Vrrrrrooommm

Each time we take that step to rent a vehicle for a trip I dread having to face the haughty little brats that rule the counters. It's not easy for me to hold my tongue and even more difficult at 7 or 8 in the morning when I've just rolled out of bed with very little sleep.

In my experience so far, the car rental companies will find ways to make you (the consumer) to feel like you've made a mistake when essentially they are not prepared for you when you arrive.

This was the case, once again, on Monday morning when we came to get the truck we'd rented for a trip to our other home (the south house) to pick up some items that I wanted in this house (the north house).

We were about 30 minutes late from the expected time of arrival; therefore Miss-know-it-all turned her snotty nose up and made it sound as if our tardiness was going to cost us the rental of ANY vehicle for the day.
What it really meant was, the truck we rented was actually down for maintenance and they didn't want to upgrade us for free (which is basically their requirement) and ...sort of what we were hoping for anyhow. If you get to know these companies from enough usage you'll figure out that the upgrades happen with great frequency.

It took a few minutes and a lot of attitude and eyeball rolling but we eventually headed out to another office to pick up our upgrade, which was a wonderful new full-size truck that made me tingle in places that shouldn't be stimulated so easily...

Let me explain myself a little bit for those that don't know me personally, actually those that do know me these days don't really know me THAT well nor my youthful history.
I ama speed demon, I have a great love of living on the edge. I want to experience everything as hard and wickedly as possible. Quite frankly I'm convinced that I will have a short life especially in light of my genetic makeup and my case history of medical problems.

Some people say, "oh, be positive and think of all of the ways you can prolong your life through medications and assistance"

Screw that bullshit, I don't want to be a dependent any more than I already am. (today for instance as I'm writing a few days after totally fucking up my back lifting 8 sheets of drywall and my moving my treadmill)

If and when I am finally so decrepit I will ask someone close to me to only assist me in committing suicide if I haven't devised a plan on doing it myself. Believe this, I will have all of my shit in order and prepare my loved ones.

Will they forgive or understand, not likely but they have to accept because it's my decision.

We are allowed to humanely euthanize pets when they are suffering, well damn it - let's do it to our family members also.
Have any of you looked into the eyes of someone that is terminally ill and they are kept on tubes and pills? Eventually the light blinks out of their eyes, the soul disappears and they are pleading for mercy yet most are afraid to ask for this.

All that said and done, this goes back to my youth and my love of speed. There once was a time when I was involved with automobiles, high-performance automobiles!
On weekends I took trips to the local speedway. (okay, so it was barely better than a dirt track) I would tag along with the guys and look forward to my turn at the wheel down the quarter-mile.
No circle track for this girl.
I like it long, hard and straight.
The rumble of a well tuned 350cid (small block Chevy) or even a DOHC 4.6-L V8 Mustang Cobra thrills me but what I drove was an '87 Buick Grand National (turbo charged) and that bitch could haul some ass!

My daily driver was a beauty that was souped up a little bit, which is why this new full-sized truck was giving me chills along my spin and goose-flesh on my arms. That old girl was curvaceous and throaty, actually a bit like me. A shade between burgundy and maroon and the windows tinted just a couple of levels below illegal but just dark enough to keep the driver mysterious.
There were so many miles I sat in that seat, so many hours and so many songs I compared my life to. Contemplating change until the day I finally made the changes that led me to where I am today.

However, like all other things - they must evolve. Between my health, finances and the Bush administration it just wasn't feasible to keep a gas guzzling full size truck any more. With sorrow I said goodbye to her, patting my pocket as I waved to the boy who bought it for more than I paid many years prior (see ya later Sucker) and said to myself, "there will be a day again when you WILL have a truck again."

I AM the country song where you lose your job, your sweetheart, your dog and your pickup truck but the song is so beautiful that its hard to feel that bad because you want to sway to the music and feel the melody.

Renting that truck for 24 hours brought back the music for me, it wasn't a country song but it thumped a beat that pumped my blood that flushed my cheeks and had me smiling until I laid my head upon my pillow when it was through.

