I am DEFINITELY too old for this

A friend of mine is in town (same friend we stayed with in NYC), so last night, we went out down by campus. I haven’t done that on a night before a game since I was IN college, which was several years ago, but, it was a special night so I was all for it.

At first.

I was totally prepared for the drunken stick figure sorority girls with bleach blonde hair crying on the stairs of The Swamp. I was prepared for the drunken 18-year-old frat guys spilling cheap beer on my (awesome) shoes. And, I was prepared to have to shove my way through a mass of people, the likes of which normally make me feel clausterphobic. What I was not prepared for was the staff.

First, as I go down to the ladies room (where some girl was playing Bathroom Nazi — if you didn’t leap into a stall the second someone flushed, she would scream “Come ON, ladies! Let’s move it!” I had a horrible volleyball flashback — kind of my ‘Nam), I was about to step in line when this ENORMOUS bouncer type takes two hands and shoves me back. Seriously. Another bouncer type was next to him and obviously saw the rage bubbling up inside me, which was held back just until my utter disbelief melted away, and apologized, explaining that a waitress was coming through. I calmly explained to him that, in some cultures, words are used before large men shove women in high heels. There might have been a series of F-bombs in there. I can’t be sure.

Before I even made it back to my table, I was standing near a chair, minding my own business, when this waitress — she must have been 5 feet tall carrying a tray that was 6 feet wide — came up to me, looked me in the eye, and, in the voice of Lucifer, screamed, “MOOOOVE!.” Seriously?

I started to respond, because I was more angry than I can even type, and another girl there tried to explain to me that she had been a waitress there before, and “Excuse me” just doesn’t really cut it. And, it was then that I realized that I’m old and cranky and this shit is best left to 18 year olds who don’t know how to kickbox. Because if I hadn’t been wearing a dress and hot shoes, someone might have gone home with a serious injury.

Oh, and also? My head is POUNDING today, because the only way Jared knew to keep me from going on a bloody rampage was to keep bringing me beer. And in a couple of hours, it’ll be time to start tailgating. If you’re out there, and you see a girl in an orange dress sitting down, yelling at all the young people to get off her damn lawn, come on over and say hello, because that’ll definitely be me.

Guest post by Star, the Psycho Kitty House Guest

We’ve been keeping my mother-in-law’s cat, Star, at our house for the last couple of weeks while J’s mom has been traveling. She’s a special kitty, always has been, and while we’re pretty sure she hates it here, it’s still better than sticking her in Meow Meow (the kitty equivalent of Sing Sing). She gets the whole guest room to herself here, so that our hounds can’t get to her (and so she can’t get to them, which might be more the point), and she gets fed and her litter cleaned regularly, but she still felt the need to vent. Here’s what she has to say:

It has been nearly two weeks since I was unceremoniously dumped in this, well, dump. There was no luxury kitty condo topped with Jamaica’s finest catnip awaiting me. And, no personal screened in porch with live action bird TV — no. Only two small windows looking out. Doesn’t anyone here know who I am?

And these captors of mine! Ugh! Where do I begin? For one thing, they have my door patrolled. I can hear big, ugly, clumsy feet scamper about outside my quarters, and occasionally an incredibly vile, wet-looking black nose will appear under the door. I tell them exactly what I’ll do to them should they proceed to enter, of course, and so they never do, but I’m just waiting for the day one of them decides to try me.

And then the humans! Gah! They come in to feed me, and speak to me in these soothing, cooing tones. WHAT THE HELL IS THEIR PROBLEM? DON’T THEY KNOW I JUST WANT THEM DEAD? The female one has lingered a little too long once or twice during my incarceration, and I’ve been forced to resort to my “Flying Ball of Furry Hate” plan in order to make her leave. Honestly, lady, take a hint — I couldn’t hate you more if you came in riding a dog and wearing a kitten as a hat.

Truthfully, thought, the male is no better. He actually had the gall to make rude comments about the contents of my litter box. Perhaps I’ll leave him something outside the litter box for him to find next time. Let’s see how he likes that. Bastard. Now, if I could just find one of his damn sneakers in here …

What Star doesn’t know is that her incarceration is coming to an end, so the torture will soon be over. I’m kind of sad — it’s always a contest to see who can keep her content the longest. This time, judging by the scratches on my feet and lack of any wounds on J, I think he wins. This time. I’ll figure out a way to make her love me for the next visit, though, don’t you worry.

Where’s a grenade when you need one?

I am a good driver. Seriously — ask anyone — I have a good record, I’m cautious, and I’m safe. I get a little frustrated with stupid drivers sometimes, and yes, I’ve been known to point at people who look like they want to pull out in front of me, but it always works. Who’s going to pull out in front of a crazy lady who’s pointing at you? Nobody, that’s who.

Well, yesterday I was driving to kickboxing and I was on this busy road, in the far left of three lanes. I put on my blinker to get in the middle, looked in mirrors and blind spots, and started merging. Then I started to hear this loud, obnoxious honking, and I looked all around and totally couldn’t see anybody who ought to be honking — I had NO CLUE as to what was going on.

Then it was made clear.

This stupid girl in a stupid car came flying around me on my left side. Obviously, we had been merging into that middle lane at the same time, but since she was behind me and moving right in my goddam blind spot I hadn’t been able to see her. I turned to try to mouth “Sorry” or something, and guess what the stupid girl does …

She screams at me and throws rocks at my car out her passenger side window. Who does that? Who carries rocks in their car so they can throw them at people who make them angry? Is she so used to doing stupid things in traffic that it’s a common occurrance for her to feel the need to throw rocks? If my window had been down, she would’ve hit me in the face, which I’m sure is what she was trying to do.

Anyway, it took every ounce of self control for me to not gun up on her and toss a grenade into her stupid car. Also, I was out of grenades … alas. Of all days.