Calendar of Complaints

You know, you really could make a calendar of my yearly complaints.
November: Family Reunion/Start of Yearly Sick/It's Cold
December: Old People and Presents
January: New Year's Eve
February: What Do You Do with The Casual Relationship in Your Life?
March: Fuck, I'm Old
April: It's Almost Warm Enough. But Not Quite
May: I Feel Really Fat and It's Nice Enough to Lay Out
June: Insects
July: Humidity
August: See Above
September: Work is Getting Really Busy
October: I Don't Wanna Dress Slutty for Halloween but I'm Single and Why Do People Think I Have to Dress Slutty?

Old People.
Let's look at it from a driving point of view.
Let's say I'm driving in a 40 MPH zone and I'm going 40 MPH. Believe it or not, I am a driving dork. First, I don't much care for driving at all. I'm glad I know how to do it and stuff but if the opportunity arose for me to not have to drive most of the time, I would totally cash in that bond.

I drive the speed limit, not above and not below and I take my time with every move. I am trying not to think about the DUI but it's on an ironic level, in a way. I couldn't see well enough around a tree and I inched forward and turned into the lane where I did have clear vision.
Then came the cherries.
Being an overly-cautious driver led, in part, to the financial and emotional nightmare that began on December 19, 2004 and that is only JUST ENDING.

But I digress.
Tucson is filling up with Snow Birds and these people have NO business driving. The next RV with Minnesota plates that cuts me off, or makes a right on red while I have the arrow...
I am considering violence, or at the very least explicitly insane-looking behavior with the intention of scaring them off.

I am considering slamming my Bitchin' Honda into Park and jumping out of the car, hopefully on a day where I am totally rockin' a bag lady look with unbrushed hair, red sweatpants, socks and Birkenstocks, and a tank top under a tee shirt under a long-sleeved tee-shirt, under a sweater that is too big and that ties unattractively in the front.
I would jump out of the car and start running after them, waving my hands and gesturing madly and I know I wouldn't get them to stop, which is probably good, because seriously?
I am not above insults and profanity when yelling at some idiot retiree driver who has come to my town for the winter and who will cut me off, pass me unsafely, block my line of vision, and blow poisonous fumes at me, all with the aid of a gigantic RV that costs more that I've made in my entire working life, which, by the way?>br>
I started working at 13, just to have something better to do than going to day camp in the sticky, itching heat of Illinois.

So am I bitter?
Sho' 'nugh.

And should the Snow Birds in the RV with the Minnesota plates be chased by a chubby chick who is wildly stabbing in their general direction with both middle fingers and stringing together curse words in the most grotesquely beautiful combination that they've ever had the disprivledge of hearing, then they've met me. I will gladly wear a name tag or something to id myself clearly for the Geritol crowd.

And no, it is soooooo not only about driving because every year around this time, I also like to point out the lines in the grocery store. There are a lot of elderly people who feel like because they are old, they get to cut in front of me in line. This happens, and Iím not even kidding, at least three times per season.

Newsflash, Granny: I live here in July. When you are in Tucson and it is 108 degrees and just looking outside gives you a sunburn, feel free to cut me in line. You desreve a break. As it is, you better turn right around and shuffle to the back of the line like anybody else would. You might be old but I live here.
All the time.
Your age does not give you the right part-time your way into my town and bust out with your WW 2 sense of entitlement. Call me to discuss after you spend July, and then August, in the desert, okay Granny?

I earned my spot in this line and I am keeping it, and you know what? Blame Karma. If you hadn't cut my Bitchin' Honda off this morning, I might have found some strange, gooy spot in my heart that would say, "Sarah. Let the old lady go first." As it is, tit for tat, sucker, and watch it next time I have the green arrow.

arizonasarah at 1:18 p.m.

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