Little Sportscar, Littler Winky.

I hate people. I hate them near and far. I hate them out at bars. But at the risk of sounding like Dr. Seuss' bitter, jaded, red-headed stepchild that the family doesn't talk about, I'll suffice it to say I hate them most in cars. Really though, few things aggravate me more on the road than winky-less jackasses who drive tiny little sports cars yet can't figure out how to put them in gear on the highway. I'm from the tri-state. I huff, I puff, and I get super pissed when I've got somewhere to be and you can't figure out how to go from neutral to fifth gear in fewer than five minutes because you have a penis the size of a runt cocktail weenie and to compensate you bought a car you can't drive. However, I'm amused by the fact that yes, asshole, I drive stick better than you. And yes, I'm a girl. And yes, I'm pretty confident my non-existent man part is bigger than yours, too.

Blarg. I'm going to go sit my snarky self under my imaginary basking lamp since it's raining and I'm only going to get crankier. Is 9:18AM too early for cocktails?

Doombots and Prostitots: The Story of Islands of Adventure

Having exhausted all opportunities in Disney's own parks over the past two weeks, yesterday we adventured to Universal's Islands of Adventure (bee tee dubble ewe, if you find that you've got 90 dollars just burning a hole in your pocket that you plan on paper shredding or flushing, kick it up a notch. Adventure to this park. It's basically the same thing...only this version comes with 3 hour lines per attraction.)

...but that's not the point of today's post. More importantly, I'd like to issue an 80s style PSA regarding parents and their choices of clothing (or...rather...lack thereof) for their little girls. Letting your child walk around in a see through training bra while you carry her shirt doesn't constitute good parenting. It makes you look like a careless dolt and your daughter look like a pre-pubescent, pre-adolescent trollop. Even less sexy is allowing your 4 year old to strut about in a "bikini" top comprised of two teensie tiny triangles (high five for alliteration!) showing off the goodies she won't develop for another 8-10 years. Finally, letting your 8-9 year old daughter walk around TOPLESS in a crowded park (not Islands of Adventure per se...this was encountered on today's Blizzard Beach adventure) should garner you jail time. If not jail time, then at least a swift kick in the teeth. And if that still isn't possible...at least know that I'm currently brandishing my fist at you. You deserve it for turning your baby girl into a pedophile's wet dream.

...Whew. I'm tired. And yes, I just flew the "The More You Know" star over my head.

Best. Shirt. EVER.

To preface, this post is for those of you who remember the 90s. A simpler time. A magical time. A time when we played hopscotch instead of Xbox. A time when we had real friends in real life that we had actually met...not creepy old men who knew a friend of a friend of a friend of a great aunt of a kid who may or may not have sat next to us in one class in junior high...who was just lucky enough to rekindle our :ahem: deep friendship through Facebook's "people you may know" stalker button. A time when caffeine addiction was running rampant through California high schools. A time when said addiction was documented by one ridiculously attractive fake blonde boy and his cell phone which was roughly the size of my arm.

Which brings me to the best shirt ever, the inspiration for this very post. I happened to be in Epcot a few nights ago trolling the grounds between one side of the World Showcase and the other. As I was crossing the bridge between France (BOO Frenchies!) and England (YAY Brits!), there it was...the BEST.SHIRT.EVER.

I was momentarily shocked and awed by the beauty standing before me. Simplistic in its design, the shirt featured nothing more than a bottle of caffeine pills surrounded by the words "I'm so excited. I'm so SCARED." Immediately, I was in love, and transported back to the time when 7 year olds didn't weigh 145 pounds. It was like sex...only 90s-er.

With that, I conclude this post. I hope it managed to transport you all back to a better time. A simpler time. A time when Jessie Spano went to rehab for caffeine pills.

Cheers.