The British are coming! The British are coming! (OK, technically, that's an historical inaccuracy that Paul Revere shouted that phrase, but you get the point!)
This morning I arrived at the lot and stood in the FREEZING cold waiting for my destination to be called. A British couple drove up and called out those magical words, and I rejoicingly jumped into the car hoping for warmth, comfort, and a nap.
When I was all buckled in and we were halfway out of the lot, "Prince Edward" informed me that he would be dropping off "Queen Elizabeth" on the OTHER SIDE OF TOWN from my office. My response was "um, what??" Yeah, no kidding! Major rule violation! When you call out for one destination, you certainly don't head for another on the other side of town!!! What a British jerk! There's a reason why Revere helped devise an alarm system that would alert people that the British were coming. Good grief!
So, here I was in the backseat wondering if my carriage would arrive at my castle on time, and I got caught up in their absolutely meaningless, boring conversation! I know I should have been sleeping. God knows that the content was enough to make me go comatose, but I was absolutely drawn in by the fact that two such boring people could actually carry on a conversation!!
All my American friends can relate to me on this. Just about anything sounds interesting with the right accent. But these two had such a snooty tone and were so prim and proper that it was almost comical. I was halfway waiting to see a camera crew jump out and tell me I was on candid camera or something (there IS a writer's strike in Hollywood...they need filler!). They were discussing a book, but not even the content really. He said "oh, thanks for the book." She said, in a very Mary Poppins kind of way, "oh, I just thought it was delightful!" Seriously? Who talks like that? I half expected her to break out in a verse of "A Spoonful of Sugar" when the driver complained of the traffic backup!
Then they were discussing the color of her bag and whether it was blue or some other variant. IT'S FREAKING BLUE. Blue is blue is blue! SHUT UP you boring British drones!!!!! Get me to work ON TIME with NO DETOURS! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Then we arrived at the UNPLANNED destination and they parted ways with the driest, most dispassionate farewell kiss that I've ever seen. It makes me wonder if they've ever even seen each other naked or if they do it with their "dressing robes" on! LOL (sorry, sometimes I crack myself up!) I couldn't help but to think of the British Royal family and how they always seem so cold and disinterested toward each other.
Clearly, the Royals have moved to America and bought a late-model Honda that they use to dupe unsuspecting Americans into riding in during rush hour while they dribble on about in consequential minutia! Are the Royals slumming and slugging?
Then I started having flashes of the supposed Royal conspiracy to kill Princess Diana, and I got nervous. In a very Catholic sort of way, I prayed that I would make it to work on time and in one American piece! :)
By gosh, by golly, I made it there in one piece! I was still just a little ticked that I got tricked, but what the hay..it's Christmas!
As I climbed out, I did a quick check to see if there were any Royal Jewels hanging out in the backseat, but to no avail! Oh well!
For all of you who appreciate the hard work and ingenuity of the great Paul Revere, go out on Dec. 22 and have a drink in his honor to celebrate his birthday! If it weren't for him, we might all be boring, cold British fish! :)
Maybe next time I see them pull up, I'll hold up 1 lantern if I want to go to my destination and 2 if I want to take a detour.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Southern Hospitality
I am not a rude person. I consider myself to be well-mannered and respectful toward my fellow man. Sometimes, I place the interests of those around me above my own, because it feels wrong to be selfish. The problem is that when people take advantage of my kindness and consideration I can become a raging bitch.
When I drive, as I did today, I am extremely considerate of my passengers. I ask several times during the ride if they would like me to adjust the temperature up or down. I offer them use of my cupholders, even when it's technically against slugging rules to bring a beverage into someone else's car! I keep a steady but safe speed and distance so as to not scare the holy hell out of my passengers. In other words, I go out of my way to make their commute more comfortable. It's just who I am.
Because of my kind nature, even when I'm getting disgusted by someone's behavior, I may still appear accommodating and deferential. Often I will even put up with it for the most part, and the I will just walk away without warning when I've had enough. It's like a mask that I wear to prevent others from seeing the absolute monster I can become when I'm angry. I sometimes try to use humor or mild sarcasm to disarm a situation, and I generally try to avoid serious confrontations. I don't like to fight. I like to have a nice, quiet, peaceful coexistence. That's not because I'm afraid to fight. It's because I fear for the safety of the person who makes me angry enough to want to fight.
No, I didn't get into a fight this morning on my way to work. But let's just say that the line came close to being crossed this morning.
I woke up feeling reflective and introspective. I have a lot of things on my mind right now, and when that happens, I need time to let my brain just work it all out on its own. The main way that I do this is through music. I generally use music to help me sort out my thoughts, hence the extreme overuse of my iPod. When I'm feeling like this, my social skills tend to be lacking because I am a little bit too self-absorbed to really notice those around me. It would have been a perfect day to be a rider, because I could have climbed in and turned up the Pod and just focused on my own thought processes. But, since I had to drive, I knew I'd have to be out of my fortress for a little while.
When my riders jumped in, I greeted them as usual. Driving to the lot, I turned on a playlist I just created that was helping me to focus. I was getting in a "zone" that was sort of improving my general outlook. I needed to stay on that path. I kept the volume of my music at a respectable level that would allow my passengers to sleep but I could still hear it over the road noise. This is frustrating to me already because when I get like this I want it loud and all-consuming. I did the obligatory offer of a temperature adjustment, but I got an attitude from the woman in the front seat. Mistake #1. In this kind of mood, I'm easily set off.
I bit my lip, and I simply turned the music up a little bit. Traffic was moving well, and we were making good time. I was back in my zone when she decided to start talking to me. I was already annoyed with her for rebuffing my hospitality, so I was not terribly interested in a conversation. She started blabbing on about the holidays and traffic and office parties and blah blah blah blah blah. I just couldn't be bothered to listen or care. I was doing the "yeah I'm listening" head nod, but I was really trying to concentrate on the music. I was starting to feel like I was reaching a crucial point in my thought process where I was going to make a really difficult decision and feel good about it, and she was yakking about pantyhose or her runny nose...I can't be sure. So the more she talked, the more I would slowly and subtly increase the volume of the music hoping she would notice my passive-aggressive attempts to politely get her to shut her flap-trap. It wasn't working.
