On Being Nice

Warning: I've been known to have a mouth like an interstate truck driver when she lets it rip... so proceed with caution. You have been warned.

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I try to be nice.

I'm not controversial, and I usually avoid confrontation. I've been known to rabble rouse when the situation warrants it, but most of the time I'm all talk and very little bite.

I guess if my obit were to be written today, my few close friends would say that I was "nice." "Talented, sweet, and giving." Actually, if you go back into my archives, you would find that they said this about me.

At least, that's what they've told me to my face.

But you know, even the "nicest" person needs to be a bit mean sometimes. Right? I don't mean malicious or evil; just a bit mean-spirited. In order to blow off steam. It's all for mental health reasons.

So, now, Ms. Nice Gal is going to spend the next few minutes bitching about some things that have been building up inside her.

1. Stupid people really annoy me. I know I'm not the brightest bulb; I'm really somewhat of a three-way bulb. I have my brilliant moments, and I can function at middle wattage, but sometimes I'm a bit dim. But really stupid people, ones who feel they need to explain even the most basic concepts (like what a majority count of the votes would be, for chrissakes!) because they themselves don't really understand it boggles my mind and makes me want to slap the shit out of someone. Preferably the stupid person.
2. People who disregard the signs on the community lake that say, "Private property, No swimming, no fishing" and fish anyway. Oh, and they feed the fucking ducks old bread even though the community newsletter says DON'T DO IT because it makes the ducks crap out really stinky shit and makes the lake smell horrendously bad for all of us who live around it. Blech. Learn to read, dickwads!
   
3. People who are so damn lazy they can't park in a regular parking spot at school and walk their prima donna asses to the front office. These asswipes illegally park in the last remaining handicapped spot (or worse, make their own spot next to the last spot), thereby making it tough for me to maneuver the Exxon Valdez known as my Mom Mobile into the parking spot TO WHICH I AM LEGALLY ELIGIBLE TO USE. You know what, you pretentious, showboating suburban housewife? Get over yourself; park your damn Lexus SUV in a spot that is NOT handicapped and then take your not-quite-as-taut-as-you-would-like-to-believe-ass and WALK THE EXTRA FIFTY FEET TO THE FRONT OFFICE. If I could give you parking spot, I would, but bear in mind that YOU GET THE DISEASE THAT COMES WITH THAT COVETED SPOT. Bitch. Oh, and while I'm at it, get the hell out of my way and stop blocking the parking spots if I'm trying to pull into or out of the spot. Your precious little brats can learn to walk a few extra feet, too.
4. What the fuck is up with suburbanites driving a Hummer? As if. The only "off roading" those people do is driving surface streets as opposed to a freeway.
   
5. Speaking of the freeway, hey, asshole! See that "Yield" sign on that freeway access road? It means, get the hell out of the way for people coming off the freeway's exit ramp! That means, let me over or run the risk that I'm going to mow your BMW down. Dick.
6. Turn your car speakers down, you teenaged, white, middleclass, gangbanger poseur. NOBODY but you wants to listen to that garbage you call music. That means you, Kyle.
   
7. Cover your muffin top, sweetie. Really. Nobody needs to see that.

See? I can vent with the best of them. I promise I'll be nice again tomorrow. Or later.

Good thing I didn't put this in a vlog, huh?

Later daze...