I am poops. I went to Shelby's b-ball game for the Tiger B-ball Tournament at Blair High School. (Blair HS is the one we pass by on Marengo on our way to Old Town.) There was a game at 11 and then we had to go back at 615 for another. They were always thisclose to winning. They played three games, and lost all three by 2 points. Arghs! Their baskets, *bounce boooouuunce circle circle* and out of the basket. Going to their b-ball games, I don't think is too good for my heart. I tense up too much. Heehee.

You know what is not good for my heart? Driving with the parents in the car. Constant nagging that you can't run away from.
Watch out for that man 2 miles away, you might hit him. You should have slowed down for the yellow to turn red. Why are you going so fast? You're going 35 in a 40 mph zone.

Mom, Dad? Because you drive slow, it makes me driving speed limit seem fast. It kills me to drive 25 in a 40 mph zone. 25 might SOUND fast, but try driving it. It's like I'm slowly laagggging my way here and there. On my slow way here and there, I would get some cutoffs, some honking, and maybe even a few fingers. We got a MAJOR cutoff on our way to Blair HS because you wouldn't let me go any faster than 35 mph! Kill me now! My heart, oh, my heart! Talk about road rage.

So, I told them NICELY, very nicely, that if they want me to drive sanely, then all they have to do is shut up. Simple as that. They decided to listen to my wise words. The result, a pleasant ride home, and thus, further proving my point.