This morning, Viva and I were in the car, on the way to school, waiting at the light. The light turned green, and I drove across Santa Monica Boulevard, only to find that someone waited for the light to turn green to make a three-point turn, holding up traffic in both directions and making almost everyone miss the light. Thankfully, I was just out of the intersection, so I was slightly annoyed, but not hyper pissed off. As the genius completed her three-point turn, the cars in the opposing lane moved forward, with the second car pausing so its occupant could holler curses out the window at the person performing the three-point turn.
That person -- the person hollering curses at a complete stranger (and admittedly, deservedly so)?
That was my father-in-law.
Oh, Wash, how I love thee.
I don't know if I've mentioned this here before, but my in-laws live quite nearby. In fact, they live on the same street we do. In fact, they live in the same apartment building we do. In fact, they live on the same floor we do. Right down the hall. Just two apartments separate ours and theirs.
My father-in-law is retired, and as we all know, I am not working, but I bump into him surprisingly rarely. When we do meet in the course of the day, our conversations go something like this...
I am in the laundry room, located conveniently next to my apartment, when I hear someone get off the elevator and begin walking down the hall. I look up as they approach the doorway, and see Wash.
Wash: Hey, sweetie! How ya doin?
Mama Blah: Good, good, what are you up to?
Wash: I been out in this heat.*
Mama Blah: That's no good, you need to stay inside.
Wash: Tell me about it.
Mama Blah: Go take a nap!
Wash: That's where I'm headed. See ya later, sweetie!
* Note: last week, it was chilly enough that I was wearing turtlenecks and dressing Viva in two layers and a jacket. This week, it's in the high 70s/low 80s. I don't know why L.A. messes with you like that, it just does.
Wash is the sweetest man alive. He adores Viva, who calls him Papa (pronounced Pawpaw), and adores my mother-in-law, most of the time, and even when he's not adoring her, he suffers her patiently. I like to think Sweet William learned a lot about how to treat women from Wash, because Wash is so sweet with his mom. He calls her Sugar Babe and Sugar Britches, which I think is beyond cute.
Now I will say that Wash is the sweetest man alive, but you do not want to piss him off, because once the gloves come off, step aside. Wash will unfurl a string of cussing so steady and vituperous your ears will melt right off your head. If it's not directed at you, it's funny as hell.
So when I saw Wash letting loose his road rage, I just started laughing and laughing, and at the same time, he looked up and saw me, and then I had to keep driving. It was all just a couple of seconds, but I'm gonna give him some shit about it later. Ah, Wash.
Pass it Along to Ten People, and Be Sure To Send it Back to Me
Moving on: one of my relatives recently re-discovered my e-mail address. This is one of my East Coast relatives, and she wants to keep in touch, and I think that's great. She is hilarious and sweet and I love to hear from her.
Except that now I'm getting 5 e-mails a day from her. Every time I log into my e-mail account and see e-mails from her and the subject heading reads "Fwd: cute story" or "Fwd: this really works!" I groan and shake my head. She is one of those people who loves to forward stuff -- poignant tales of how short life is, definitions of what makes a great friend, prayer chain mails, you name it, she's got it. Oh, man. I hate that stuff. What gets me is, am I supposed to respond to each and every one of these?* It's kind of ridiculous.**
* If you know me at all, you already know that I delete these immediately without responding to them. But I do feel a bit guilty about it. I mean, she's trying to stay in touch! And I think she's a little lonely. Feel my pain.
** Today's first e-mail started out, "I can do all things through Christ who
strengthens me." (Say it with me: "Because I am a GOD WARRIOR!") Seriously, though. Damn.
We were talking last night, and Sweet William said, "Oh, you definitely need to blog that," and now I can't remember what the hell it was. But we have clearly reached a decisive point when my hubs is casually offering me blog topics. You might ask Why doesn't he blog? and I would have to tell you that he does, but his blog is super secret and also pretty much never updated because he has a full-time job and doesn't like to spend a lot of time on the computer when he's not at work. He is not crazy for the Internet like I am. In fact -- dare I say it? -- he kind of hates it.
But you know, how else would you get to read great little stories like this? That is some funny shit, is all.
The Internet. Embrace it. Medicare. Shun it. Words to live by, kiddies.