WARNING: This Has Nothing to Do with My Cute Baby

Serenity now!!!

I must rant.

I know I probably shouldn't complain. We're very fortunate, the hubs, Olivia, and I. We live in a cute house, both have jobs at the moment, both have cars in working order, and about a million other good things going for us like a happy marriage and such. But still. The traffic around here makes me insane. INSANE! You think because I drive a minivan that I'm nice enough to let you cut me off, and honk your horn like it's my fault, and I won't try to ram my car right up your stinky little tailpipe??? I'm not, and I will. I have insurance. And a husband to post bail.

There are several streets around here that have so many poorly-times traffic lights that all I can think of when I run errands is that scene in Meet the Parents where Gaylord Focker is trying to race the dad home. The lights here are less than two blocks apart and timed so that the moment one turns green, the next turns red. You simply cannot make the next light without a Flex Capacitor and a bolt of lightning. So why waste the gas and gun it? Well, apparently, it's because otherwise some douche-monkey will race around your car and honk at you, like you're some kind of asshole for slowing him down the whole .03 seconds that he thinks he could have saved had you just put the peddle to the metal the moment the first light turned green. What said douche-monkey does not realize is that now we're stuck at the same light, only I'm behind him. In my bigger, heavier, all-the-easier-to-push-you-into-oncoming-traffic-with vehicle. And, I'm in more of a hurry than he is. I don't care what kind of explosive bowel situation he could possibly have going on in his car, I'm a busy mom with places to go and a baby who will stay up for 3 extra hours if she gets 2 minutes of sleep in her car seat, thus ruining her sleep schedule and my day. My time is very limited. Buddy, I got shit to do and you cutting me off only motivates me to squeeze in 'Kill Motorist' between 'Go to Bank' and 'Get Groceries'. The fact that you did the angry hand/arm gesture and beeped at me only makes my need to kill you all the more urgent.

Just a note to all drivers out there who think people driving minivans are equivilent to nuns doing a little Sunday driving: WE'RE NOT. You try getting anything done when you only have a 3-hour window to squeeze in feeding and changing a baby, buying a week's worth of groceries, putting gas in the car, and fighting against stupid traffic lights and even more stupid drivers. I can barely make it and I drive (and grocery shop) like a maniac. There should be a special lane dedicated to parents, kind of like Carpool Lane meets Autobon. That, or make it legal for me to mount a rocket launcher on the roof of my minivan so I can vaporize the next jerk who cuts me off and be on my merry way.

Ahhh. I feel better now. I guess it's a little sad that my "Happy Place" involves a vision of dismembering Douche-Monkey and then setting his car on fire. I probably watch too much TV.


Note: While I like a good rant as much as the next person, I do not actually condone the use of real violence in traffic. This is supposed to be funny, people. Laugh, don't vaporize anybody.