Not that cute

Certainly the baby is cute to you, to your family and to other folks that have babies but not everyone in the surrounding area believes that your baby is adorable.
The peels of sound emitting from the pursed pink lips are not the sounds of delight to my eardrums, instead they are piercing screeches that rip my mind into shreds reminiscent of New Years parade ticker tape.

you dirty whore

In the medical world it would be defined a 'sign' but initially to the self observer we would say, this is a symptom of VD.
VD you shout quietly in your own mind! OMG she's not going THERE is she?
Now of course we first examine the definition of VD, which is any disease characteristically transmitted by sexual contact.
A symptom is defined as subjective evidence of disease or physical disturbance observed by the patient.
A sign is defined as the objective indications of a disease.

Does food bring you satisfaction and completion in the ways that you would compare to orgasm? You scoff now but take your time and you will come back time and time again to agree with me, true appreciation for food is a sensory overload.

Should we not discuss the signs and symptoms of the diseases created by the Frigidaire?
Perhaps she doesn't have the beguiling curves that you'd find on a table lamp or the cushy welcoming embrace of the sofa but there is something oh so alluring about that box that brings us back again and again.

A siren's song silently beckons us without our conscious knowledge, we are oft tempted again and again. Fingers wrapped tightly around the handle to jerk open the door and expose the wonderful delights from within.
The door now yawning, brightly lit from within it now exposes the delights that would soon light upon our lips.

A moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips (that's definitely VD if you ask me).

It starts out with a few nibbles of cheese in the middle of the night. A cube of Cheddar or a slice of American and then that's later followed by some reheated spaghetti that you had for last night's dinner. Wow, that's so good, you'd better wash that down with a cold glass of milk.
Perchance a slice of chocolate cream pie? I spy buttermilk biscuits at the ready.

Yes, it's 2:12 a.m. but you rationalize that dinner was at 6 p.m. and you are hungry and you always skip breakfast which is the most important meal of the day.
Each time you come back to visit your gleaming rectangular gal resplendent in her magnetic dress of white (or almond or black or if your fancy! stainless!) she is ready to give you something tasty to stuff into your mouth.

Just like crack addicts, we rarely realize that we are addicted until we are at our lowest and need an intervention or we've just hit rock bottom and there's no turning back. Just one more nibble, one more bite, one more taste. Each of these are packing on the ounces, then the pounds and the next thing that happens is we are unable to recognize ourselves when we go to look in the mirror.
Who have we become?

The disease, the symptoms were so slow to recognize even though they were there!
Ugh, I've gotta loosen these pants about half way through dinner.
Hey, did you run the last wash on hot because I think you shrank all of my denim!
My boobs are getting bigger!
Does my ass look fat in these pants?
Get your own dessert, I'm eating this one.
(3 a.m.) Let's go get pancakes, I'm starving. Get dressed? no, nothing fits I'll just wear sweatpants.

The symptoms continue to grow until they are bright neon lights (SIGNS) for everyone to see!
"SHE'S FAT!
SHE'S FAT!
PUT THE FORK DOWN ALREADY!
CHAIN THE REFRIGERATOR SHUT"

No matter what, those around you will still love you. They aren't helping you help yourself however! (BASTARDS!)

No one wants to hurt someone's feelings when it comes to their weight, well not until they get into a fight and then it's a free for all!
Instead, we are most likely to sit back and watch our friends get progressively fat.
Interestingly enough though - if our friends get sickeningly THIN we'll step in and stop that shit in a hurry. No fucking way are we going to let someone get skinny.

Don't you go and get anorexic. Seems that the disease Anorexia has more of a following than Obesity, it must be scarier because you look more like a skeleton rather than a cuddly something-or-another.
Fluffy = cute. Emaciated = dead?

There doesn't seem to be an in-between for most of us since the majority of anyone I know are borderline neurotic about something or another in their lives so why not obsess about weight and/or food while we are at it.

I decided - all of the weight I've gained is simply the symptoms of the VD I've caught from my refrigerator.

She is a dirty whore and I'm a junkie.
I could sure go for a Twinkie right about now.

sweet chocolate, deliver me.

intoxicating, hypnotic and commanding.
you possess me, a lover without form yet I fold to your taste and scent when I press my lips upon you.
I hunger for you, my stomach clenches and I can feel the fluttering of butterflies within me and my skin flushes with excitement when I consider the trespass of our union.