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My name is Liz. I need direction. I overuse commas. My house is a mess, my hair needs a trim and I have no marketable skills: It’s fun here, you’ll see!

Got a question, comment, proposal of marriage? Great! Email me at liz@theproductivecough.com

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Got a question, comment, proposal of marriage? Great! Email me at liz@theproductivecough.com

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April 9th, 2009

They’ve Been Warned

I’m pretty sure last night was SUV Night at the Mexican place I like. They’ve already got a tiny, awkwardly shaped parking lot. Add seven GIANT VEHICLES to the mix, and even the spots that were vacant weren’t usable.

I understand the need for a large conveyance if you happen to have five children or you work in construction or live up a long, gravelly hill inhabited by violent gnomes. But when I entered the restaurant there were no large families. No burly construction workers. Nobody wearing an “I Live On A Gravelly Hill & I Hate Gnomes” t-shirt. There were a few couples on dates. Three college boys. A handful of teenagers. I couldn’t find a single group of people who would need to be driving a Nissan Armada, which is like the largest freaking car I have ever seen in my life. And there were at least two of them in the parking lot. It took me ten minutes to find a spot on the street and then the tacos I’d called ahead for were cold.

The definition of an armada is a FLEET of WARSHIPS. Why you need to be driving around something that claims to be as large as a fleet of warships to get a burrito is beyond me.

To the owner of the Nissan Armada: Do not EVER delay me in my quest to pick up tacos again, or there will be trouble.

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