Well, we�ve returned from our white trash vacation safe and sound, but with nary a good anecdote to share. Not about the folks at home, anyway... everyone was on remarkably good behavior this time around. My father managed to restrain himself from shouting racial epithets at the TV, the grandparents kept the bickering down to only an occasional grumble, the sister-in-law who hates me has apparently switched bodies with a reasonably friendly alien pod-person, the ex-brother-in-law actually showed some unprecedented restraint by refraining from bashing the hated Prunella within earshot of the Evil Childe... hell, even the hillbilly nieces seem to be getting their shit together. The oldest finally got her tubes tied (after the birth of baby number 4) and the second oldest (who�s 23) finally ditched the forty-six year old crackhead who fathered her young �un and is now living with a thirty-five-year-old who treats her nice and even... get this... has a JOB! My youngest brother is still being ass-raped on the child-support for his three kids, but he�s managed to go almost three years without siring another one, so there�s progress from that quarter as well. Everyone is doing so remarkably well and I had such a nice relaxing time, I�m beginning to suspect that I may have visited the wrong family.

That�s not to say we didn�t run into any lowlife scum in the course of the weekend... on Friday morning, before we ever got out of our heavenly little slice of the suburbs, we were accosted in the Jewel parking lot by an aggressive telemarketer... minus the �tele� part, for some odd reason. This smirking, clean-cut, twenty-something Jerkwad walked up and, uninvited, started making smarmy, salesman-style conversation with the Evil Childe and me as we returned to the car with a few supplies for the road.

�Hey, you guys dropped your smiles back there!� was his clever opening line, which earned him a puzzled look from the kid and a disgusted eye-roll from me. He was not dissuaded, however. He thrust a hand forward and announced, �My name�s Jerkwad. What�s yours?�

I hate this kind of manipulation, because unfortunately it works all too well on me. The last thing in all the world I wanted to do was shake this creep�s hand or tell him my name, and he knew this. Yet it seemed unconscionably rude to refuse such an innocuous request�and of course, he was well aware of this as well. After a brief but intense internal struggle, my deeply-ingrained social conditioning seized control of my brain from my (apparently less deeply-ingrained) common sense, and I was compelled against my will to give his hand a grudging shake and mumble my first name, though I did manage to avoid making potentially encouraging eye contact. (I�ve since decided to change my name to �Fuck Off Creep� to avoid having my social conditioning used against me in the future.)

Just then the Prince got out of the car to help put the groceries in the trunk, and Jerkwad re-launched his spiel at both of us. Bunch of blah, blah, blah about how he�s trying to win $5000 for his tuition so he can better his future, and we think that�s a worthy cause, don�t we? Well, all we have to do to help is order some magazine subscriptions...

When the Prince politely turned him down, his smile twisted itself into a sneer. �You�re at the grocery store in the middle of the day on a Friday, and you say you don�t have TIME to talk to me? Aw, come oooooon! You guys have money to buy all that stuff and go on vacation, and you can�t spare a few bucks for my future?� He gave us a look of withering scorn.

Now, just how the hell did we become responsible for improving his future? Did we inadvertantly save his life at some point in the past? (That�s a mistake that will most assuredly not be repeated!)

He stomped away muttering as we drove off, rather pleased now to have been granted some small part in the lousing up of his pathetic future.

The next leg of the journey was uneventful except for the fact that it took us two hours to inch our way out of Illinois. We finally got up to a decent speed when we hit the tollway in Indiana. I was tooling along doing about 80 in the left lane when I glance in my rearview mirror to see this car bearing down on me FAST. Dude had to have been doing 120, and instead of slowing down as he approached my car, fucker tried to pass me on the left shoulder, forcing me to swerve over and kill the innocent guy driving in the right-hand lane in self-defense. Who didn�t actually die, but swerved onto the right shoulder to avoid me, then sped up and flew past me spewing obscenities. I�m sure he didn�t even see the crazy person who tried to kill ME, and so had no idea why I was suddenly seized with an overpowering impulse to be in the space he and his car had been occupying. Thankfully, both the crazy guy and the guy who no doubt thought me a crazy woman, sped off down the road, leaving me to hyperventilate in peace.

In spite of the loonies we met on the road, I had a good time in Ohio hanging out with the folks. But it�s awfully nice to be home. Especially since one problem just up and solved itself while we were gone... the computer apparently miraculously fixed itself while it was turned off over the weekend. Maybe it just needed a vacation too. I can click on links, cut and paste, run Illustrator again... it's enough to make a girl giddy.

I'm giddier still at having in my possession the movie Chicago on DVD, which we picked up yesterday afternoon and watched last night. I loooooooove that movie. Catherine Zeta-Jones seriously needs to divorce that dried-up old pervert and marry me.

Bet that�d shake up the old folks at home.

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Previous - Next
Last Five
Crappy job crap, weird neighbor, and someone whose baby I apparently want to have - 2006-05-08
Live from the dump - 2006-04-09
Kind of like a muzzle for your brain - 2006-03-29
...and then she fell ass-first into my cereal bowl - 2006-03-28
Playing catch-up - 2006-03-27

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