When I hit a slowdown, I noticed that the music was a bit too loud for the crowd. Despite the fact that this is exactly what I wanted, I turned it down to be a good host. This is when the drive north turned south.
She actually had the nerve to say "you shouldn't listen to your music so loud when you have people in your car." Yep, that pause was my brain telling my fists to stay firmly planted on the steering wheel. Normally, in a less combative mood, I would have simply just laughed it off. This morning I felt the need to respond. "Did you not notice that I turned it down?" I said it in the nicest of nasty tones and with a gentle-womanly smile on my face. I think she said something else after that, but I decided that I was not interested in being polite anymore. Then it happened: the one act that would simply be too much for me to withstand today.
Her cell phone rang.
Normally, when you are slugging, you avoid long or loud phone conversations. You don't broadcast your business to strangers, and you don't force them to listen to your petty crap. It's polite and acceptable to answer and engage in a quick, low volume conversation that ends with "I'm on my way to work in someone else's car. I'll call you later." Well, I'm betting you can guess what this woman did NOT do.
She started talking on her phone at maximum volume. You know that volume that people take when they are talking to foreigners who don't speak English that makes them think that speaking louder can break the language barrier? Hers was louder. The man in the backseat, who had been peacefully sleeping (lucky bastard), was now awake and looking a bit confused. Oh no, I did NOT just turn down my music for THIS woman!
So, in response, as could only be expected, I turned up the volume on my music, not to an obnoxious level but an obvious one. I was still trying to be respectful and considerate of the drooling man in my backseat who had done nothing wrong.
Her conversation got louder.
My music got louder.
Again.
and Again.
I was nearly reaching a volume that I would never, ever reach when other people are around. She was pushing me to do it. I had no choice.
She stopped her conversation and rudely said "I'm trying to talk here. Can you turn that down?"
I responded, in an even tone of voice (a major accomplishment for me today) "your conversation is interfering with my music and his sleep. I'll turn my music down when you get off the phone."
Apparently she didn't like this answer because not only did she keep talking but she started talking ABOUT ME. Mistake #2--big time!
I looked in my rearview mirror at the poor man in the backseat, and we exchanged a look. My look was basically letting him know things were about to get uncomfortable, and his was basically saying "do what you gotta do."
So the playlist changed. Considering her demographics, I decided something loud and heavy-hitting would annoy her the most. Out came the Metallica. As any good Southern woman of my generation, I keep it conservative for the most part. But I have the tools available to let it get loud and ugly. Mentally, the earrings were coming off and the sleeves were getting rolled up.
A little "Through the Never" at a good volume seemed like an appropriate response. It would annoy her but not be so obnoxious for the guy in the back. If she's going to talk about me to her little friend, I'm going to give her something to talk about. I can't be sure, because I was drowning her out with my singing and my steering wheel drumming, but I think she called me a bitch. Moi? A bitch? NEVER!
At this point, I'd forgotten about whatever was making me feel all introspective this morning. Now I was just plain having fun with being angry and bitchy.
She got louder, and so did I!
"All that is, ever
Ever was
Will be ever
Who we are
Ask forever
Twisting
Turning
Through the never"
Air guitar.....
Steering wheel drum.....
She slams her cheap ass cell phone shut. Mission accomplished.
We are about 5 minutes away from getting to work. Her head is twitching in circles and her lips are flapping away, but I'm just singing and pretending to be a rockstar.
This got a smile from the man in the back.
I turned down the volume and said "since you aren't on the phone, I can turn this back down."
Her response: "you are the rudest person I've ever met in my life."
I reached over to the visor, pulled it down, opened the mirror and said "not anymore."
We arrived, and I was mad as hell. But I held it in. She was just about to get me to the point of no return, but I was fighting against my desire to strike her down with all my strength.
I'm pretty sure she wanted to have a good old fashioned fist fight. I'm pretty sure I wanted to be a good hostess and oblige her. But I didn't.
She got out and muttered something under her breath, and I simply said "have a nice day" in that "screw you very much" kind of voice. The guy in the backseat laughed and said "I would have thrown her out in Springfield."
Kill them with kindness I always say!
HO HO HO, 'tis the Season!!
Happy Slugging!
When I drive, as I did today, I am extremely considerate of my passengers. I ask several times during the ride if they would like me to adjust the temperature up or down. I offer them use of my cupholders, even when it's technically against slugging rules to bring a beverage into someone else's car! I keep a steady but safe speed and distance so as to not scare the holy hell out of my passengers. In other words, I go out of my way to make their commute more comfortable. It's just who I am.
Because of my kind nature, even when I'm getting disgusted by someone's behavior, I may still appear accommodating and deferential. Often I will even put up with it for the most part, and the I will just walk away without warning when I've had enough. It's like a mask that I wear to prevent others from seeing the absolute monster I can become when I'm angry. I sometimes try to use humor or mild sarcasm to disarm a situation, and I generally try to avoid serious confrontations. I don't like to fight. I like to have a nice, quiet, peaceful coexistence. That's not because I'm afraid to fight. It's because I fear for the safety of the person who makes me angry enough to want to fight.
No, I didn't get into a fight this morning on my way to work. But let's just say that the line came close to being crossed this morning.
I woke up feeling reflective and introspective. I have a lot of things on my mind right now, and when that happens, I need time to let my brain just work it all out on its own. The main way that I do this is through music. I generally use music to help me sort out my thoughts, hence the extreme overuse of my iPod. When I'm feeling like this, my social skills tend to be lacking because I am a little bit too self-absorbed to really notice those around me. It would have been a perfect day to be a rider, because I could have climbed in and turned up the Pod and just focused on my own thought processes. But, since I had to drive, I knew I'd have to be out of my fortress for a little while.
