Take it to the limit….

I generally don’t have a commute, so I don’t usually listen to morning radio shows. I happened to be driving back in the early morning from Republican Land last week and listened to Sean McMaster describing an incident with a bitchy, angry lady at the grocery store. He was using coupons to get a better deal for (I think) Ronald McDonald House and it was taking a while. He apologized and apparently this lady was just seething with resentment for the five or so extra minutes spent waiting, despite being told they were completing a task for charity. On one hand, she’s obviously not a very nice person… on the other I completely get the frustration of a simple transaction taking way longer than needed because of someone’s shenanigans.

 

Miss Shannon is always, always running on borrowed time. I do not want to have a lengthy chat over the corn, in fact I go to automatic tellers whenever possible to save myself time. It’s not that I don’t like people, it’s that I am so over-scheduled it’s not even funny. Plus, that thing where people have a deep seated need to bare their souls to me… really, is there a sign flashing over my head that I can’t see?? Anyway… that lady was wrong for expressing what I actually think is a legitimate frustration. Bad manners… but what hit me was Mr. McMasters saying, “If you really don’t have five extra minutes, you’re just over-scheduled.”

Yes, dear… I am over-scheduled. In fact, I am suicidal ideation over-scheduled… like… Holy Christ, I would rather jump off a bridge than complete my next ten scheduled tasks over-scheduled. (Don’t call mobile crisis, Miss Shannon is fine and dandy.) I can give twenty legitimate reasons that I always feel pushed to the limit. I usually really don’t have five extra minutes for you to dick around in front of me in a checkout line. Now… I would rather plaster a fake smile on my face and break every traffic law known to man rather than confront the lollygagger in front of me. But I sure as hell mind. I can’t say I like that about myself, but it’s factual.

While I’m busy taking it to the limit… the limit of my patience, endurance, and good will towards my fellow man… ask yourself why a generally decent person gets into the sort of predicament where they are so overstretched they can’t tell up from down. I can think of many reasons… for myself, it’s being a single mom who runs her own small business and has just enough insanity left to try to cultivate a relationship with a fairly nice guy. The combination… added to a chronic lack of funds… makes me a crazy person quite a lot of the time. So, I get the angry, impatient woman in a way I truly wish I didn’t… I’m fighting a battle I can’t afford to lose…. Maybe she is, too. My final word on the matter is this: Sean McMaster isn’t wrong… and he’s not right either. People like me ARE ridiculously over-scheduled… by necessity. I can’t imagine this sort of nonsense as anything but a necessity… so if you just like to be busier than a one-armed paper hanger… please, please tell me about yourself. I would also like to hear from you if there are just not enough hours in the day to do what has to be done, like me.

 

Vacation with the Other Team!!

I’m exhausted… 1044 miles on the back of a Harley makes Miss Shannon feel like she’s been through a meat grinder.  About forty of those miles were without a helmet, which is a bad bad thing that our good pal, Dozer, actually posted on Facebook so now our mothers know.  While I have the utmost love and respect for both ladies, who are both entirely right, which I know because there’d be hell to pay if one of my kids did it…I just don’t want to hear the rigmorale.  As the autonomous adults we are, we took a calculated risk for a short time on back roads.  The last time I rode without a helmet, I was probably seventeen.  That was back in the day when the dirty bikers were a different breed altogether… (Please note:  I almost didn’t go out with Dozer because I think most MC guys are dicks.)  I like my current manifestation of dirty biker much better, which includes fellows who won’t allow me to walk across the street alone at midnight on account of somebody might hurt me.  Miss Shannon needs protecting, you know…  It was awfully cute, never in my life have I experienced men in protective mode before I met Dozer.  And it’s not just Dozer… it’s his friends, too.  I really love them for it.

Our group took this trip through a thunder storm to support a brother whose son walks with angels, so we could help him cry.  It broke my delicate tulip heart… This is a man I dance with regularly… his wife is someone I count as my friend.  He actually came to me following the celebration of the life of his son to tell me he’d come hang my door next week.  I can’t tell you what it meant to me that on the day we celebrated the life of his son, this very good man was worried about whether I was safe in my bed.  These folks are who we’re talking about when we say ‘good people’…. I can honestly say that I have never experienced such comradery and willingness to give.  I grew up wishing for government cheese poor… and these people are right there with the folks who will share their last bag of pinto beans with you… You need, I got… if that’s not in your world… find it.  Be willing to reciprocate.

Since we were traveling as a legion, we popped on over to the local legion Post 177 in Fairfax, Virginia.  They have a nice post with some fun people, a bride to be that I am proud to say I didn’t try to talk down and most importantly… they have a separate room you can smoke in.  I headed back there and started making conversation with the guys playing pool.  We were heading to the beach the following day… Rehoboth Beach, Delaware… You could’ve heard a pin drop.  Apparently, there’s a large gay population there.  Despite the fact that I have many loved ones who aren’t breeders, this has just not come up in conversation.  Naturally, I found this hilarious, as did absolutely everyone who was with us except Dozer.  I wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s homophobic, but he is an old white guy who is used to conservative, traditional folks.  (No, people, I don’t know why this relationship works… it just does.  You’ll be all right.) I decided to consider this a learning curve for him, kind of like hanging in Republican Land was a hell of a departure for me.

The beach was gorgeous… acres of beautiful sand, the ocean and a fun tourist trap kind of area.  We had a lot of fun, satisfied my inner sea sprite, and ate some really good food.  I wasn’t overly concerned that there would be anything that would make anyone uncomfortable… Gay people are just like breeders (aka straight people) in that they don’t commonly copulate in public, generally wear clothing and are at the beach to do the very same activities.  The only time Dozer even noticed any difference was when we were walking by an entirely male populated bar, at which point he steered me in another direction with a certain level of forcefulness.  I tried to tell him we’d probably have a hella good time there, but he wasn’t buying.  If there were twenty lesbians there, it’d be different.  That’s women together and he wants to watch… Miss Shannon is giving Rehoboth Beach two thumbs way, way up!!  Dozer says next time we’re going to the Outer Banks.  In the immortal words of Charlie Daniels, he’s going back where the women are women and the men are men.