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The story of this blog involves a rather short conversation in a 2012 Camaro with a little over 60,000 miles on it.

My mother and I were attempting to find a yellow 1980′sish Camaro that had been sitting in a parking lot for a little over a year now waiting to bought by anyone dumb enough to buy a car that had been sitting in a parking lot for a little over a year.

Needless to say I’m a part of the human triple vin diagram that includes those who are dumb enough to want to buy a car that has been sitting a parking lot for a little over a year, those who do not have the money to buy a used car (my bank balance read 00.25, at this point in time) and thinks that they could convince the seller of said car to trade the car for some sort of service (because people in this category also think that happy endings and unicorns are real), and people who get angry and go on rants about the smallest minute details of human life that mean absolutely nothing to those outside the vinn diagram that have some things called “sanity” and “self control”.

If this triple vin digram were to be drawn out I would be in the center of the three overlapping circles as I am dumb, believe in unicorns, and don’t have anything resembling “sanity” or “self control”. Just ask my “friends” and “family” and by “friends” I mean charitable people who I take advantage of by guilting them into spending time with me because I’m so selfless that I need to share my misery with the rest of the world. And by “family” I mean people who are forced to live in close proximity of me due to life’s habit of creating more life, and that life not moving out of the house right after high school.

Cutting back to this scene, I am driving the 2012 Camaro looking for the yellow 1980′sish Camaro that, for doing this for a little over a year now, had failed to appear in its spot in the parking lot next to a used car dealership that had 1980′sish Camaros that actually appeared to be able to run under their own power.

Frustrated by the lack of unicorns and junkyard yellow Camaros in the world I then began ranting about how I will be unable to make a U-Turn on the road I was currently driving, since the whole state of Arizona seems to be based on the idea that you will drive to the location that you want to go to and then drive back via left-turn from you destination, and any deviation from that plan will require you to ether buy a new place of residence or find a new place of employment since you made the mistake of not turning at the last intersection, even though the idiot driving his electric unicycle on the road was hogging the entire turn lane.

(Or you know, you could make a series of right turns, but who wants to do that?)

Hence why Arizona is known as a “right to work state”. Personally I rather imagine Arizona’s inability to allow you to not drive in a straight path to your destination is more of an overt stance on the state’s prohibition of gay marriage.

Anyway as I made my rant about the lack of places to make a legal u-turn and how that the reasoning behind the US Constitution giving the ability to create marriage laws to state governments is because marriage in the 1780′s was more of a business deal between two property owning men than two humans in love, and that the idea of “marrying out of love” only came about in human society when middle-class women were given the ability to buy more affordable birth control pills. My mother, who I had forgotten was in the car the whole time, said rather bluntly that the reason why I am single is because I bitch about everything that doesn’t matter.

Rather than retorting and saying that marriage equality is important, because not being recognized by a state government doesn’t allow homosexual couples access to certain tax and insurance benefits as those available to the recognized heterosexual couples, effectively making homosexuals second class citizens in a country that stated that everyone is created equal, after the whole slavery debacle was over. (That killed more than 620,000 Americans)

I realized that other than my lack of good looks, money, mastery of speech, abundance of knowledge the average person would consider interesting, table manners, and ability to care about anyone other than myself (who I don’t really care about all that much anyway I/he am/is a dick), the reason why I am single is because I go on rants about stupid things because I rather do that than face my own impending personal oblivion that we will all meet someday because life is utterly cruel and beautiful. Also my usage of the Oxford Comma seems to be an issue with girls that are more linguistically inclined. (Also my usage of run-on sentences)

To those girls I say

“I went to the White House with the strippers, Barack Obama and John Boehner”

(As a side note verbally saying this instead of writing it doesn’t seem to get my point across and normally (as in always) ends with a conversation with an abrupt, awkward end, as suppose to a hilarious joke shared between to people who love the weirdness of the English language and getting to second base.)

((She was probably a lesbian anyway.))

I instead (of retorting to my mother’s comment as perviously mentioned) I said that this is who I am, and that I am happy (lie) with who I am (lie inside of another lie) and that I don’t care that it’s Adam and Eve and not Adam (Possibly Audrey), Eve (possibly Steve), and their awkward, loud “friend” who third wheels their dates uninvited and ruins them because he always finds something stupid to bitch about.

My mother then said rather plainly that if I ever want to get laid ( a “home run” as suppose to the aforementioned “second base” that imaginary girls who like the weirdness of the english language like getting to) that I should start a blog and then bitch about everything that I want to bitch about.

I hesitated at first, but as I finished my rant on how I think Dodge Chargers aren’t real muscle cars because they’re sedans and how I think the Dodge Ram Ram is stupid because it’s a ram, I was inclined to agree.

So here’s to me getting laid by answering the question “so what do you do for fun” by saying “writing a blog about stuff that pisses me off”.

Also if you have a 1980′sish Camaro you want to give me for free, feel free to contact me.

Picture: Not Arizona