Get Off My Dock

How many times have we shared something and resented it? Sometimes, we're cool, we go with the flow, but other times we just want to yell, "Hey Mister, yeah you, in the amphibious shoes? GET OFF MY DOCK!"

It all started over my birthday weekend while the soleil was moving across me with the propellance of a nice breeze. For the first time in what felt like an eternity (ok, month, but still--starting a new life as a real person takes a lot more out of you than you initially anticipate), I had a chance to snatch up some open-country solitude.

I coped with the cousins and the whole fam running and screaming around me, I put up with obnoxious screaming kids next door (why do kids always INSIST on screaming when they're near water?), and I even let it slide that my Grandpa and uncle wanted to harass me about my "leftist" (read: down goes American and all that it stands for) ideals.

But, even though I'm all about being green and supporting our motha twirling us around the sun, when you stand on my dock, play with OUR water toys, wearing spandex and CROCS, I will call you a douche bag. Cool that you eat granola and got up at 5 am on your vacation to mountain bike from Chelan to Manson, but do you have to discuss it AT LENGTH on MY dock?

Let's be honest here, Douchey McDoucherson probably works for Microsoft, drives a subaru with a bike rack, and pretends he's conscious of his carbon footprint on the world. In all reality, he's elitist about his eco-friendliness and needs to take his granola OFF MY DOCK.