DID UR GF

Driving through Columbus last night mine eyes happened upon that little beauty of a licence plate. Happened upon because the guy who owned the plates cut me off. Doing 90.

I'm sure it comes as no surprise to ANYONE that I, myself, was speeding (Hello. I am my father's child.), and this guy cut by me, sweeping across LANES of traffic in either direction, only hitting his brakes when absolutely necessary... and then got off at the next exit. His driving wasn't what bothered me either. Despite the speeding and the cutting and the weaving, despite all of that, it was still reading his licence plate that elicited my freshly painted middle finger. Little prick. I hope she gave you syphilis.


I found out a few things this weekend. The first being I'm a decently okay shot. As Man Friend told his father, I'm either low or dead on. What does this mean for you? Well, should ever the occasion arise where I'm shooting at you, I'll either hit you in the chest where I was aiming or the nuts. And if I was aiming for your nuts? Well.. then I won't miss.

I also discovered that Man Friend's parents won't do a whole lot of anything if they hear a girl's screams eminating from their eldest's room. Like coming to my rescue. And I don't like being pinned down and given raspberries. It tickles.

Finally, I found the depths to which Man Friend will stoop. I won't give the details but it involved the farts and my face in an area I would never willingly put it. (No, he didn't fart ON my face but there was certainly the imminent threat of residual gases eminating forth from their cling hold on the fabric of his jeans - an act wholey unacceptable in any boyfriend o' mine.)