November 7th, 2005

good/bad - dog was star

I wish it was Sunday.

Hi, LJ. Can we talk? Let's just talk about my day for a minute because sweet bleeding Jesus, I feel that all of it requires some mulling. And by mulling I naturally mean SMASHING OMGWTF WORLD WHY DO YOU SUCK HARDER THAN AN ANTEATER IN A SEA OF FUCKING ANTS!?!?

Sorry, let's bring that back in for a moment, that rage. Let's just -- put it on simmer and then watch joyously as it explodes.

My day starts pretty much too early for life, when the cat (and yes, Lyra, this is one of those times she's your cat) decides that 5:45 is really late enough for anyone to sleep, and that it is time for me to wake the fuck up. So I feed her, I give her water, I deal with her litter and I get back into bed. This does not fly, kemosabe(s). No, no, it certainly does not. The cat sits on the bed with her face next to my ear crying until I flail around and pet her, mostly asleep. This, too, is not enough. It is not until I am fully vertical and staring down at her that she's happy. Then she brings me the stupid toy I brought her and sits at my feet like a dog until I throw it for her. Repeat this for nearly an hour before she's placated, and at this point, I am very very awake.

Fast forward several hours and I'm leaving for work. Now, normally, this is not at all anything that would require documenting, but I fell down the stairs. This goes to show how utterly cursed this fucking Manic Monday has been. So, anyway, I get outside, and the crazy woman down the street who I was bitching about last night in my LJ, is fucking covering the street with some of the most offensive anti-abortion signs I've ever seen, and by offensive I mean graphic and horrible. She stands at the bottom of the stairs directly between me and my car, so there is no way to escape, her hair standing straight up from her head like an early morning Medusa, eyes sparkling with malice and insanity.

"Do you mind if I put this up in your front yard?" she says to me, holding up a poster with a picture of a dead fetus covered in blood, with gothic font proclaiming "Pro-choice is pro-murder".

"Yeah, actually, I kind of do," I tell her, flinching away from her entirely because I'm afraid that the utter insanity might be catching.

She pushes the poster closer toward me, so close that I can smell the paper and the ink and the utterly rancid sent of self-righteous poster, and says, "It's election day soon."

Eye to eye with the matte image of the gorey fetus, I say, "I don't want it in my yard," and try to duck around her to get away. Her gnarled crone hand shoots out and fastens around my wrist, preventing my escape.

"But you're Catholic, aren't you? Irish, am I right?" and I nod, and try to pull away but her bone-like fingers just tighten and clearly my doom is at hand, because then she says, "You can't be silent on an issue like this. We have to speak out, make the pope proud."

Had I been less (already) late for work, I probably would have told her exactly how much I give a shit if the pope is proud of me, but I contented myself with a, "I don't really think that sign is very respectful of other people's opinions."

"What, you're not anti-life, are you?" she says to me, and right there is when I think things went awry.

Because what I said was, "Pro-choice isn't anti-life, it's about wanting to be able to make your own decisions about your body."

She looks stunned, totally stunned, and then literally shoves the poster directly into my face and says, "Look at this! Look at this baby! You've killed this baby! You and people like you!"

Her hand is still gripping my arm and I struggle to get away and fall down. She continues some insane diatrible, leaning into my face spitting on my skin as she screams pushing the poster toward me, and that's when I kind of snapped. I *shoved* her away, and said, "Listen, I don't care what you think of me, or my opinions, and I don't have the time to argue with you about abortion because I have to go to work, but I really don't think the pope or anyone would be proud to have you as a spokesperson, lady, because you're fucking bent."

She follows me to my car (granted, only five steps from the site of the confrontation) waving the sign and yelling, "What kind of Catholic are you, you murderer?" I pretty much make a fucking run for it, and don't engage with her again until she slaps the sign up against the passenger window of my car while I'm starting it up. I put the window down at this point and say in my calmest angry voice, "I am warning you that if I find that in my yard, you will find it in your living room. Now get away from my car, or you'll get hurt." and peel the fuck out of there.

I'm late to work, naturally, and end up having to park in metered parking. I get yelled at by my boss (kind of) for being late, and then he asks me to come in on Saturday, which is just like a scene out of Office Space, except worse because he even wants me to come in early.

The metered parking leads to not one, but two tickets. The second one delivered alongside a very stern lecture from a parking cop (and really, wtf? What a sad life that must be, the useless fuckers) about why meter feeding is Just Plain Wrong. Only a judicious application of tears got me out of a third ticket for the meter feeding, the fine of which would be about two hundred dollars.

I come home, and thankfully there is no sign in my yard, nor a flaming bag of shit on my doorstep, but there's totally a hole in the front lawn that wasn't there before that makes me pretty damned sure that at one point I had one of those hideous things stuck in front of my building. Thankfully, all of them have been taken down all over the street except for the ones in her yard, which makes me think that maybe my roomates were so horrified they took the time to undo what Crazy Woman had done before going to class.

In conclusion: what the fucking fuck? Also, I might maybe lose my job due to poor sanitation on the part of the store's owners.

Now I get to stay up all night and write two papers. In conclusion: who's got whiskey? *rubs aching temples*
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