Who Does That -- Parts IX, X, XI and XII

A collection from the last few weeks of blogging absence; everything from moronic drivers to "fashion" choices to horrible attempts to pick up a woman.

Part IX

You're peacefully driving along in your car, enjoying the Top 20 on XM Radio, when suddenly you're greeted by a rogue car entering your lane and coming within about six inches of you and your life. You slam on the brakes, narrowly escaping untimely death, only to realize the reason you almost saw the light was because lady in the lane next to you is reading a book! No, she's not just attempting to glance at a piece of paper for a split second; she's freaking reading a book! Did you hear me? She's reading a book! I'm talking dome light on, book opened up on the steering wheel, flat out, reading a book!

Who does that?

Part X

Excuse me. Little girls. Yes, I'm talking to you three little fourteen year old girls, half dressed in hoochie mama outfits, blocking the walkway in the mall because you're standing there talking quite loudly on the speakerphone about your boy troubles. And I do mean boy. That's right, you all can talk about what little Tommy told Susie you said about liking little Johnny tomorrow in Algebra. Stop acting like little morons, in the middle of the mall, and get out of the way. But before you go, could one of you dial up your mom and hand me the phone so I can ask her what the hell she's doing while you're at the mall advertising your goods for two dollars?

Who does that?

Part XI

Oh look there she is, our own little Pamela Anderson right here in Missouri. How are those new boobs treating you? Really, that good, huh? They upped your take at the strip club every night by that much? Well, who knew? That's so interesting.

Did those new boobs also make you think that I'd really want you, the skank who cheated with my best friend's man while she knew he was in a committed relationship, to come over and say hello to me? Did those new boobs really make you think that I would be okay with that? And did those new boobs really make you think that those fake Birkenstocks worn with black socks was a good fashion statement?

Who does that?

Part XII

You're out enjoying the rare, and beautiful, 70 degree day in the middle of January. You're running your butt off on the nature trail; feeling the burn. You've just finished cranking it up your third steep ass, quarter mile long hill, therefore, you're sweating, red faced, doubled over and really hurting. When all of a sudden, some guy decides he wants to attempt to hit on you. What in the hell?

First of all, I'm not looking. But let me assure you that if I were looking, I certainly wouldn't be doing it while dressed in workout clothes (which includes a ratty t-shirt advertising my uncle's auto repair shop), face as red as a beet, sweating my ass off and doubled over grabbing my thighs and butt. Okay, okay, maybe the grabbing isn't helping you and your dumbness. But, believe me, it's a "holy insanely on fire thighs and sore butt Batman! Wow, that's going to hurt in the morning" grab. It's most definitely not an invitation to "please come and tap it" grab. Do you not see that I'm dying here? Can you not hear me gasping for air and asking my friend to please kill me now?

If a woman is working out, and dying, you're more than welcome to ask her if she would like a drink of water. You can certainly ask if she would like a ride to her car so she doesn't have to walk back. But you cannot attempt to hit on her.

Who does that?