My back hurts, and I'm thinking I'll get all my hair cut off this weekend. Too long and too much of a pain, not to mention all these split ends I've seen in the past week or so. I'm just so restless, so I'll try to clean the entire apartment and run a million errands just to keep moving.
Move or die, my favorite philosophy.
The ramp onto the highway is just a little too short, and it curves right in the place where you're trying to change lanes. (There are so many ramps grandfathered in that just don't cut it; the city closed several on 35 because too many people were dying.) Anyhow, I was coming up the ramp, and noticed a Parks & Wildlife truck on my left. Figuring I would cut in behind him, I left my turn signal on and accelerated up to fifty as I waited the two seconds for him to pass. Now, along comes a white haired woman in a tiny Toyota-ish car, who decides to speed up and attempt to cut me off. I'll lose my window of opportunity, and be forced to take the ramp back to street level where I will have to pass through a half dozen intersections before I can get back on the highway. But then I remembered the number one rule of American driving: biggest car wins! Clearly, my car is bigger. The second I had room, I swung my car into the lane. Victory! Speeding Toyota woman must ease off or face the wrath of my bumper.
Another important rule of driving: if you or your car can not exceed 50mph, then you should not be on the highway. At all. Ever.
