Tired of crazies

So I drive an old Grand Cherokee that I bought for 500 dollars. One of my back tires is so bad off, it must be aired up at least as often as I gas up. Sometimes I go out to find it low or nearly flat, and then bee-line to the closest (about a mile to mile and a half away) gas station to air it.
So the other day, I go out, and unbelieveably both my back tires had gone nearly flat overnight. I stared at them both blankly and then frowned, but they had not even the decency to look embarrassed about it.

I got in and began my trek to the gas station. At a light, a man in a truck next to me begins to wave and yell. I know what he's going to say, but don't wish to seem rude. I roll down my window.

"Lady, do you know you have two flat tires?" He says as in a tone as if to say I caused this by having a uterus.
I nod, showing my tired frustration, then begin rolling back up the window while saying, "thanks!" cheerily.

"Lady!"
"Yes?" I stop the window.
"You have TWO flat tires!"

I consider explaining the difference between flat and nearly flat, as well as pointing to the gas station I'm in the lane for, but instead just nod, with an expression of 'sorry' on my face--as if I'm truly sorry for making him have to tell me this while we are stopped at the light.
"Well," he begins with pure exasperation, "you need to get them fixed!"
By this time I'm fed up with Captain obvious and mumble "Yes, Dad."
He doesn't hear me, but he can see I've said something, and so replies--I'm still trying to believe he's still talking to me and depserately want the light to change-- "You have to do something about that."
Finally, I've had it and ask, "You wanna give me your spare? I'm just carrying the one, and BOTH my tires are flat!"

I mean seriously you'd think he'd notice I'm OBVIOUSLY having a not so great morning as it is. The light changes and before he takes off he yells,
"Witch!" Only he mistakenly used a B instead of a W.

It actually takes me a moment to take off and turn into the station I'm so stunned at this reply. I'm amazed that my bad morning had so personally disgusted and offended this man in his gigantric truck.

I told a friend who explained to me that to vehicles, apparently flat tires are synonymous with flipping the middle finger, and so I had just given him a double birdie.

So now I guess I get it. I am just not that fluent in car cussing I guess.

My shoulder

So March 22nd there was a going-away party for a co-worker. It involved a nasty mix of alcohol and karaoke, two things that can only mix nastily. I can always measure my drunkeness at these affairs by how many times I sing, this was a good night, just sang once. After getting home and changed for bed, I went to the kitchen for a drink. I filled the cup from the faucet, then turned around to drink. (It's hard to imagine your water as refershing and clean while looking at dirty dishes in your sink.) As I did so, my feet slipped on some heretofore unnoticed water on the floor, and down I went. On my way, I made the feeble attempt at catching myself with my left hand on the counter. I missed. My elbow, unbeknownest to me, decided to martyr istelf and catch on the counter anyway, causing my whole arm to be swept up in a very swift and crunching manner.

So, at about 4am on the 23rd, I damaged some piece in my shoulder. I waited a month, but today finally went to an orthopedic doctor. Now I face an MRI next week, and unless its much better than we all think, I may well be facing surgery. I'm not a big fan of the concept, but its not the surgery itself I find bothersome, its missing work. My situation doesn't demand much money to live, just to live as I would like. But that isn't much compared to the whole, how am I supposed to fill my jobless days?

I, most of the time, like serving. I'm of the age that I am supposed to be in some sort of career styled after my college degree, but as I had kids instead of a degree, that is not the case. Serving is good money for the hours worked, and offers a job wherein you can form those wacky schedules conducive to going back to school. (not to mention an extra day off is often easily had by getting someone to just pick up your shift--no trying to eek or count out personal days.)

So serving is money, fast paced but basically easy, and often entertaining. If you've ever been eating out and wondered if your server was talking about you in the back--yes, we are... and it's hilarious. I work with great people, some of whom are some of the funniest people I've ever known.

So my shoulder isn't just cheating me out of money, but costing me a huge loss in material at not being able to make fun of customers with my coworkers.

So I guess I'll just make fun of you to your face right here. I'll come eat at your restaraunt later, and you can go in the back and talk about my list of special instructions with your friends then.

Feedback

So many years ago I discovered the internet to be vastly interested in giving me an education, helping me lose weight, selling me homes, buying my homes, giving me bigger boobs, making my penis more exciting, and all sorts of other things that as it happens, I have no interest in. As such I began using two e-mail accounts, one for people I know, the other for everything else from business to shopping to surveys. The account for me, the account for spam. The e-mail account here is the spammy one. So, if you want to rant back, and want me to read it, use as your subject heading "Blog:" followed by your choice of subject. Otherwise I'll just delete it to the junk file.

The name, hopsgirl, I'll clear up right now, as I've had odd questions about it in the past. (a) I'm a girl, uh duh. (b) hops refers to the ingredient in beer. I'm what many refer to as a 'beer snob.' Meaning I prefer taste over marketing. I love a good, funny, super-bowl worthy beer commercials, just not their product.

For those who do not know, beer has four basic ingredients. Water, yeast, hops and grain. Hops is what gives beer its bitterness, amongst other things. I drink my coffee black, my tea unsweetened (with lemon preferably), my wine dry and my beer hoppy. I'm a bitter sort of gal.

One

So if I had a dime for everytime someone asked/whined about my not reading their blog--well I'd have a good sized bag for the Coinstar machines. (a dime bag without the haze?) So yes, I'm basically self-centered and selfish. So why me, here, now? Perhaps I'm inspired by some occasional blog reading to do my own. Perhaps I have some things I want to say to the world. Mostly I like to rant to myself, and as the most likely sole reader, this works as well as any other venue. But today, it's because the doctor has just taken me and my damaged (possibly rotator cuff)shoulder off work. Turns out beer and vicodin are not completely the cure for off-work boredom.
I have no theme, no long term goals, for this blog. The title, Central Barren, is taken from a nearby--we have four houses and no zip code-of-our-own--town. I always thought it a funny, unambitious, name for a town. Central is the middle, Barren is nothingness, or the lack of ability to create something. Ergo, Central Barren is downtown no-where, the middle of nothing. It seemed right for a blog dedicated to my unproductive self.
I'm above average intelligence, but well below in ambition. I'm somewhat creative, but very unproductive. I'm not a big fan of change, but cannot stand regimented regularity--must have the spontaneous occasionally. So today, its a blog. Tomorrow, it'll probably be the abandonment of the blog.
So read if you got nothing better to do, and since I've got nothing on my schedule, I'll just write.