Slower traffic move right you motherloving apple!

This blog should probably be written in at least two parts.

The focus is on horrible Minnesota drivers.

I've been collecting data on this for the last 20 some years. 12 as a resident.

But today, I hit my limit.

Driving home with my oldest (the youngest stayed back for Easter weekend to attend his buddy's birthday party he just couldn't miss), I reached a new low.

My son asked me to promise to stop swearing.

"I'm sorry, Nile. But these *&@#*& drivers are killing me!" I replied.

"Dad, can you promise me you can stop swearing for the last hour of the drive?"

"Yes. Yeah, I can do that.... @#*#!&!#&'n &^%$&!" I lasted less than 30 seconds.

"Really, Dad?" Nile asked with a condescending grin.

So I decided I could do it. I'd stop cussing for one hour.

Even if these drivers don't get the simple things they should have learned in driver's education.

The number one offense of Minnesota drivers?

They don't understand that the left lane is for passing, the right lane is for slower traffic.

I encountered the following scenario exactly 5,032 times in the last 80 miles of my trip home today: Driving in the left lane, passing slower traffic. Suddenly there's a logjam of cars. Two cars at the front are driving side-by-side, perhaps texting each other what they have their cruise control set at so as to make sure they can piss off* the maximum number of drivers.
*(My son doesn't read this blog, so that use of a swear word is hereby declared "ineligible" for review by said son).

And mind you, this is always a logjam set at 61 MPH in a 65.

But, alas I was good for the rest of the trip.

Those motherlovin' apples can kiss my God-amped ask!

They can just shut the front door!

Nard scratchin' sons of beaches!

Spring Cleaning

There's something about when the thermometer creeps up above 60 that makes us turn into "doers" more than "sitters," especially here in the great tundra.

This winter, even the die hard Minnesotans were bitching about the snow and cold. It was THAT bad.

So this past weekend, I did the mother of all spring cleaning jobs.

My apartment had become pretty much a cross between a science experience gone bad and a broken beer bottle shank factory.

Throw in a few mystery spills here and there, and well you get the picture.

I'm lucky, because I happen to have a Lady Friend® who is down with OCD. And she was visiting this weekend.

Within a day of some pretty hard work, my place is renewed. Refreshed. I'm sore, tired, and still a little embarrassed to have let my Lady Friend® see my Mancave™, and by Mancave™ I mean more cave, and less man.

But Lady Friend® didn't bat an eye. She was like Patton if he had faced the battle of "WhyTheHellIsThisLayingHere?"

But truth be told, just as letting go of our mental clutter cleans our soul, so does throwing out a Shit-Ton™ of garbage and old clothes that didn't fit anyone in the house, other than the cat who made them into her own personal tunneling system over the last few months.

And so I share with you my "after" pics of my humble abode. Think of it as the "Prisoner in the Tundra" episode of MTV Cribs. Minus the fancy furniture, exotic artwork, or fancy ass volcano pool in the backyard.

May your spring cleaning include falling asleep on crisp and clean sheets when you are done. Goodnight. And thank you, Lady Friend®!