Feisty

Today, I am feisty. I drive myself crazy when I get like this, not to mention those that have to deal with me.

The past couple of days, I've been in this weird funk (I think I might be getting sick), which today culminated in me wanting to fight just to fight. The fighting thing is pretty normal, those of you who know me know that. I like to argue. Utilizing absolutely no logic, of course. What is the use of fighting with logic? Then you already know you're right. It's better to just pretend that you are and convince others that you are, it's much more difficult and entertaining.

I picked up Scott at his apartment this morning to take him to work (one of the few luxuries of driving an hour and a half to my internship 3 times a week is that I pass his work on the way, so we can see each other in the morning. We're ridiculously busy right now, and usually don't see each other apart from this during the week). After picking him up, I proceeded on my way, where I had road rage approximately 3 times in a 5 minute period, and where I detailed why the Bears did not have a prayer of winning with their stubborn belief in Devin Hester as a wide receiver and Rex Grossman as quarterback. Scott rolls his eyes at me when I launch into tirades of this sort in the morning most of the time (like the other day, when I detailed all of the reasons why Lindsay Lohan is a classless whore who has no business pretending to be Marilyn Monroe). Today, however, he was feisty, too. So we ended up arguing over the fact that I needed to take responsibility for my own driving and not yell at people for driving slowly in front of me when I'm in the right lane.

He was right, of course. But my glares in his direction did not acknowledge that. I was not in the mood for him.

But this is what's great about dating a guy who gets the fact that you are totally off your rocker sometimes. We pulled up at Starbucks at Old Orchard and I threw my car into park. And he looked at me, smiled, and said, "You're great." And I made a face at him. I said, "No, I'm not. I'm feisty." And he said, "I know. But you're still great."

He's better than a psychiatrist, I tell you. Meds? Who needs meds? I've got Scotty Cups. And I'll even fight you for him. Anyone want to fight?