Let me preface this blog by stating how much I love animals, pretty much all animals.  Not in a cat lady type of way, just that I am that person that will slam on the brakes and cause a 20 car pile-up to let a chipmunk cross the street.  On occasion I admit I find myself saying hello to birds, rabbits, seals or whatever else I come across, but it never morphs into anything close to a Dr. Doolittle situation.  Lately, however, I’m starting to notice there is something not quite right with my “relationship” with squirrels.  Not the normal grey squirrel I find at home that I can bounce bread off of while feeding the birds and not have it even flinch, but the mutant chipmunk looking squirrels in Maine.

These odd little mutant gatherers of nuts seem to have it out for me.  That or they want to make me their queen, I haven’t figured out which.  Maybe singing Rob Base’s “I’m just a squirrel trying to get a nut to move your butt to the dance floor” is having a Pied Piper type effect on these little creatures.  Whatever it may be, these furry rodents keep appearing and not just in trees where you often see them.  They stare me down whenever I am outside and squawk at me and I can only imagine what they are saying in their squirrel language.  I swear I saw one of them give me the little squirrel finger the other day, but they only have four fingers so I can’t really be sure.

You know in the movie The Godfather when a man finds a horse head in his bed?  In the midst of all this squirrel oddness, how can I not think that coming across mounted squirrel butts in not one, but two stores, is not a similar sign of warning of some sorts?

Who the heck mounts squirrel butts to wood?  I know some people will do whatever they can to get a piece of ass, but come on.

Shortly after my experience of being up close and personal with the backside of a squirrel, I was sitting in bed one morning and looked up into the eyes of a squirrel staring at me from atop a cabinet.  While it sat and waved at me not one of my three, yes three, hunting dogs noticed as they sat with me on the bed.  Don’t you just find that a little odd?  I was the only one in my family that saw the squirrel and I’m pretty sure it wanted it that way.

You might think all of this is just a coincidence right?  Yeah, well then explain why this happened shortly after.

In case you are confused by that picture, it is a squirrel stuck in my dryer vent.  Of course it is because that happens every day.  Until I can figure out why all of this keeps happening to me, I am no longer wearing my acorn necklace.

Last night, as my husband and I were sitting in traffic on whatever road that is in Charlestown that goes by the Hood Plant and Bunker Hill Community College, I asked him what percentage of people he thought were assholes.  He thinks about 40% which I feel is a little low, but he is an optimistic, glass half full type of guy.  I would have to guess at least 60%.  I personally feel we should bring back the Scarlet Letter, the “A” standing for A-hole, however. How can I say that you ask?  How can I not see the good in most humans?  I do see the good but I also see that little bit of entitlement that most people have.  That entitlement that makes so many people think that their time is more valuable than everyone else’s.  Whether you like it or not, entitlement = a-hole.  Period.

The reason for asking my husband such a question out of the blue, stemmed from watching a number of people drive down the driveway of the College to cut off everyone sitting in traffic.  Why would anyone do that unless they felt their time was more valuable than mine?  Do they think I enjoy traffic?  All of the people sitting in gridlock would much rather see them get to their location first?  Maybe, but I highly doubt it.  Most likely it is just a sense of entitlement which we now know, equals a-hole.  Now I’m not saying I don’t have a little bit of a-hole in me, so of course we used our 42 foot long Suburban to block them as we giggled.  I never said we weren’t childish, just not entitled.

I see this sense of entitlement in people every single day in some form or another.  I see it at school pickup and downtown with people parking in bus stops, crosswalks and handicap spaces.  What other possible reason could people have for doing this other than a sense of entitlement?  Right?  Do they really believe that them being late for a tennis match and needing their half-caff latte justifies them parking in a handicap spot more than a person in a wheelchair?  It’s just for a minute though, that person can wait.  They know crosswalk safety is important but their coffee is as, if not more, important, and it’s just for a minute.  Even if you are on your way to serve hungry children, you still don’t get the right to park in front of someone’s driveway to grab a coffee.  I see people every day that wait until the last-minute to pick up their child from school and because they are late, the person trying to back out of their driveway will just have to wait a minute.  Do you see what I mean?  I’m starting to rethink my percentage, I may have to push it up a little.