When my riders jumped in, I greeted them as usual. Driving to the lot, I turned on a playlist I just created that was helping me to focus. I was getting in a "zone" that was sort of improving my general outlook. I needed to stay on that path. I kept the volume of my music at a respectable level that would allow my passengers to sleep but I could still hear it over the road noise. This is frustrating to me already because when I get like this I want it loud and all-consuming. I did the obligatory offer of a temperature adjustment, but I got an attitude from the woman in the front seat. Mistake #1. In this kind of mood, I'm easily set off.
I bit my lip, and I simply turned the music up a little bit. Traffic was moving well, and we were making good time. I was back in my zone when she decided to start talking to me. I was already annoyed with her for rebuffing my hospitality, so I was not terribly interested in a conversation. She started blabbing on about the holidays and traffic and office parties and blah blah blah blah blah. I just couldn't be bothered to listen or care. I was doing the "yeah I'm listening" head nod, but I was really trying to concentrate on the music. I was starting to feel like I was reaching a crucial point in my thought process where I was going to make a really difficult decision and feel good about it, and she was yakking about pantyhose or her runny nose...I can't be sure. So the more she talked, the more I would slowly and subtly increase the volume of the music hoping she would notice my passive-aggressive attempts to politely get her to shut her flap-trap. It wasn't working.
When I hit a slowdown, I noticed that the music was a bit too loud for the crowd. Despite the fact that this is exactly what I wanted, I turned it down to be a good host. This is when the drive north turned south.
She actually had the nerve to say "you shouldn't listen to your music so loud when you have people in your car." Yep, that pause was my brain telling my fists to stay firmly planted on the steering wheel. Normally, in a less combative mood, I would have simply just laughed it off. This morning I felt the need to respond. "Did you not notice that I turned it down?" I said it in the nicest of nasty tones and with a gentle-womanly smile on my face. I think she said something else after that, but I decided that I was not interested in being polite anymore. Then it happened: the one act that would simply be too much for me to withstand today.
Her cell phone rang.
Normally, when you are slugging, you avoid long or loud phone conversations. You don't broadcast your business to strangers, and you don't force them to listen to your petty crap. It's polite and acceptable to answer and engage in a quick, low volume conversation that ends with "I'm on my way to work in someone else's car. I'll call you later." Well, I'm betting you can guess what this woman did NOT do.
She started talking on her phone at maximum volume. You know that volume that people take when they are talking to foreigners who don't speak English that makes them think that speaking louder can break the language barrier? Hers was louder. The man in the backseat, who had been peacefully sleeping (lucky bastard), was now awake and looking a bit confused. Oh no, I did NOT just turn down my music for THIS woman!
So, in response, as could only be expected, I turned up the volume on my music, not to an obnoxious level but an obvious one. I was still trying to be respectful and considerate of the drooling man in my backseat who had done nothing wrong.
Her conversation got louder.
My music got louder.
Again.
and Again.
I was nearly reaching a volume that I would never, ever reach when other people are around. She was pushing me to do it. I had no choice.
She stopped her conversation and rudely said "I'm trying to talk here. Can you turn that down?"
I responded, in an even tone of voice (a major accomplishment for me today) "your conversation is interfering with my music and his sleep. I'll turn my music down when you get off the phone."
Apparently she didn't like this answer because not only did she keep talking but she started talking ABOUT ME. Mistake #2--big time!
I looked in my rearview mirror at the poor man in the backseat, and we exchanged a look. My look was basically letting him know things were about to get uncomfortable, and his was basically saying "do what you gotta do."
So the playlist changed. Considering her demographics, I decided something loud and heavy-hitting would annoy her the most. Out came the Metallica. As any good Southern woman of my generation, I keep it conservative for the most part. But I have the tools available to let it get loud and ugly. Mentally, the earrings were coming off and the sleeves were getting rolled up.
A little "Through the Never" at a good volume seemed like an appropriate response. It would annoy her but not be so obnoxious for the guy in the back. If she's going to talk about me to her little friend, I'm going to give her something to talk about. I can't be sure, because I was drowning her out with my singing and my steering wheel drumming, but I think she called me a bitch. Moi? A bitch? NEVER!
At this point, I'd forgotten about whatever was making me feel all introspective this morning. Now I was just plain having fun with being angry and bitchy.
She got louder, and so did I!
"All that is, ever
Ever was
Will be ever
Who we are
Ask forever
Twisting
Turning
Through the never"
Air guitar.....
Steering wheel drum.....
She slams her cheap ass cell phone shut. Mission accomplished.
We are about 5 minutes away from getting to work. Her head is twitching in circles and her lips are flapping away, but I'm just singing and pretending to be a rockstar.
This got a smile from the man in the back.
I turned down the volume and said "since you aren't on the phone, I can turn this back down."
Her response: "you are the rudest person I've ever met in my life."
I reached over to the visor, pulled it down, opened the mirror and said "not anymore."
We arrived, and I was mad as hell. But I held it in. She was just about to get me to the point of no return, but I was fighting against my desire to strike her down with all my strength.
I'm pretty sure she wanted to have a good old fashioned fist fight. I'm pretty sure I wanted to be a good hostess and oblige her. But I didn't.
She got out and muttered something under her breath, and I simply said "have a nice day" in that "screw you very much" kind of voice. The guy in the backseat laughed and said "I would have thrown her out in Springfield."
Kill them with kindness I always say!
HO HO HO, 'tis the Season!!
Happy Slugging!
Monday, December 17, 2007
Trapped with Familiar Strangers--Warning: Slightly X-Rated
For those of you who read this who have never had the pleasure of commuting up and down the I95 corridor during rush hour, I will try to be as descriptive as I can so that you understand.
Traffic in Northern Virginia, heading into DC, is predictably unpredictable. You can always count on the traffic patterns to be the exact opposite of what you are prepared for. On beautiful sunny mornings, traffic will be at a dead stop for no apparent reason, and on rainy, crappy, dark days, it will move so quickly that you feel like you are getting away with something naughty. You can be moving along at full speed (or more if you are some drivers) and all of a sudden be sitting completely stopped for 30 minutes without warning. Traffic is all over the board here. You just have to get in the car in the morning and try to be prepared for anything.
