Reason #23,508,612 that Lizzle will be going to hell...

Yeah, we know I'm going to hell, but during the move today, I tacked on yet another reason that I will most assuredly have some prime real estate on the river Styx.

I yelled at a little old woman.

Actually, I didn't just yell at her...

I yelled a profanity or two at her.

Allow me to paint a picture for you:

Anthony had managed to obtain a pretty big freight truck from a family friend. (Think something on the order of an average U-Haul.) Now those bastards are not small, and not easy to drive or find parking for. But he not only drove it without incident, he managed to wrangle a pretty damn good parking spot for it... Meaning we didn't have to park it in an alley, or double park and block traffic. Now, at this point in the day, the truck has been parked in the same place for a few hours, and no other complaints were lodged against the parking job. (He got that bitch as close to the curb as humanly possible without being all up on it.) In that few hour time span, cars are coming, and going, turning the corner, etc. Nobody has had any problem whatsoever.

Anthony and Tihi [pronounced "TEE HEE" in case you missed it in an earlier post] are upstairs bringing down another load of stuff, and I am in the back of the truck, moving and situating the stuff that is already there... I was also making sure nobody was going to burgle my boy's stuff!

And along comes this SERIOUSLY OLD woman. In. Her. Buick. And apparently granny went to driver's ed back in the era of the considerably less maneuverable horse and buggy. I say this, because despite the fact that we were as close to the curb as could be, and despite the fact that all other traffic was flowing freely around us for the rest of the day, granny was having some trouble maneuvering around us.

So granny decides its apropriate to begin honking like a goddamn flock of geese on crack, and flailing her arms dramatically like I'm going to magically teleport the giant moving van out of her intended path of travel. Granny was wrong.

[the following takes place in the span of approximately 2.6 seconds]

I hear the honking.

I drop what I am doing.

I turn.

I see her irately flailing her arms.

I see her trying to verbalize something amidst the flailing and the honking.

I move all the way out to the opening at the back of the truck to see if she has perhaps pinned a cyclist or something.

I realize that there is no pinned cyclist.

I realize that granny thinks that just because she has been around since god was a boy that she owns the whole span of roadway, and that her Buick must be driven through it at the most wide, awkward angle possible, and that as a result, her retarded ass is honking AT ME because I am the one in the truck.

Granny's arms continue to flail.

A transient superficial thought crosses my mind that she might want to do something to contain those giant swaths of wrinkly arm skin before she hurts herself or someone else with them. (This is the only thought that passed through my head, I SWEAR.)

Without further thought or regard, I lift my arms at her threateningly and yell,

"WE'RE FUCKING MOVING, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT? NOBODY ELSE HAS A PROBLEM, SO KEEP GOING MOTHERFUCKER!"

Granny looks a little shocked.

Granny's arms go back down to her steering wheel.

Granny's honking has ceased.

Granny hits the gas and moves along.

[3.2 seconds pass]

I realize what I have just done.

I have screamed the word "Fuck" at a granny... TWICE... And then I called her a "Motherfucker."

I then realize the implications of my actions.

I realize that I just yelled these things at someone's grandmother...

I realize I have just signed the mortgage papers for an extra 9 acres on the river Styx.

I should just go ahead and make a sign that says "HELL OR BUST!" and start hitching my way there now... Because really, if there was any doubt I was going before, IT'S GONE NOW.