Mother Nature: Mama Hater.

Driving home in the cold night air, thinking about how wonderful my two-hour massage on Thursday is going to be, and how so very much I need it.
I pull into my neighborhood that is well-known to trap vehicles into the abyss of the mountain hills for a long, long time. So I gun it. Thirty miles an hour and I make it to my driveway, the deep snowdrift in my driveway not phasing me because my mind is not in the snow. It's in the clouds. Until a snowball hits my nice little daydream and my car stops.My car is severely stuck halfway into my driveway.
Temper ensues. Rage. My dirty sailor mouth tells Mother Nature how I really feel about her, and instead of her giving me a little gust of wind behind me to boost my fruitless slander and smashing my gas petal, she laughs at me in anger. Mwah ha ha.
I get out of my car, wind thrashing my hair into my eyeballs and whipping the straps from my backpack in my face (sweet revenge from Mama Hater). Every step I take balances gently atop the snow drift, and then my foot plunges deeply to the depths of the ground beneath me almost sending my face to the snow every time. "EFFF YOU WIND! EFFF YOU SNOW! YOU SUCK MOTHER NATURE!!!", my voice lost in the roar of the wind. I kick the snow at her with no avail, and almost fall again. Snow fills my boots, wind in my face, cold darkness surrounds me, and my front door seems like it's 97 miles away.
The door slams shut an hits me in the butt. I throw my keys on the counter and pout like a little girl.
Joanna's suggestion: A flame thrower. But she doesn't suggest a flaming torch to melt the snow in our driveway; she quietly knocks on my door with a soft voice, "Sarah," and I open as she shares her idea of a flame thrower complete with motions as if she's holding a machine gun, feet planted, torching our hellish driveway with what it deserves. Death. Flames. Melting horror! All I see is Joanna outside in her pajamas with goggles on, fiery glow in her face, holding a giant torch, laughing heartily, hot wind blowing, and melting away the evils of what Mama Hater has brought upon our household.
We fall to the ground in exuberant laughter.
Mother Nature, why you hatin'? Next time you bring this upon us Joanna and I will indeed flame your ass.

Shame, I have naught.

If you take Ex-lax, this is what will happen:

You will probably take Ex-lax at the end of your shift at work. A co-worker has some; she says it works like clockwork, so you willingly go along with these heathen-istic actions. What were you thinking? Shame.

What’s going through your mind is that it’s only 7:30pm, and you don’t work until noon tomorrow so you have a perfect window of opportunity to let the Ex-lax do it’s business, or rather, let it let you do your business. Everything should go smoothly as planned. Yah know what I mean? Right?

The problem is that Ex-lax is actually against you, you silly person. It has a demon soul. The problem is that you will swallow these laxatives, and then pull into your driveway only to find that there are many, many cars there. Your driveway is… clogged, if you will. Much like your bowels. And your house. Bad. 

No, actually bad is when you walk into your door absolutely mortified to see that your home is full of very attractive men. About ten of them. All of whom are currently drinking beers and having a jolly time, being attractive, and scruffy, and mountainy, and climbery… and will be sleeping all night on your living room floor. I repeat: what were you thinking? This mortification will promptly be followed by approximately two glasses of wine to try and ease the pains of… the pains. The stomach pains, that is. Instead, all you get from the wine and the devil drug is a night full of bad dreams of sharing bathrooms with good-looking mountain men, and standing in god-awful lines to use the toilet. Every once in a while you will wake up from these dreams in cold sweats, grasping your stomach because it begs you to just let it do what it wants to doooo.

A cold shower at 7am will not work. Promise.

What you will think, though, is that since they are off to do some ice climbing for the day they will be on their way bright and early. Not standing around, leisurely making breakfast and coffee. But you are wrong. They will be standing around all morning, leisurely making breakfast and coffee. More cold sweats to follow. In this situation, pass on all offers of coffee and any fibrous foods. Don’t. eat. anything.

Finally, the only thing you will be able to do, thank the heavens above, is to jump in your car, smile, and tell them you’ll be off to work early today… to… umm… use some of the resources in town. But Ex-lax can outsmart you, you see, because as you head down the hill from your house, your car will surely get stuck in the ditch, and you will have to grasp your stomach in excruciating pain while walking back to all the attractive men to ask them for help to get your car out of the ditch. That’s bad, until the car that comes to rescue you from the ditch also gets stuck in the ditch. I know you didn’t believe me that Ex-lax has a demon soul, but you do now. Ex-lax knows just how to humiliate you and keep you in pain all day.

Don’t think that one trip to that porcelain is going to make everything go away and feel better. Expect some terrible stomach cramps, light headed-ness, and the feeling of wanting to essentially rip out every single one of your intestines so this will surely never, ever happen again.

So I say, after this day has finally come to a close, you too, will fully understand the meaning of “Holy Shit”. But do you really want to understand the meaning of Holy Shit? Just say no.

Drink some prune juice for heaven sakes. Ex-lax came from hell, I tell you.