Well, slugging adds a whole new category of "anything" that you have to be prepared for. When you are slugging in, you take pretty much the first ride that comes along going to your destination (unless there are extenuating circumstances as mentioned before) because you never know when another will come along. I got to the lot this morning praying for a quick ride because it is beyond cold and windy outside, and I didn't want to stand in that for a long time. Lucky for me, the first car waiting was waiting for ME! Oh the joy! But wait....
Remember Don Juan DeJerkoff who tried to score with the hot chick a few weeks ago? He was in the back seat. The guy driving...a guy I have, up until now, not mentioned. I've hitched a ride with him a few times, and I have basically let him slide off the blogging radar. He's a nice enough guy, a seemingly normal family man. Apparently, when combined with the "X" factors of Mr. SmoothJazz in the back seat and stopped traffic, he becomes a sexpert (nope, not a misspelling).
As I'm sure you've all figured out by now, before 9AM, I'm a different person. I'm grumpy and less receptive to anything out of the ordinary, especially when I'm tired and want to nap. Considering this morning's commute was extra long, I could have had a REALLY GOOD nap. But oh no, not me. That's not how things work for me. I could tell pretty quickly that there would be no napping today.
Now, I know what you are thinking. Mr. "The Sun Looks Pretty Today" didn't pay any attention to me when Hot Babe #1 was in the car, but apparently, when he's a passenger with me and this other guy, I become really interesting. Funny how things work out. Yes, he remembered me and commented on how he was changing his air freshener to something that smelled less "pimp oilish." The driver wanted to know what we were talking about. So, he gave a basic description of the "princess" that rode with him and the fact that I told him he had no chance. He was using a snide tone, so I had to jump in. I told the driver about the backseat comment and the mud, just so he didn't think I was a total bitch. The driver said, and I believe I will be able to quote this accurately word for word, "you are too pretty for that." (OK, ladies, you are with me.....MAJOR SCORE for him!! I woke up just a little bit after that and flashed my biggest, most charming southern belle smile to thank him.) But things went downhill from there. Apparently, this opened the door to a sex conversation. Oh boy!
Smooth Talking Driver Guy started talking about how he watched a particularly sexy movie from the 80s. Then he started asking questions, first to the skeezer in the back and then to me, about sexual fantasies. Backseat guy is apparently also a backdoor kind of guy, if you get my drift. Yep, I'm grossed out too. He gets to me, and I simply said "I'm a virgin" thinking I could cleverly avoid anymore sex talk. Oh no, apparently the driver likes virgins! WTF!?? At this point, we are still sitting in traffic a long, LONG way from work. I'm feeling a bit trapped and uncomfortable. I figure I have nowhere else to go from here, so I might as well play along. In retrospect, the next thing I said probably could have been a pretty foolish and dangerous thing to say, but I figured I needed to get outrageous to shut them up. He pushed me for an answer again. I guess he, for SOME reason, didn't believe my "virgin" answer. Hmmmmm...anyway. So, here's what I said.
"I've always fantasized about being trapped in a car with two strange men who decide to pull off the road and have sex with each other right in front of me. That gets me hot." I figured the backdoor backseat guy probably wouldn't mind so much. Men, generally, are not comfortable with gay innuendo, especially when they are acting all macho and talking sex to a woman.
The rest of the ride was relatively quiet, and I got a short power nap in before arriving at my destination. Like I said, the commute can be unpredictable.
Traffic in Northern Virginia, heading into DC, is predictably unpredictable. You can always count on the traffic patterns to be the exact opposite of what you are prepared for. On beautiful sunny mornings, traffic will be at a dead stop for no apparent reason, and on rainy, crappy, dark days, it will move so quickly that you feel like you are getting away with something naughty. You can be moving along at full speed (or more if you are some drivers) and all of a sudden be sitting completely stopped for 30 minutes without warning. Traffic is all over the board here. You just have to get in the car in the morning and try to be prepared for anything.
Well, slugging adds a whole new category of "anything" that you have to be prepared for. When you are slugging in, you take pretty much the first ride that comes along going to your destination (unless there are extenuating circumstances as mentioned before) because you never know when another will come along. I got to the lot this morning praying for a quick ride because it is beyond cold and windy outside, and I didn't want to stand in that for a long time. Lucky for me, the first car waiting was waiting for ME! Oh the joy! But wait....
Remember Don Juan DeJerkoff who tried to score with the hot chick a few weeks ago? He was in the back seat. The guy driving...a guy I have, up until now, not mentioned. I've hitched a ride with him a few times, and I have basically let him slide off the blogging radar. He's a nice enough guy, a seemingly normal family man. Apparently, when combined with the "X" factors of Mr. SmoothJazz in the back seat and stopped traffic, he becomes a sexpert (nope, not a misspelling).
As I'm sure you've all figured out by now, before 9AM, I'm a different person. I'm grumpy and less receptive to anything out of the ordinary, especially when I'm tired and want to nap. Considering this morning's commute was extra long, I could have had a REALLY GOOD nap. But oh no, not me. That's not how things work for me. I could tell pretty quickly that there would be no napping today.
Now, I know what you are thinking. Mr. "The Sun Looks Pretty Today" didn't pay any attention to me when Hot Babe #1 was in the car, but apparently, when he's a passenger with me and this other guy, I become really interesting. Funny how things work out. Yes, he remembered me and commented on how he was changing his air freshener to something that smelled less "pimp oilish." The driver wanted to know what we were talking about. So, he gave a basic description of the "princess" that rode with him and the fact that I told him he had no chance. He was using a snide tone, so I had to jump in. I told the driver about the backseat comment and the mud, just so he didn't think I was a total bitch. The driver said, and I believe I will be able to quote this accurately word for word, "you are too pretty for that." (OK, ladies, you are with me.....MAJOR SCORE for him!! I woke up just a little bit after that and flashed my biggest, most charming southern belle smile to thank him.) But things went downhill from there. Apparently, this opened the door to a sex conversation. Oh boy!
