April 22, 2011

I can't put a title on this one because then you might not even read the post.

For those of you who don't know, I moved across the "border" as we like to call it here in the Deep South - the border being the Chattahoochee River, from Georgia to Alabama. Us Georgians have relentlessly made fun of Alabamians for quite some time. We've always kidded around saying "Oh, you got your passport ready?" to someone who says they're going over to Alabama for something.

See, my hometown is on the western border of Georgia, with the Chattahoochee River dividing my home state from good ole' Alabama. People who live in my hometown may go to work across the river and vice versa. But somehow, us Georgians have always thought of ourselves as a little higher and mightier than our neighbors in Alabama. We joke, right along with the rest of the nation, among other things, that married people's family trees in Alabama are pretty closely related, if you know what I mean.

And funny that I should mention this because Mark and I, who are getting married in t-minus 36 days, are related. Woah. Whammie. Yep. Both his and my ancestors made their homes in the great state of Alabama, so I guess there's some truth to the teasing. The relation is over four generations from us, but still. I won't lie and tell you that this fact does not bother me, because I've had nightmares of the possibility of having water head babies. Nonetheless, we're plugging right along with wedding plans.

But this is not the main topic of this post. I'll go ahead and tell you what is so that you may prepare yourself. Douche. Douche is the topic of this post. (But not in the way you may be thinking. Good lord, not in that way.)

Another thing we Georgians like to harp on about Alabama residents is their driving skills. Or rather, their lack of driving skills. My road rage has gotten a little Out. Of. Control. since moving across the border. I have no shame in making fun of Alabamians driving skills because THEY SUCK. I'm not sure what sort of driving test they have to pass, but it is certainly not up to par with the one I agonized over when I was sixteen. To put this all into perspective, the last time Mark had to renew his driver's license, it was at the Alabama Department of Motor Vehicles IN A MOTHER EFFING DOUBLE WIDE TRAILOR. No joke. So now that you have some perspective, let's move on to our main topic.

I'm not much of a cuss-er. I'll drop an eff bomb every once in awhile for dramatic flair, and I'll employ the use of a holy sh*t or two when I stub my toe, but I've never been one to use four letter words to attack an actual human being. Because of this, I've had to resort, in my validated times of road rage driving into Alabama everyday, to some other type of verbal vindication to assault these idiot drivers who can't hear me. For me? That verbal vindication is the use of the word douche.

There are so many amazing ways to use that word; so many perfect nouns one can use to follow that word. A few of them are (and this list is certainly not exhaustive, so please feel free to leave a comment with your favorite douchetastic noun):
-Bag (Duh.)
-Dropping (I'm afraid I may have lost some of you on that one. Hello? Still here?)
-Bunny (This one I'm not sure about. It just slips out of my mouth sometimes and I have no control over it. Please don't judge.)
-Tard (I may be going to hell for that one.)
I mean, I can go on and on.

Today's selection was Douche Cookie. And really, it's just kind of whatever flows out of my mouth in my time of need. So if you're ever driving through Alabama and an idiot driver does something douche-y, just know that I've probably already let him know just how much of a Douche River he is.

Did I lose ya'll? I hope not. I've always promised full disclosure, so that's what you get and I make no apologies.