So yesterday sucked, mostly.

I was driving back to Brandon from seeing my grandma in the hospital. She had to have her gall bladder removed, her second surgery in as many weeks. She seems like she's super bummed out, but I reckon I would be too if my knee and my tummy were post-surgery sore.

I was on I-20, going east, in the middle lane, because the right lane is the Highway 49 exit lane. The middle lane turns into the I-20 right lane. Got it?

The following happens in a much shorter time span than it will take you to read this.

I didn't see the signs that said that the lane I was in would be closing. Hopefully sometime today, I'll go back and look for them. All I saw were the construction barrels coming into the lane, closing it off. I slowed down, hit my left turn signal, and started looking around.

On my left was Mr. Red Truck, already passing me. Behind him, 4-6 car lengths and then a red Grand Am, driven by one Mr. Buttface. I sped up in order to match the speed Mr. Red Truck and Mr. Buttface were going, and noticed that Mr. Buttface was also speeding up, because the space between him and Mr. Red Truck was much smaller than it had originally been. Figuring Mr. Buttface was being one of those aggressive driver Buttfaces and assuming he'd slow down once a Sonata got in his way, I started to move over. I was wrong. Mr. Buttface continued at his increased velocity and started to move over to go around me.

People, he had more than enough room to slow down, even as I was starting to get into his lane. He wouldn't have even had to hit his brakes. In fact, if he had kept his original speed, he wouldn't have even had to take his foot off the gas pedal. But no. He had to be a Buttface and speed up in order to not let me over. Since he was a Buttface, I had to make the decision between hitting a construction barrel and forcing him off the road and down a rather steep hill.

I laughed while he went down the hill.

No, I kid. Obviously I hit the construction barrel. I heard it skidding against my car, then I heard a very loud crack. I looked over to see that my passenger sideview mirror had flexed back at the joint so hard that it smacked against my window and shattered, and was now hanging limply in the space between the mirror's casing and the window.

I started following the guy to try to get his license plate number, but he was weaving in and out of traffic (because that's what Buttfaces do). I called 911, not knowing what I wanted, just angrier than I'd been in a long, long time and looking for what I should do. I guess in my fury I didn't explain myself well enough because the operator just brushed me off. I finally caught up to the guy as he was getting off at the next exit (which is slightly over a mile away) and called Drew. I had Drew write down his license plate number (MRBUTTFACE) and continued following him. I don't know why. It was a man and a woman, I was alone and furious, and we all know where my mouth can get me when I'm angry. He turned off into a rather dodgy area of Pearl, so that basically ended my pursuit.

I stopped at the Brandon police department, who told me to call the Mississippi Highway Patrol, who told me to call the Richland police department who told me to call the Pearl police department. That area of Interstate is kind of a mixed jurisdiction, one mile being one department's jurisdiction, one mile being another's. It even changes if you're going eastbound or westbound at the same mile marker. *shrug*

Finally I filed a police report with the Pearl police department, and will wait patiently for my insurance agent to call me back. Not sure what to do now - all of my witnesses are scattered to the wind, and I have really no proof that it was this guy's fault, and there's no damage to his car. All he has to do is deny it, which he will cuz he's a Buttface, and it's my word against his.

As far as damage goes, I guess it's not too bad. There's paint damage, the casing on the mirror is cracked, the mirror itself is shattered, and the window where the mirror hit and shattered is all scratched up. Could've been a lot worse, since those construction barrels are hella heavy and filled with either water or sand to keep them stationary.

Sigh. But I had a lovely dinner and lovely conversation with a few friends, and I'm alive and healthy as are my husband and son. Even if I have no case against Mr. Buttface, I have the consolation of knowing that should he continue to drive in this fashion, his pretty little Grand Am will eventually not be so pretty anymore, or that he'll eventually force the wrong person off the road.

Y'all watch for me on Judge Judy. I'll be the one that gets reprimanded for saying "Buttface."