Smooth Talking Driver Guy started talking about how he watched a particularly sexy movie from the 80s. Then he started asking questions, first to the skeezer in the back and then to me, about sexual fantasies. Backseat guy is apparently also a backdoor kind of guy, if you get my drift. Yep, I'm grossed out too. He gets to me, and I simply said "I'm a virgin" thinking I could cleverly avoid anymore sex talk. Oh no, apparently the driver likes virgins! WTF!?? At this point, we are still sitting in traffic a long, LONG way from work. I'm feeling a bit trapped and uncomfortable. I figure I have nowhere else to go from here, so I might as well play along. In retrospect, the next thing I said probably could have been a pretty foolish and dangerous thing to say, but I figured I needed to get outrageous to shut them up. He pushed me for an answer again. I guess he, for SOME reason, didn't believe my "virgin" answer. Hmmmmm...anyway. So, here's what I said.
"I've always fantasized about being trapped in a car with two strange men who decide to pull off the road and have sex with each other right in front of me. That gets me hot." I figured the backdoor backseat guy probably wouldn't mind so much. Men, generally, are not comfortable with gay innuendo, especially when they are acting all macho and talking sex to a woman.
The rest of the ride was relatively quiet, and I got a short power nap in before arriving at my destination. Like I said, the commute can be unpredictable.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Ahhhh, the Joyful Smells of Christmas
There are some smells that I absolutely love, especially this time of year. At Christmas time, things smell more festive and alive, and I always look forward to those smells.
I love the smell of the pine needles from a Christmas tree (even though I haven't had a real Christmas tree since I was 11). I love the smell of hot cocoa and chocolate chip cookies. I love the smell of distant woodburning fireplaces and how it reminds me of simpler times (but don't ask me to give up my gas fireplace!). I love the smell in the air when it's getting ready to snow. I love the faint smell of scotch tape that lingers in the air after all the Christmas packages have been ripped into.
There are some winter morning smells that I love as well. I love the smell of that sort of crisp, still early morning air that you get before all the daily pollutants have gotten going (hey, you learn to appreciate the small things when you are angry for having to be up that early). I love the smell of coffee brewing, even though I hate the taste. I love the smell of freshly baked breakfast pastries, especially when one is in my hand waiting to be eaten.
There are some "people" smells that I even tend to really appreciate. I love the smell of a clean, well-groomed man. I love the smell of freshly washed hair. I love the smell of my own perfume.
Some smells that I do not love: unbathed men who clearly live INSIDE a woodburning stove (or burned their house down this morning)who consider Budweiser as their early morning "wake up" beverage of choice and whose body odor is so pungent that it has overpowered my freshly applied, meticulously selected perfume.
Oh yes, he was drunk off his ass.
As I drove Mr. Smokey Drunk to "work" this morning, some questions sprang to mind:
1. IS this person actually gainfully employed? (He's wearing your stereotypical "IT Guy" uniform of khaki chinos with a barely pressed dress shirt, but he could be heading into his "former job" to shoot up the place....who knows?)
2. Did this person sleep last night or is he returning to work after drinking at his holiday party all night and morning?
3. Is he really singing "Jingle Bells" in my car?
There are some mysteries that will never be solved.
Either way, he stumbled out of my car when I reached his destination, and I'm pretty sure he started singing "Silent Night" to the crowd at the crosswalk.
I might be wrong, and we'll never know, but I'm guessing that, if he did indeed have an employer this morning, he does not have an employer this afternoon.
As for me, I'm going to go back to enjoying the festive smells of Christmas, and I might even sing a few verses of "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas" now that it's after 9AM.
So, Merry Christmas to All, and to him, a long bath!
I love the smell of the pine needles from a Christmas tree (even though I haven't had a real Christmas tree since I was 11). I love the smell of hot cocoa and chocolate chip cookies. I love the smell of distant woodburning fireplaces and how it reminds me of simpler times (but don't ask me to give up my gas fireplace!). I love the smell in the air when it's getting ready to snow. I love the faint smell of scotch tape that lingers in the air after all the Christmas packages have been ripped into.
There are some winter morning smells that I love as well. I love the smell of that sort of crisp, still early morning air that you get before all the daily pollutants have gotten going (hey, you learn to appreciate the small things when you are angry for having to be up that early). I love the smell of coffee brewing, even though I hate the taste. I love the smell of freshly baked breakfast pastries, especially when one is in my hand waiting to be eaten.
There are some "people" smells that I even tend to really appreciate. I love the smell of a clean, well-groomed man. I love the smell of freshly washed hair. I love the smell of my own perfume.
Some smells that I do not love: unbathed men who clearly live INSIDE a woodburning stove (or burned their house down this morning)who consider Budweiser as their early morning "wake up" beverage of choice and whose body odor is so pungent that it has overpowered my freshly applied, meticulously selected perfume.
Oh yes, he was drunk off his ass.
As I drove Mr. Smokey Drunk to "work" this morning, some questions sprang to mind:
1. IS this person actually gainfully employed? (He's wearing your stereotypical "IT Guy" uniform of khaki chinos with a barely pressed dress shirt, but he could be heading into his "former job" to shoot up the place....who knows?)
2. Did this person sleep last night or is he returning to work after drinking at his holiday party all night and morning?
3. Is he really singing "Jingle Bells" in my car?
There are some mysteries that will never be solved.
Either way, he stumbled out of my car when I reached his destination, and I'm pretty sure he started singing "Silent Night" to the crowd at the crosswalk.
I might be wrong, and we'll never know, but I'm guessing that, if he did indeed have an employer this morning, he does not have an employer this afternoon.
As for me, I'm going to go back to enjoying the festive smells of Christmas, and I might even sing a few verses of "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas" now that it's after 9AM.
So, Merry Christmas to All, and to him, a long bath!
Monday, December 3, 2007
The South Will Rise Again
There are only two words that can fully describe my ride to work this morning.
Yee-haw.
In case there is ANY question as to what I am referring, the kind young gentleman escorting me to work this morning was a Redneck.
