Specifically cabbies, and if you're looking for puppies and rainbows, this is not the site for you today.

In the past twelve hours, I have blown over $35 on cabs and I resent every penny (and laundry quarter). While I understand the a cab driver is a person making an active living from the ferrying about of paying passengers, I do not see why these death-traps need to be such money-sucking vortexes. Our roller coaster weather laid a fine layer of water down on the pavement here, prompting said cabbies to peel out at every light, except their 'peeling out' is actually a tire's mad scrabble for traction. This does not inspire confidence in the pissed-off passenger in back, buster. And when said passenger tells the cabbie specifically NOT to take a street, this is not the cue to drive down that street, along with every other driver in the Near Northwest. I don't care if the other cabs are doing it--just say no. Instead, listen to the PAYING CUSTOMER in the back and drive down the damn 4-lane to save time.

So, no, I will not be "have a nice night/day"ing it today. Thanks anyway. You apparent concern now that you've been paid doesn't negate the viscous hatred bubbling up inside of me. I need a Chocolate Glazed, I need hot chocolate, and I need a head on a platter. Any order will do.

Instead, I'm going bowling.

I hope this corporate-sponsored bowlin'n'beer party after work will assuage my anti-people stance. I like *these* people, I really do. They're kind, generous with compliments, self-depreciating, and all have a wicked wit...all tendencies not normally associated with their line of work. And they're my age group! After working with people more concerned with mortgages, re-roofing the house, or teething for, well, forever, it's amazingly wonderful to not have to look at Junior's 13-, 14-, and 15-week pictures. Yeah, it's a cute kid, but since it can neither talk nor understand pop culture references, I'm moving on. Needless to say, bowling is right up our alley (pardon the pun). We don't golf. If you're around Marigold at 3, stop on by. I'll be the one disgracing myself with a golf score Tiger would kill for, but I'll be bowling my heart out and having heaps of fun.