Move [bish], getouttheway ...

Late afternoon yesterday, I was flying high. I was in a very good mood because (A) I was on my way to cash a chizzeck and (B) I had just gotten a very good haircut. Often I leave the hair salon feeling like the lady did an OK job, or once the cut grew out it would be fine. But damn, it was lookin' good even before the lady was done.

On my way to my bank (which for some reason is now called US Bank... what the?) I got cut off on the highway by some bastard in his flash car. Didn't bother me none, I was singing Life on A Chain at the top of the lungs and nothing else mattered except hitting the notes right. Then I got on Detroit Road and I got cut off again, this time by some woman in a minivan. Fine, okay. But the third time it happened (an old hag in a Buick, if you need to know), I lost it. I honked at her, the first time I have ever honked at someone in my life. It felt great. I felt my neck area relax, like someone had just given me a great massage. But at that point, my mood had soured so I decided to pull into a record store to make myself feel better. Needless to say, I walked out half an hour later with 3 CDs... where is all this money coming from and why do I all of a sudden have it? Oh that's right, from working all summer long. I'm like the ant that works all day while the grasshopper drinks and fucks around (please someone else know which story I'm talking about). Moral of the story is: be miserable now so you can be happy later. Ain't dat the truth...