Well, I have been in Chicago, the land of Lincoln, for about what forty-eight hours? Mostly the people have been really friendly. I could be because I am this chatty Cathy who just talks to any and all people. Which is odd because normally I am very shy and I hide from conversations.

Anyhow…wait…going back to the chatty Cathy thing. It is really disturbing because when I worked in retail, I hated the customers who would tell me their whole life story. It was like I was making, what eight or nine bucks an hour…did I really need to hear about how your kid won’t get on the “potty”? Did I need to learn your whole life history as I was ringing you up for the latest Oprah’s Book Club pick?

Now I am that person. I trap sales people into listening to my life and my travel plans. Does the girl at The Body Shop really need to know that I am from the East? I just need to buy my strawberry body wash and get the hell out of the store so she can turn to her co-worker, complain about how she needs to take her break, and make fun of me just as I have done to the customers who spewed out the same unsolicited liquid history. I am not mad at her; I am mad at me for being this way. Where the hell is this all coming from?

I like to attribute it to my roaming this Earth traveling by myself. But, I don’t think that is it at all. I think I just now like to talk. I fear my old age. I will be that old lady who corners the bookstore clerk and debates the merits of the newest Nora Roberts novel (as you can see I am predicting my own mental breakdown…I won’t have taste buds or brain buds). Did I suddenly just fall in love with the idea of random conversations with strangers? Why would I do that?

See, look at this blog. It is proof…my mind is seeping out of my ears.

Anyhow, I am walking down the street and I see this couple in front of me. They are holding hands and I am trying really hard not to say something sarcastic like, “I give you a month.”
Well, we are walking and this car decides it would like to turn after the light turned red for him. Being mortals and the car being…well…a car, we had to yield to the car. But the guy in the couple in front of me wants to prove he is the man…or he has a small penis…or whatever because he kicks the car. My first reaction if confusion. Did I really see this guy kick a car? Then I start thinking, what if that person in the car has a gun. Great. Here I am about to die in the land of Lincoln (which wouldn’t be the worst thing for me really because I would feel closer to my husband Lincoln). My last thought after seeing the car just drive off and now I know I am not in danger of getting caught in the crossfire is, what the hell was that for? Really? Really! Did this guy really need to impress this girl he was with so much that he had to kick a car? What was the conversation after they got home? Oh honey, I just loved the way to owned that car tonight…take me.

There is so much in the world to get upset about…do we really need to kick cars?

 

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