At my office, there are two gold, velour couch cushions in the second floor stairwell landing. No one knows why they are there or where they came from. It’s a little creepy given all the crazy things reportedly happening in BR right now.
There are at least 10 of us who have noticed this peculiar visitation, none of us are attempting to do anything about it. Except, of course, say stupid things like, “hey did you see those couch cushions, I wonder how they got there.”
Hurricane Katrina is moving through the state right now. We are supposed to be feeling it so bad here in BR. It’s frightening to think how bad the storm must be to the east of us because there are moments when the winds are pretty ferocious here.
The house catty-corner to us has had its power line ripped out and the live wire is being tossed around in the wind. Occassionally it makes contact with a metal swing set in the yard. Every time the two connect, we can hear loud popping sounds and see blue flashes of light in our house. The kids always run to the window to marvel at the spectacle. I hope the line goes dead before it starts a fire.
Men driving white trucks have it out for me today. In less than 15-minutes my remarkable defensive-driving skills were called upon twice because of morons in excessively large pick-ups.
The first guy was at a complete stop. He let the car a few yards ahead of me pass and then decided he could go ahead and pull out to make his left turn. My being suspicious of all other drivers is the only thing that prevented a crash. I had my eye on him and when he hit the accelerator I swerved over into the other lane which, thankfully, no one happened to be using at the time.
With adrenaline still coursing through my blood stream, I had to avoid my next near collision. There is an insanely narrow and sharp curve leading into the parking lot at work. It’s pretty much blind and will only hold one car at a time. This potential for disaster is magnified by the number of idiots who head into it at 30 miles an hour. I was more than halfway through the turn when white truck number two comes barreling toward me. Some stupid frat boy in the truck his daddy bought (and probably pays insurance for) decided he needed to park his vehicle in the driver’s seat of someone else’s ride. I hit my accelerator and moved as far to the right as I could. I think divine intervention must have prevented us from smacking into each other.
Just so you know, if you’re male and you’re driving a disgustingly large white pick-up truck. I don’t like you. Stay away from me.