I will steal from the great "Redneck Comedian" Jeff Foxworthy and give you this list:
"Your Driver Might Be a Redneck if..."
10. He drives an old, mismatched paint truck (think early 80s Blazer or Bronco). (CHECK!)
9. He wears an OLD baseball hat on which the visor has been carefully crafted to bend into a sharp downward "U" shape. (CHECK!)
8. He smokes Marlboro Reds. (CHECK!)
7. His rearview mirror is missing. (CHECK!)
6. He's alternating between country and classic rock on the radio. (CHECK!)
5. He has sworn his allegiance to a number that corresponds to a Nascar driver. (CHECK!)
4. His clothes are already dirty, and the day hasn't even started yet. There is also plaid flannel and construction boots involved. (CHECK!)
3. He says he works on cars, but his car barely runs. (DOUBLE CHECK!)
2. Out of respect for his passengers, he switches from cigarettes to chewing tobacco so as to not bother them! (CHECK!)
1. He has a confederate flag sticker that says "The South Will Rise Again." (YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW)
I know. You were all expecting there to be reference to his southern drawl, but that was TOO obvious. OF COURSE he did!
He was very well mannered, except for the intermittent tobacco spitting. His music wasn't too loud, and he drove relatively safely. My only REAL complaint was that the smoke cloud was SO heavy in that truck that I got a nicotine buzz from the seatbelt. I could tell his "old lady" was a smoker from the slightest hint of menthol and lipstick lingering on the seatbelt strap. OK, in all fairness, it could have been his sister, but what's the difference really?
Having grown up in a town not too unfamiliar with the redneck variety, it didn't really bother me. I was used to being around that type. It was the black gentleman in the car with me that I wondered about. Did he notice the sticker? Was he sitting there wishing he could punch this guy on principle? The driver actually went out of his way to talk to the guy, so my guess is the driver was more uncomfortable than the passenger.
I would have slept had it not been for the rattling muffler and tobacco-spit induced gag reflex. It was freezing cold inside the truck (the heat probably hasn't worked in at least 5 years), but I was reluctant to encourage any kind of heating effort for fear of what might spew out of the vents. I should have packed the flannel!
We all made it to our destination safely, and Mr. Billy Bob maintained his manners in a way that would make his Momma proud.
Happy Slugging and YEEEEEEHAWWWWWWWWW!!!
Yee-haw.
In case there is ANY question as to what I am referring, the kind young gentleman escorting me to work this morning was a Redneck.
I will steal from the great "Redneck Comedian" Jeff Foxworthy and give you this list:
"Your Driver Might Be a Redneck if..."
10. He drives an old, mismatched paint truck (think early 80s Blazer or Bronco). (CHECK!)
9. He wears an OLD baseball hat on which the visor has been carefully crafted to bend into a sharp downward "U" shape. (CHECK!)
8. He smokes Marlboro Reds. (CHECK!)
7. His rearview mirror is missing. (CHECK!)
6. He's alternating between country and classic rock on the radio. (CHECK!)
5. He has sworn his allegiance to a number that corresponds to a Nascar driver. (CHECK!)
4. His clothes are already dirty, and the day hasn't even started yet. There is also plaid flannel and construction boots involved. (CHECK!)
3. He says he works on cars, but his car barely runs. (DOUBLE CHECK!)
2. Out of respect for his passengers, he switches from cigarettes to chewing tobacco so as to not bother them! (CHECK!)
1. He has a confederate flag sticker that says "The South Will Rise Again." (YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW)
I know. You were all expecting there to be reference to his southern drawl, but that was TOO obvious. OF COURSE he did!
He was very well mannered, except for the intermittent tobacco spitting. His music wasn't too loud, and he drove relatively safely. My only REAL complaint was that the smoke cloud was SO heavy in that truck that I got a nicotine buzz from the seatbelt. I could tell his "old lady" was a smoker from the slightest hint of menthol and lipstick lingering on the seatbelt strap. OK, in all fairness, it could have been his sister, but what's the difference really?
Having grown up in a town not too unfamiliar with the redneck variety, it didn't really bother me. I was used to being around that type. It was the black gentleman in the car with me that I wondered about. Did he notice the sticker? Was he sitting there wishing he could punch this guy on principle? The driver actually went out of his way to talk to the guy, so my guess is the driver was more uncomfortable than the passenger.
I would have slept had it not been for the rattling muffler and tobacco-spit induced gag reflex. It was freezing cold inside the truck (the heat probably hasn't worked in at least 5 years), but I was reluctant to encourage any kind of heating effort for fear of what might spew out of the vents. I should have packed the flannel!
We all made it to our destination safely, and Mr. Billy Bob maintained his manners in a way that would make his Momma proud.
Happy Slugging and YEEEEEEHAWWWWWWWWW!!!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Beauty and the Beast
OK, I will start off by eating a giant slice of humble pie. I am, by no means, a beautiful woman. I completely recognize that I'm somewhere in the middle, between f-ugly and drop dead gorgeous. But of course, beauty is entirely in the eye of the beholder. I know that some men will find me attractive enough to pay attention to me, and some men will not even blink in my direction. It's not something I'm prone to think of very often anymore. I'm basically beyond my obsession with trying to be something I'm not. Unfortunately, on more than one occasion, I have been reminded of just where I stand in the beauty spectrum, and lucky for me, today was one of those days!
First, let me say that I believe that there is a such thing as universal beauty.
There are some men and women who are just universally attractive. These are the type of people who end up in magazines and in movies. They have the sort of appearance that basically makes them attractive to nearly everyone within reason. They are our gold standards of beauty. It's what we all strive to achieve.
Having said all that, today, I was in the presence of one of these universal beauties, and it nearly made me want to get acquainted with the underside of some one's tires. It was not because she was gorgeous and I was jealous, which you are all assuming. No, it was the way the man who picked us up was reacting to her that made me want to become a hood ornament for a Mack truck.
She and I were going to two different destinations, and she was in line behind me. The fact that we ended up in the same car should give you an indication of just how this little joy ride was going to go for me this morning.
