Parking Lot Rage.

Ever since I have had my drivers license, I have gotten anxiety from driving.

Ever since I have had my mustang, I have been an ass hole behind the wheel.

Ever since I have become pregnant, I haven’t been as much of a speeder, but still lose my temper, and my temper is a lot easier to lose these days.

I know that I am not perfect and in fact I do too make mistakes on the road, but as I get older, and talk to my therapist, it has become increasingly evident that the world is full of selfish people. This is why I react the way I do.

I am the ass hole driver who might not let you in if you are going 10 miles below the speed limit, and it is evident that the world is passing you, or my grandmother would. I am the ass hole driver who might scoot around or in front of you because you are slow, and yes, I am late as always. If by chance you end up catching up to me to display your middle finger in frustration, I will usually kindly apologize with my middle finger in return.

Lately, my favorite activity is leaving notes on idiots cars. Yesterday’s note was to a bitchy lady who saw me calmly driving down the isle outside of the grocery store looking for a spot to park. She immediately swung into a spot right before me and then parked crooked so there was no room for me in the spot next to her. While normally, I might have said something rude to her, I simply smiled and continued driving down the isle to the back of the lot. I then had to walk my pregnant ass from the back, which I know isn’t a HUGE deal, but when you are sore and don’t even like the grocery store, it seems like the hardest thing in the world. Her note simply stated “Nice parking job.” She was lucky I didn’t have a milk shake in hand.

Today’s note was inspired by another bitch in a parking lot. This particular bitch in her mini van decided to honk at me for simply putting my car in reverse. I would have ignored it, but long irrational honks tend to irritate me the most.

I had parked crooked and it drives me crazy to just leave it crooked because I am afraid someone will park too close and I will end up with a scratch or ding or not be able to get in. I hadn’t even let go of my brakes yet, because I saw her coming, and knew she was not going to stop. She must have assumed I was just going to pull out and hit her, yet she continued to drive past me without applying her brakes while displaying the longest honk of my life. I then fixed my parking job and proceeded to walk to the pharmacy for my mother, keeping a bitter eye out for where the bitch had parked. After leaving the pharmacy, I walked out to my car still irritated because I saw her with a child after we had made eye contact through a window. I got in my car, drove one lane over and parked next to her van plotting my revenge.

HER note read “Maybe you shouldn’t be SPEEDING through a parking lot with a CHILD in your car. Use your head AND CALM DOWN!”

I left the note under her door handle wide open for her to see on her way back, and went on with my day.

What irritates YOU the most behind the wheel? When was the last time YOU displayed a little of your OWN road rage? Do tell, I love stories. 😉


I’ve always known.

I have always known that I was a little different from most kids. The need to NOT be sticky handed while eating sticky things such as cotton candy, while other kids seemed to have it between every finger and all over their face and not even notice, drove me absolutely mad at the age of 5. The need for everything to be even such as the way I step down stairs with each foot. At the age of about 3, maybe 4, I was obsessively dragging my mother back to repeat half of the stair case with me if each foot had not stepped in the right spot on every stair. I cannot tell you why, I just had this overwhelming compulsion to make sure every step was the same.

In elementary school, my mother would have described me as a round peg that just wouldn’t fit in that square hole. Or however the saying goes. Some may have described me as having A.D.D. which I am told now is A.D.H.D. Not the same in my humble opinion. I am NOT hyperactive by any means, I just have a hard time paying attention, or keeping my attention focused on one thing rather.

I have a TON of creativity, but lack the patience to dig it out of my skull and show it most of the time. It comes out most when I write I think, but usually requires a prompt. In fact, I’m not even sure how I have told you this much without you actually requesting it. I suppose my creative side has just been dying to reach you.