I really need to start asking people where this entitlement comes from.  I wonder if we all start calling people out on their a-holeness if it might embarrass some enough to prevent it from happening again. Probably not, but it’s worth a try.  Maybe I’ll use my God-given gift of sarcasm and start asking people if they are heart surgeons.  When they respond “no” with a look of confusion on their face, I will just respond with “oh, I assumed you must be on your way to a lifesaving operation and need that caffeine to keep you sharp, I couldn’t imagine why else would you be parked in a crosswalk, my bad”.

Remember way back, oh so long ago when we didn’t have the internet or social media?  The youth of today probably think it was right around the same time fire was created.  It was a time where people tended to keep their opinions about religion, politics and abortion to themselves because we all know, you never spoke about those in public.  Well, people still won’t speak about those topics in public but they will on the internet. It’s as if the internet gives people a mask of sort but with their name attached.  It’s almost like all the rules we learned about life disappear once we open up that electronic device.  A portal to Hell. Our computer scans our brain and removes any filter we may have that prevents us from insulting others.

We all believe that our opinion is the right opinion.  I know I do because, well, it is.  Duh.  However, you never really knew what your friends and neighbors opinions were about controversial topics.  You weren’t really sure who was a Republican or Democrat unless that person chose to put a sign on their lawn around election time.  If you had an opposing view you may have urinated on the sign after dark but that was as far as it went.  You would hide your ballot in your underwear so no one knew who you were voting for.  I never had any idea who carried guns, loved guns, played with guns, and slept with guns, but now I do.  It really is amazing how angry people can get once other people’s opinions that differ from their own are out in the open.  I find myself liking some people less as a result which is a shame because there weren’t that many people I actually liked in the first place.

It makes me question what’s next.  If this continues people are going to be walking around their neighborhoods with pitchforks calling people out of their homes.  Bricks will be flying through windows in the most affluent of areas and tarring and feathering will make a comeback.  I know I jest but the anger that boils up inside of people just from reading an anti or pro-gun post on Facebook is insane. I even find myself having to walk away from my computer while mumbling the word asshat on a daily basis. This can only get worse, I can see it now, Democrats and Republicans will be having rumbles in parking lots.  We just need to decide which represents the Greasers and which the Socs.  I’m too preppy to be a Greaser so I hope this works out to my benefit.

Lately I have noticed the power of Facebook.  The extreme power that anything you like and/or post on Facebook has to your few hundred closest friends.  There are bajillions of posts you scroll through daily, most of which you pass by, but some cause you to pause, reflect, and think what a lovely sentiment that is.  Not necessarily because you are currently, or have ever gone through something similar, just because you think it is well written.  Well, be careful which ones you decide to “like” or “share” because no matter what the topic, people will think you are currently plagued by those emotions.  Half the time I think my old fingers probably just hit “like” on my phone without me even knowing.  I can only imagine what people have surmised about me from that.

Today, however, after posting a funny status relating to figuratively getting knocked down, I received concerned texts about my wellbeing.  I was so busy laughing at the funny I had just made that it didn’t even occur to me people might think I am afflicted by something. Don’t get me wrong, I am so fortunate to have family and friends that instantly check to make sure I am not in fact in need of support, but you really have to watch what you do on Facebook. Or do you??? This could be really fun. Endless possibilities of messing with people.  (Insert sinister laugh here)

I often make references to being a pole dancer and a porn star just to keep people guessing, but how many other posts can I “like” to see how concerned people will get.  If I play my cards right I can have all of my “best friends” actually believing I am questioning my identity, a card-carrying member of the NRA, a polygamist, have spent time in jail, a born again Christian, and a recovering heroin addict.  I would guess it wouldn’t take longer than a week before I open my front door to get the mail and walk in to an intervention.  I should probably buy a new outfit for that.