didn't slam on my brakes and cause a pile-up so HE could get over in my lane. Who the hell knows.

I was so pissed off when I got home that - for some reason I have a hard time feeling my brake peddle when I'm that angry and almost crashed into the building- mmm- anyway, I ran upstairs and chugged a beer. Not the most healthy way of dealing but I'm not the pull-on-my-sneakers-go-for-a-run-to-blow-off-steam kinda gal. I'd rather beat the hell out of some jerk and drink a beer afterwards. Thank you very much. And then I called my Grandmother. Yeah, that's weird.