Let me set the stage: middle-aged man who has the same sort of greasy, creepy appearance as Eric Roberts in Star 80 (google it) pulls up in his piece of crap car that he's tried to make seem more luxurious by adding an expensive stereo, air freshener, and beaded seat-cushions. He calls out for my stop, and I excitedly head to the car (it's FREEZING cold outside!). Junior Heidi Klum purrs out to him to see if he would take her to HER destination. Since you can guess what his response was, I'll move on. This is a 2-door vehicle, so already feeling frumpy and insignificant, I got to make that graceful climb into the backseat that required leg-hiking and an involuntary grunt or two. On this particular morning, I would have skipped the backseat luxury just to make her crawl into such an unflattering position, but being the sensible woman I am, I knew she'd be getting out before me.
For the record, I don't hate this woman or begrudge her the beauty she was blessed with. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't get a glimmer of joy knowing she was uncomfortable in some way. Why should everything be perfect for her all the time?
So, we all settled in, and Mr. Gawk-man immediately began mentally undressing her. He even set the mood, I believe, hoping that she might actually strip for him. When we got in, he was listening to news talk radio. A few minutes later he turned to a slow jazz station. I was literally waiting for him to light candles and pop a cork with TWO glasses. Lacking a fireplace to set the mood, he actually said "the sun is really pretty this morning."
Oh
My
God.
Now, I imagine this genetically blessed princess is more than used to men rolling out the red carpet for her. I figure there are men who would go, or have gone, into the poor-house buying her expensive gifts just to keep her around. She probably has a closet of jewelry boxes of "rejected" mementos to prove it. (I still have the same jewelry box I've had since I was 9 years old, and it's mostly filled with fake "jewels.") Her apparent boredom with the attention was the only comfort I had this morning.
After she was done filing her nails, yeah--seriously, she decided she needed MORE beauty rest. All this time, Hefner was staring at her about every three seconds and the road about every 65 seconds. It was something like this: eyes on the road, 1-1000, 2-1000, 3-1000, eyes on hot babe, still, still, still, HARD BRAKING. Yes, we almost plowed into the back of about 4 different cars this morning. The fact that he kept slamming on his brakes only made her shift in her seat slightly. I guess she's accustomed to causing accidents. I, on the other hand, was scared out of my ugly head.
Once, he actually stared at her and then glanced back at me in his rear view mirror. I can't be sure, but I think he cringed. Even if he didn't, I didn't appreciate the obvious comparison. So, forgive me if I spew a little hatred on him for a minute.
This guy was just slightly below the middle in the looks department, but he thinks much more highly of himself. He clearly thought he was going to score with her. He was probably plotting out his proposal as we drove in. The fact that she was ignoring his little Ladies Man routine was absolutely divine from my perspective. His behavior was so obnoxious, and clueless, that I don't see how he could honestly believe he was going to get her attention or affection. I knew, as would a dead person, that this was NOT going to be a match, but that didn't stop him from acting like he was God's gift to women (the pretty ones of course). On the OFF CHANCE that this guy would have done the same to ME, still no match. See what I am saying? Even I am out of his league. Again, this didn't stop him from treating me like complete scum.
We began to get close to HER destination, and he started to panic. He tried to strike up a conversation. I believe he tried to comment on something on the radio. She giggled in a COMPLETELY and OBVIOUSLY disinterested way. I'm pretty sure she didn't even hear him. My ears were ringing with too much fear and voodoo curses to hear anything he said. All I know is I could literally see the look hit his face when he realized his hope of pollinating her flower was far too unattainable, even for a stud like him. His whole facial expression changed, and he actually seemed a bit angry. Welcome to the real world, my friend. We've been waiting for you!
OK, here's where it gets uglier for me. (This is not something I would normally tell ANYONE, but I'm sacrificing for my art here.)
She got out, and I figured it would make sense for me to go ahead and climb into the front seat while I had her to move the seat up for me. Do you know what that bastard said to me?
Ready?
"You can stay back there if you want."
Yep. He actually said that to me.
OH, yes, I was pissed. There was no time to be insulted or hurt. I was down-right pissed off. If Patrick Dempsey were to be rude and dismissive to me, I could halfway accept that. But THIS GUY? Why should he get to take out his failure to score with someone hotter than he could ever hope to get out on ME--seriously! I was FUMING, and I was 100% sure I was going to have to do something about this.
After dropping her off, he decided to pull out in front of a Mack truck doing about 60 MPH. It was at THAT moment that I decided I was not going to feel bad about myself for this bastard, and I certainly wasn't going to consider death as an alternative to his rejection!
He pulled up to where he was going to let me out, and just as I was getting ready to open the door he said "wait, let me pull up a bit more." So he pulled up to where I'd have to step out into the mud!
With mud on my shoes and ice in my veins, I thanked him for the ride and said "you never had a chance with her! She was way out of your league. Oh, and your air freshener smells like pimp oil."
Off I went to Starbucks for a hot chocolate and a muffin settled on the fantasy that somewhere, someday, someone will stuff someone ELSE in the backseat and make them step in mud for me!
IT COULD HAPPEN!
First, let me say that I believe that there is a such thing as universal beauty.
There are some men and women who are just universally attractive. These are the type of people who end up in magazines and in movies. They have the sort of appearance that basically makes them attractive to nearly everyone within reason. They are our gold standards of beauty. It's what we all strive to achieve.
Having said all that, today, I was in the presence of one of these universal beauties, and it nearly made me want to get acquainted with the underside of some one's tires. It was not because she was gorgeous and I was jealous, which you are all assuming. No, it was the way the man who picked us up was reacting to her that made me want to become a hood ornament for a Mack truck.
She and I were going to two different destinations, and she was in line behind me. The fact that we ended up in the same car should give you an indication of just how this little joy ride was going to go for me this morning.
