Twice in the last week I have been given the cosmic dick symbol.
Not the middle finger, although my daughter's boyfriend does accidentally flip the bird in a zoo photo when his hand isn't quite done grasping the item he is holding. Suddenly, we have a middle-finger photo bomb. Nope, this is not the same as the cosmic dick symbol.
The first time is when my daughter and I finally turn off of the Mass Turnpike/NY Thruway after driving for hours. Well, it's not really the NY Thruway until we hit Schenectady, so I'm not sure what the No Man's Land of I-90 is between Stockbridge, MA., and Albany, NY. (I can tell you it's the part with no rest areas and/or bathrooms.)
We finally reach our exit in Schenectady when my daughter's gas light comes on in her car. Directly across the street from our hotel is a gas station, so we pull in to get gas. The GPS totally freaks out on us and demands that we get back on the highway, then immediately pull off the highway and backtrack from whence we have already come. This direction combined with the direction we just completed, creates a huge roundabout conundrum -- one which we have zero intention of fulfilling because our hotel IS DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STREET FROM WHERE WE ARE.
It's like the GPS is trying to screw with us. Even worse, the directions create a giant phallus on the screen. Yes, technology is trying to screw us right here in New York, like it senses we're from out of state and wants to mess with our minds. "F*** you and drive around in this giant penis-like map structure, you little Massholes!"
Needless to say, we drive across the street to the hotel and leave the penis on the GPS while technology screams at us, "RECALCULATING! RECALCULATING!"
The second dick symbol arrives this morning on the projected weather radar map. I'm up early trying to plan my activities. For the first time in about seven days, we are finally getting a break from the heatwave. This means thundershowers and downpours, but I have a day of shopping planned. I am trying to figure out what time to hit which stores in order to avoid doing the longest walk to my parked car during the heaviest waterworks.
But, as I'm about to shut everything down and get my day started, I notice the predicted storm activity exploding over the South Shore after it passes by my area. And, by God, the storm track turns into a giant, colorful radar dick. In other words, anyone in the storm's path is going to be totally and completely fucked.
You can judge these pictures for yourself. Yes, I probably have a dirty, filthy, horrible mind. But it sure does look like the universe is giving me the cosmic F*** OFF. In the end, I win, though. My daughter and I get to the hotel in NY without incident, and I only get a little drizzled on during thunderstorms today -- plus, almost everything is on sale or purchased with coupons and gift cards. (My little way of dicking the universe right back, I suppose.)
