They turned me into a weak, pathetic, lying, cheating, piece of ***** L-word addict, and for this I will always be grateful to each and every one of them. Not only do I read them religiously, but am constantly reminded of their influence in my life whenever I wear my ***** DRAMA CLUB jacket, the jacket which now seems to have incensed the aged driver behind me.

After staring directly into the old man’s eyes and relaying to him my intent through my piercing glare, I again suppressed the urge to dismount the Harley and give him a piece of my mind as well as a piece of my clenched fist. I resisted the vision in my head of opening a saddlebag, digging out a 17 inch– 8 pound crescent wrench, and wielding that weapon of much destruction in the direction of the baby blue Olds.

We locked eyes for several seconds, neither of us wanting to be the first to blink. And it was just enough time for the light to turn red once again. I saw his bony hands pound the steering wheel as he yelled “*****”. Frustrated by my lack of action, he again beeped his horn, not in a series of HONK HONK HONK, but rather one long annoying HHHHOOOOOONNNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKK.

I pushed the sunglasses back up my nose and mouthed the word “*****” then faced front on the bike anticipating the changing of the light once again. My need to feel a sugar rush and feed the L addiction certainly outweighed my desire to settle the score with one old army vet who was more than likely late to an afternoon bingo session. Erasing the thoughts of K and my shrink having an affair right under my clueless and unsuspecting nose was way more important than erasing this ancient coot from the face of the earth. I revved the throttle of the bike several times making it clear to the man in the Olds behind me that I was in no mood for further confrontation. I was one angry “***** LOVIN ***** LICKIN” woman on a mission.

Perhaps the man mistook my engine noise as a personal challenge or maybe he just mistook the gas pedal for the brake, because the next thing I knew his 1979 baby blue Oldsmobile Delta 88 had rammed the back of my Harley Sportster. Upon impact, my hand released the brake as I revved the engine and the bike jolted forward as if it were shot from a cannon. Unnerved but gaining my senses quickly enough to stop the bike from traveling through the red light and into the intersection, I instinctively grabbed the brake again and brought the bike to an abrupt halt. Unfortunately, I sent MYSELF flying over the handlebars and into the busy intersection. Before hitting the ground I tucked my head and spun on my shoulder giving the bystanders around the intersection a glimpse of my once-proficient volleyball skills . .the ol DIG AND ROLL.