Not Exactly What I Expected....

Very early on in my life I determined that an English Bulldog was my favorite breed of dog. All I really knew about them was that they wore spiked collars and were named Brutus or Spike. They had mean faces and didn't take any shit from nothing or nobody.  And I just knew that one day I would  have one.

Now though the years I've had a few different dogs, but not any that I "really" wanted, or that was my dog of choice. When I was little there was our family dog. She was a poodle and barked a lot. Then when I got my own place, I had an Australian Sheapard that was to large for an apartment. And a few years after the DW and I got married we rescued a black lab from the pound. All were great dogs, just not exactly the "Take No Shit " dog I wanted. 

All these years later, I finally got my Bulldog....

Not exactly what I expected, but we love them....

times two...

Not exactly the killer, Take No Shit dogs I'd expected, but we love them.......

Fuck Off...

Yesterday I was welcomed to 2017 by my fellow man, or in this case a woman, with a big fat, Fuck Off.

So I'm driving down the highway slowly going back to work after lunch, and I see a car fast approaching in my rearview mirror. I didn't think to much of it, but apparently they thought I was going to slow and they decided to pass me. And as they passed I looked over and the girl sitting in the passenger seat flips me the bird.



What the hell??

I was pissed for a couple reasons. She looked like she was in her early twenties and it was noon which can only mean one thing, she'd been day drinking. So that pissed me off because I had to go back to work and couldn't day drink. Second, the car was a POS. Muffler dragging on the ground, four bald tires that didn't match, red duct tape on the back tail light, you know the type. So I was pretty pissed that here I am a grown ass man with a wife, kids and a career, and I'm getting passed on the highway by some twenty-something who was out day drinking riding around in a piece of shit car that was going faster than my piece of shit car. And she wasn't even the one driving. I mean I could almost understand her anger if she was behind the wheel and had to get to court or out buying a pack of smokes and I was holding her up or something, but she's the passenger. Back in my day when you had shotgun you were just supposed to sit there and be cool, change the CD every once in a while, and watch for cops.

But what pissed me off the most is that as they passed, and she pressed her middle finger to the dirty glass of her boyfriend/husbands POS car, she didn't even bother to look at me. Nope, she kept her eyes focused straight ahead. Didn't glance at me, didn't mouth the words MF or Fuck Off or anything. Just kept looking straight ahead. Why does that piss me off so much? Here's the thing.

If you're going to flip somebody off and tell the to Fuck Off because they are driving to slow, then own that shit. As you pass them, look 'em straight in the eye, and let them see that finger. Don't hide. Don't be embarrassed or ashamed of it. Own it. Tell them with authority that you're mad as hell and you're not gonna take it anymore.

It crossed my mind after they passed to speed up and tell this little punk what I thought about her shenanigans. The piece of shit car she was in, the day drinking, not looking at me when she flipped me off, the whole nine yard, but.... I couldn't catch 'em.

Same Pain, Different Day

Sometimes in life shit happens. I guess it's how we deal with that shit that makes us who we are. 

I'm an asshole.

Actually I'm not an asshole, I'm more of a child. A spoiled brat who wants to quit when they don't get their way. 

When I was a kid my cousin and I decided we would take turns riding our bikes around the school building with our eyes closed, relying on the other to direct us which way to turn. About 2 minutes into my ride I felt a huge thud across my chest, flipped in the air and landed flat on my back. I didn't know what hit me. When I opened my eyes, my cousin was standing over me telling me I'd ran into the monkey bars and flipped over. My body hurt. I thought a car ran over me. My bike landed in the grass 10 yards away. Days later my arms still hurt and my chest felt like someone hit me with a brick. 

This past weekend I called my oldest child by their name. The name their mother and I had given them at birth. I was quickly yelled at by said child and informed that that is no longer their name. 

It hurt me. It felt like the monkey bars all over again, like my eyes had been shut and suddenly I was clotheslined and knocked flat on my back. Three days later it still hurts. And unlike the monkey bars, I'm not sure that this pain will go away. It's not that I'm not supportive, but she was my daughter. My first born, my little girl. And now she's not.

 

Sent from my iPhone