for the love of jaysus.

I consider myself to be a pretty good driver. Careful, polite, law-abiding. I also consider myself to be one bad-ass parallel parker. If you can't parallel park, don't live in Pittsburgh. Regular parking space {and parking garages} are hard to come by if not completely and ridiculously expensive. And the part of the city I live in requires you to parallel park nearly everywhere. I drive a compact car, and let me just say, it's a dream to parallel park. I can fit into the tiniest of spaces without batting an eyelash.

So, when I see people driving like a) idiots, ii) jerks, or 3) 5 year-olds, I tend to lose the ability to bite my tongue, and, instead, curse their very existence. {Okay, well, I don't really curse their very existence, because that would be rude, but I sure do say some words that even Andrew Dice Clay might blush at. Okay, I don't actually say them, but I sure do think them. Really loudly.}

I just think that one should drive gracefully and with courtesy. Is that too much to ask?

Oh, wait. That's right. One should also drive SAFELY. Which, apparently, the woman who parked behind me at church on Sunday neglected to take into consideration.

Yesterday, I got my fine arse out of bed around 8:30 a.m. and decided I was going to go to Mass at 10 a.m. It was sunny out, I felt rather rested {so very odd for me}, and I figured it'd be great to go to Mass, get my For the Love of Jaysus time in for the week, and then run some errands and be home by 1 p.m. at the latest.

I left my house around 9:40 a.m., despite the fact that my church is a 5-minute drive away. Because one must get to church early if one wants a parking spot nearby.

I pulled up in front of the church, right on Fifth Avenue, and parallel parked in what I refer to as Rock Star Parking. I had plenty of time to spare, so I sat in my car for a few minutes and applied lip gloss and turned off my cell phone. Thank goodness I applied my lip gloss first, as I'm sure it would have ended up all over my face had I waited just a moment longer, because in my rear view mirror there suddenly appeared a tan Hyundai barreling towards the bumper of my little blue Chevy. I braced for the impact, only to see the Hyundai fly up on the curb behind me. About four feet onto it.

Where it could have killed someone.

I may or may not have said several swear words {yes, right there in front of the Lord's house} as I swallowed my heart which had frantically made its way into my throat seconds before. I glanced in the rear view mirror to identify the individual who decided to pull the aforementioned Indy 500 maneuver, but could only make out that it was a woman wearing large sunglasses. {Which clearly hadn't worked if it was, in fact, the sun which caused her to make such an inappropriate parking decision.} I noticed, too, that there was a gentleman in the passenger's seat. For the next few minutes, the man seemed to be instructing the woman on how to move the car from the sidewalk to the street. She seemed to be struggling with the task. I was still trying not to throw up.

After several minutes, she eventually got the car off the sidewalk and parked somewhat normally on the street. When she emerged from the car, I noticed that she was a woman probably in her late 50s or early 60s. My guess is that the gentleman was her husband and that she'd never, in fact, driven before that day. They exited the vehicle and walked around to the curb side of the car, bending down to look at the front right tire.

"I expect to have a flat tire when we come out of church," she said.

You don't say.

For the love of Jaysus, some people just shouldn't drive.

with love from Pittsburgh,
Laura