Blips in Today's Radar

First, a piece of advice.  *tunes up imaginary git-fiddle* *clears throat, and starts singing in a very country twang* "Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be JUEVOS..."

I am serious, folks.  I have managed to raise (or 'rear' for all of you getting out the red pens) (heh. I said rear) two sons but I don't think I properly prepared either one of them for the real world. Fortunately for Jamie (my loverly daughter in law) the US Air Force knocked that shit into Ronny.  I am not kidding when I say that when he went off to college and we cleared out his room for El Juevo that we literally had to RAKE his carpet.  If I never see another Lego it will be too soon.  But like I said, from what I saw when I went up there to visit, he is at least litterbox trained now, has a very nice home, and doesn't call asking for money.  

El Juevo, on the other hand?  *holds head in hands and looks at the floor for a minute*  I guess I'm just never going to quit worrying about him.  Yeah, I know you never quit worrying about your children, but they grow up, and the apron strings they hang on to are supposed to be MUCH longer at this point.  I guess I'm just nervous this morning because I just dropped him off for a theater department trip to Birmingham.  He'll be gone until Saturday.  I guess they will eat as a group, so I don't have to worry about that, but who is going to remind him to take his wallet?  To take his medicine?  To take his phone with him?  I know, I know.  Yes, he wipes his own ass.  And he really gets pissed off when he's asked if he's remembered those things.  But if someone DOESN'T remind him to do those things, half the time he forgets.  And I know I'm supposed to let him suffer the consequences and then maybe he'd remember, but what if the consequence is a seizure?  And he has no ID on him?  Or a phone to call someone to come help him or bring him his pills?  He gets disoriented when he has one, so am I really batshit crazy to worry like this?  I guess in this case, we shall see.  It's going to be a long three days for me.

So all this is going through my head on the way home.  I'm tooling along, on cruise control so I don't get all aggressive, but as I'm coming up on the on ramp, I see this old blue pickup truck getting on so I get into the passing lane to let him over.  No worries.  He pulls onto I10 about parallel with me and starts accelerating, staying even with me, so I speed up a little so I can get ahead of him and get back in the right lane.  He speeds up, so I slow down, thinking I'd let him get ahead of me.  Fucker slows down too, so again, I speed up, getting a bit irritated as I am low on gas and was really trying to conserve so I could make it all the way to my exit before I had to stop.  Well, this asshole speeds up again, staying right beside me.  I looked at my speedometer and realized at this point I was doing eighty, which pisses me all kinds of off, so I finally looked over at him to give him the 'what gives' hand gesture.  

He gave me a gesture of his own.  Keep in mind that we are both doing eighty miles an hour. This guy has what looks like a paper cup of coffee in one hand and his (actually, in any other circumstances, QUITE impressive) wanker in the other.  I guess he was steering with his thighs. *shakes head*  I don't know.  What got me, though, was the look on this guy's face.  He had this absolutely HAPPY LEER.  It's really difficult to describe, but his mouth was open in a wide smile with his tongue out and his eyes bugging out of his head.  All I could do was bust out laughing, which evidently was not the reaction he was after, because at that point he slowed down and let me over.  Then the fucker passed me on the other side, doing the same thing at me through the passenger window, but he continued on his merry way this time instead of making me his bitch again.

I know I'm not the only one this has happened to.  Vodka Mom had a similar experience not too long ago (I can't find the particular post because if I take too long getting this ready to post, my stoopid 'puter is liable to shut off randomly again and I will lose everything, so look around in her archives if you are THAT interested.  All her stuff is gut busting, so it won't be time wasted, either way.)  But the thing is, this is not the first time it has happened to me.  Nor is it the second or third.  It is at the very least the fourth.

Four times.  Four times that I REMEMBER.  And I am just talking about IN THE CAR ON THE INTERSTATE.  I'm not counting the flasher episode.  What the hell does this mean?  What kind of scent am I throwing off?  What is it about me that attracts penis wielding FREAKS?  At first, I was all "Yeah, Jackie, you still got it."  Then my eyes drifted to the rearview mirror and I realized I did not even have store bought lips on, so I KNEW that that wasn't it.  Are there really THAT many guys driving around fisting their misters?  Inquiring minds want to know.