The double “D” is for doubly disappointing…

Today was a bad day. Especially for things beginning with the letter D.

The dumbass woman in front of me during my commute this morning was doing everything short of actually moving forward in her vehicle: brushing her hair, talking on her cell phone, reaching down to the floorboards of her vehicle repeatedly, applying moisturizer to her face (with BOTH HANDS), and moving a large gym bag from the front seat to the back, making sure it was well-situated. I honked finally after that last one, because the gaps she was leaving between her and the next car were getting progressively larger and larger. I had to change lanes to avoid a road rage situation with me on the giving end. Note to the dumbass in the green late-model Escort on 288 — you don’t want to be in front of me tomorrow.

I transitioned cleanly from road rage to office rage when Anonymous Annoyance at the office refused to help me on my massive project. See, everyone else in the office helped at some point over the course of the last two days. Including the woman who’s going on vacation tomorrow and told us at lunch today that she “hopes to go on vacation tomorrow; I’ll just see how much I get done today!” But the obnoxious one instead hung around the conference room, offering comments like, “Wow, I’m glad I’m not stuck with this!” Coincidentally, this person’s name starts with a “D,” too. What a surprise.

And Double Dave’s ran out of deep dish again, so there’s a quadruple D-tastrophe right there. Seriously, how do you run out of deep dish every night you’re in operation? I’m not understanding this.

(NB: The parking people who annoyed me this morning get a pass, because they don’t start with “D.” Also because their D-lay allowed me to catch Sam Donaldson, “Live in America” again. Sam was my good D for the day.)

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