Not my best

I'm generally a nice person and most people who know me, know that. But one of my heroes is Leah Remini, aka "Carrie" from the King of Queens. I'm not sure that says good things. I like being around people who are extremely honest, brutually if absolutely necessary, and unless the feelings of little kids or little old ladies need to be spared, they tell it like it is. I like this in other people, because I can't be that way. I so aspire to be like Carrie, but only in my daydreams. I never planned to act on it. So when the Carrie in me unleashed itself onto a perfect stranger over the weekend, I was unprepared for the afteraffect.

Although I preface this by saying that I am NOT proud of how I reacted, I must admit it was funny. Basically a lady accused me of hitting her door with my door as I was getting into my car. I think it was the initial look on her face ALONE that set me off. I went off on this woman, but when she said "And STAY OFF your cell phone," I went way off. This was all taking place in the Albertson's parking lot, and I was so enraged I was oblivious to who was around.

Here's the worst part. At the split second that she accused me of this, I was absolutely certain I never touched her car. Afterwards, I wasn't so sure. And it was no small nick. I didn't feel my door hit hers, didn't hear it, the wind wasn't blowing wildly, nothing. I was so sure I hadn't done it. Still, why not just take a different approach, see if the nick matched up to a point on my car door, and admit it if it did? I really don't know what came over me.

Two other times in my life I felt similar rage. One was when I was fifteen and one of my good friends just pissed me off royally. I was ready to smack her at the carnival in front of everyone. (Her name was Carrie - weird.) The other time I was several months pregnant and apparently was having a hormonally-induced temper tantrum. I threw something at Matt.

I'm going into an industry where you just can't act that way. That woman could have been a future student's grandmother. But something about the smug look on her face just sent me over the edge. She had an eldery lady with her, probably her mother, and it didn't stop me for a second. I was an ugly "B." So although it was suggested that perhaps I don't share this with anyone, it's sort of self-punishment to tell people what you did. It's embarrassing and you wish you didn't do it, yet you did and it's kind of funny. That's so wrong. But it's the truth, and isn't that what this is about?