So, for those of you who are not English majors, there's an English poet named John Donne, who wrote a poem called "The Flea." It's not what most people would expect from a poet of Donne's generation, but basically the poem is the narrator trying to talk the target of the poem into shagging him. His logic goes something like this: a flea bit you, and then me, and so our blood is mixed in the flea, which is sort like marriage anyway, so we might as well do it.

I was talking to my mom earlier today, and she was telling me about how Mike was starting in with his "awww, look how beautiful Amie is. Do you know why she's beautiful? Because she's made of both of us..." This may sound cheesy at first glance, but mix Donne's element with a dash of leisure suit larry and a liberal drownding of Italian smarminess (and no, that is not an insult to Italians, my sister is Italian, but this man is really the ultimate in flesh-crawl-inducing Italian male steriotype), and you have a truly revolting scenario. He says these things when he's trying to get back in my mom's good graces, or, more explicitly, back in her pants. This time, my mom cut him off after the "You know why she's beautiful?" part, and interjected with "Because she looks just like me." Yay mom.

Also, my new pet peeve is people who apparently can't tell the difference between a two-way stop and a four-way stop. I just love it when some fricking nimrod pulls out in front of me seconds before I get there and I DON'T HAVE A STOPSIGN. I especially love it when said dickwad STOPS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAMNED INTERSECTION. *grumblegrumblegrumblegrumble*