Throwing rocks at boys

I have not been in the blogging mood lately. I have nothing to say, or maybe just nothing I can say publicly without being reprimanded by it. Crazy Lady still doles out spankings, they are just in the form of verbal lashings with disappointed huffy sighs interjected here and there. That woman can make you feel like you just committed murder in the first degree by one huff of air out of her mouth. Worst. Feeling. Ever.

I went running the other night, thought I would get my butt in gear since I took three days off with that Seattle trip. It was a bad choice. Or I guess my route was the bad choice.

I posted about this on Facebook, I’m sure I shocked everyone with a status update that was not a blog share.

Worst thing about running – being yelled at by people driving past you. Five “yell-by’s” tonight, two from the same truck. And I don’t think they were compliments… I need to carry rocks with me next time.

Some people suggested I carry a water gun, some a paint gun, others a real gun…. I would end up shooting myself in the foot or thigh. I just cannot wrap my head around why it is so entertaining for people to yell things at others while driving past them. It’s always boys/young men. Always. They feed off each other in their “I’m so insecure I need to yell at running women to make myself feel cool” way.

The truck had Idaho plates, so I knew right away it was college kids. Probably football players (who are also all Business majors, I swear, just ask…). On their second drive past me they turned into one of the dorm parking lots I was running past so they have to be freshmen or sophomores. No one here lives in the dorms after their sophomore year. Foolish young boys who probably just got done getting Taco Bell or McDonalds and thought it would be hilarious to make fun of some strange woman (I really have to make a point to think of myself as a woman now and not a girl) as she huffs and puffs through her half hour of running. Mean, mean boys.

I felt like I was back on the playground being made fun of [by boys] for not being able to climb up the trees, or do the monkey bars all the way across. Back then the boys would throw rocks at you, but that usually was to get your attention. “Hey, I think I might like this girl, but I’m not sure how to show it. I know, I’ll throw a rock at her head.”

Then middle/high school happens and boys just turn mean. College ruins them further, and it takes until they hit about 30 for them to snap out of it. Get them alone, however, and they are usually polite and nice. Throw them in a pack and they start losing that sheen of maturity you got a glimpse of.

This will not happen with The Neph. It will not. His lesson the other day – “Only yell at the people you know when driving past them.”

I wonder what they do after they yell out their car windows. “Oh dude, that was so funny the way you screamed at that girl you didn’t know.”

I had earbuds in, I was rocking out to the new jams I got off the soundtrack to The Great Gatsby. (Which I have not seen yet, and think I missed my chance to view it in a theater, lame.) I didn’t hear anything that they yelled out, except for I think I caught a “don’t stop” or something along those lines. There is a slim chance they were encouraging me. Slim chance, like a 1/1,000,000,000 kind of chance.

I should have pulled them out of the truck and kicked them all in the shins.

Now who is the cool one?

In other news, my blog powers are at it again as Sister Fierce is desperately trying to keep Baby Gil from coming early. I halfway joked I would have to deliver him on our trip to Seattle and it wasn’t but just a day after we came back that Sister Fierce was up in the hospital getting injected with some drug that has kind-of, sort-of, stopped her contractions. Gilbert is somewhat persistent in his exiting plan. I wouldn’t mind him coming early as long as he is healthy. Just stay in there a little longer Gilly, trust me, this world isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I am all I’m cracked up to be however.

Sister Fierce reported to me that Baby Gil gets very active when he hears me singing on stage. The kid already has good taste. Or, in the least, has discovered the person he can manipulate to give him anything his little heart desires.

I just can’t wait to hear that little boy yell at me.


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