jynxed's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back to Big Bear - Part One "I think you're all fucked in the head. We're ten hours So, Friday, July 2, 2004...circa 2:30 pm. While a throbbing tendril of the back of my mind grumbled relentlessly about just commiting my wife and I to five years of car payments for her brand new Hyundai Santa Fe and now having to fork over $300 to my in-laws for the priveledge of sharing their cabin with them, I left work early, looking forward to spending a nice relaxing three-day weekend up in Big Bear, the mountain resort just east of San Bernadino, and contemplating to myself just how wrong it is to have a throbbing tendril of anything pulsating in the back of your mind. Gross, yo. Shrugging it off, or doing my best anyway, I left the lab and headed down the freeway for home, in a pretty good mood. This was particularly surprising to me, because we'd blown a UPS backup system at work and I was responsible for getting everything back up and running. This makes perfect sense to me, seeing as I'm a bloody CHEMIST, and, at other times, a cheap COMPUTER TROUBLESHOOTER, and of course both of those fields imply that I am an expert electrician... We've been to Big Bear with Amanda's parents quite a few times now. The first time, I wrote a lengthy, moderately entertaining (I hope) 8-part epic adventure log here a few years back. I don't think this one can be stretched that far, but it was definitely an ordeal... I stopped and got gas at Costco, even though we weren't taking my Civic up to Big Bear. I figured I'd do a little uncharacteristic planning ahead, knowing that I wouldn't want to get gas on the way to work Tuesday morning. Now, I hate getting gas at Costco. Granted, it's a good 10-15 cents cheaper than most of the fuel pimps anywhere near our house, but for some reason, every fucktard no-brain drooling inbred cross-eyed mouth-breathing mental patient moron within a hundred miles descends upon the Costco gas station like idiot moths to a crackling bug zapper. The only difference is that the Costco gas station isn't equipped to deliver a few zillion volts of electricity to the fiends, the unfortunate downside of which is that the fools keep coming back. They don't understand that Costco has designed the pumps with a lane down the middle, meaning that when the car in front is done, you're encouraged to go around the guy still loading up his Hummer with a gajillion gallons of Supreme and get your little Pinto filled up. And, when you can finally get these mentally challenged freaks to the pump, they can't for the life of them figure out how to work the automated system. I know many of them are old, and I know I live in southern California and the English speaking folks are practically in the minority, but come on: "PLEASE INSERT YOUR COSTCO CARD TO BEGIN" isn't exactly rocket science. And even if it was, these bastards have been here before! What do I have to do, Pavlov? Ring a fuckin' bell and stuff Cheetos down your pie-hole? Christ! Luckily, Friday afternoon, the Costco was relatively deserted. I say relatively because I still had to wait almost five minutes, but they weren't lined up out into the street, so it was a definitely improvement over what I usually deal with there. Almost makes we wonder if it's really worth the dollar I save every fill-up... Anyway, after feeding the Civic, it was time to feed myself. I drove down the road a bit and stopped in at Carl's Jr. for a Six Dollar Burger meal. [Side note...it's almost time for lunch. Damn. I'm hungry.] Now, sitting a few tables over was an African-American couple. I hate that. Fuckin' hyphens. African-American, Asian-American, Mexican-American, Irish-American...Fuck you. You're either African/Asian/Mexican/Irish or you're American. Stick the hyphen up your sepratist ass and shut the hell up. Anyway, so these two black teens were enjoying a late lunch, as was I. The girl was soft-spoken and well dressed. The boy was dressed in a basketball jersey and wore a do-rag, and every other word out of his mouth was "FUCK!" and he didn't bother trying to keep his voice down. I've said it before and I'll say it again, someday after I have children, I'm going to either get my ass kicked or killed because I WILL NOT stand for that shit. Obviously when I write I'm no Motherfuckin Theresa, but when I'm in a public place and there are kids around, not only will I keep myself under control, I ask, nay demand that others do as well. I'm sick to hell of this country going to shit because people think they can do whatever the hell they want. It's a free country, sure, but that doesn't mean you're free to act like a damned animal... Luckily, there weren't any kids in the restaurant and I didn't have to resort to asking the cretin to watch his language. I've done it before, particularly at Disneyland when a bunch of pissmouthed teenagers standing in line talk shit without any regard for the people around them, and by God I'll do it again. So I didn't have to get my ass kicked, but I had a pretty miserable lunch. My blood pressure was through the roof, and it wasn't just the cardiac-arrest-on-a-bun that I was eating... I headed home, let Cooper out to pee, then headed upstairs to check on any last minute e-mails people might have sent. There were none. Nobody likes me anymore, which isn't terribly surprising since not only do I suck ass now, but I'm apparently the only one who thinks (having watched it in its entirety now) Fahrenheit 9/11 is mostly a bunch of bullshit, which depresses me because the average American will eat it up and believe everything he has to say without question, and why not? Michael Moore himself deems you "possibly the dumbest people on the planet." So I went back downstairs and watched the last half-hour of Cold Mountain, resisting the temptation to back up and freeze-frame through Natalie Portman's scene. Then Amanda called and the adventure began... [TO BE CONTINUED...] 11:34 a.m. - July 08, 2004 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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