Let me set the stage: middle-aged man who has the same sort of greasy, creepy appearance as Eric Roberts in Star 80 (google it) pulls up in his piece of crap car that he's tried to make seem more luxurious by adding an expensive stereo, air freshener, and beaded seat-cushions. He calls out for my stop, and I excitedly head to the car (it's FREEZING cold outside!). Junior Heidi Klum purrs out to him to see if he would take her to HER destination. Since you can guess what his response was, I'll move on. This is a 2-door vehicle, so already feeling frumpy and insignificant, I got to make that graceful climb into the backseat that required leg-hiking and an involuntary grunt or two. On this particular morning, I would have skipped the backseat luxury just to make her crawl into such an unflattering position, but being the sensible woman I am, I knew she'd be getting out before me.
For the record, I don't hate this woman or begrudge her the beauty she was blessed with. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't get a glimmer of joy knowing she was uncomfortable in some way. Why should everything be perfect for her all the time?
So, we all settled in, and Mr. Gawk-man immediately began mentally undressing her. He even set the mood, I believe, hoping that she might actually strip for him. When we got in, he was listening to news talk radio. A few minutes later he turned to a slow jazz station. I was literally waiting for him to light candles and pop a cork with TWO glasses. Lacking a fireplace to set the mood, he actually said "the sun is really pretty this morning."
Oh
My
God.
Now, I imagine this genetically blessed princess is more than used to men rolling out the red carpet for her. I figure there are men who would go, or have gone, into the poor-house buying her expensive gifts just to keep her around. She probably has a closet of jewelry boxes of "rejected" mementos to prove it. (I still have the same jewelry box I've had since I was 9 years old, and it's mostly filled with fake "jewels.") Her apparent boredom with the attention was the only comfort I had this morning.
After she was done filing her nails, yeah--seriously, she decided she needed MORE beauty rest. All this time, Hefner was staring at her about every three seconds and the road about every 65 seconds. It was something like this: eyes on the road, 1-1000, 2-1000, 3-1000, eyes on hot babe, still, still, still, HARD BRAKING. Yes, we almost plowed into the back of about 4 different cars this morning. The fact that he kept slamming on his brakes only made her shift in her seat slightly. I guess she's accustomed to causing accidents. I, on the other hand, was scared out of my ugly head.
Once, he actually stared at her and then glanced back at me in his rear view mirror. I can't be sure, but I think he cringed. Even if he didn't, I didn't appreciate the obvious comparison. So, forgive me if I spew a little hatred on him for a minute.
This guy was just slightly below the middle in the looks department, but he thinks much more highly of himself. He clearly thought he was going to score with her. He was probably plotting out his proposal as we drove in. The fact that she was ignoring his little Ladies Man routine was absolutely divine from my perspective. His behavior was so obnoxious, and clueless, that I don't see how he could honestly believe he was going to get her attention or affection. I knew, as would a dead person, that this was NOT going to be a match, but that didn't stop him from acting like he was God's gift to women (the pretty ones of course). On the OFF CHANCE that this guy would have done the same to ME, still no match. See what I am saying? Even I am out of his league. Again, this didn't stop him from treating me like complete scum.
We began to get close to HER destination, and he started to panic. He tried to strike up a conversation. I believe he tried to comment on something on the radio. She giggled in a COMPLETELY and OBVIOUSLY disinterested way. I'm pretty sure she didn't even hear him. My ears were ringing with too much fear and voodoo curses to hear anything he said. All I know is I could literally see the look hit his face when he realized his hope of pollinating her flower was far too unattainable, even for a stud like him. His whole facial expression changed, and he actually seemed a bit angry. Welcome to the real world, my friend. We've been waiting for you!
OK, here's where it gets uglier for me. (This is not something I would normally tell ANYONE, but I'm sacrificing for my art here.)
She got out, and I figured it would make sense for me to go ahead and climb into the front seat while I had her to move the seat up for me. Do you know what that bastard said to me?
Ready?
"You can stay back there if you want."
Yep. He actually said that to me.
OH, yes, I was pissed. There was no time to be insulted or hurt. I was down-right pissed off. If Patrick Dempsey were to be rude and dismissive to me, I could halfway accept that. But THIS GUY? Why should he get to take out his failure to score with someone hotter than he could ever hope to get out on ME--seriously! I was FUMING, and I was 100% sure I was going to have to do something about this.
After dropping her off, he decided to pull out in front of a Mack truck doing about 60 MPH. It was at THAT moment that I decided I was not going to feel bad about myself for this bastard, and I certainly wasn't going to consider death as an alternative to his rejection!
He pulled up to where he was going to let me out, and just as I was getting ready to open the door he said "wait, let me pull up a bit more." So he pulled up to where I'd have to step out into the mud!
With mud on my shoes and ice in my veins, I thanked him for the ride and said "you never had a chance with her! She was way out of your league. Oh, and your air freshener smells like pimp oil."
Off I went to Starbucks for a hot chocolate and a muffin settled on the fantasy that somewhere, someday, someone will stuff someone ELSE in the backseat and make them step in mud for me!
IT COULD HAPPEN!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Yeah Baby Yeah!
It's getting late, and the slug line is 40 people deep. You've already been standing there for 10 minutes, and the cars are so spaced out that you start to wonder if you should try to take an alternate destination to increase your likelihood of making it to work today. People are getting antsy and doing that little curb-studder dance when a destination is announced. You know what I mean. The driver yells out "PENTAGON!" and 5 or 6 people all step off the curb trying to see if they are the lucky one next in line for the ride. Three of them half-heartedly stumble back onto the sidewalk, heartbroken, and calculating how many more cars have to come before they are on their way. You stand there long enough, and you get psyched-out on enough rides that people start to figure out who is waiting for what destination.
That was me this morning. Time was passing more quickly than I like, and I was still waiting for my destination to be called.
After waiting patiently for about 15 minutes, a car, No! a van, rounded the corner and drove straight down the pickup lane. I heard it coming when it entered the parking lot. When my eyes caught up to my ears, I thought to myself "great, this one will be mine." It was, in the truest definition of the term, a shaggin-wagon that would have made Austin Powers jealous.
It was one of those "old-fashioned" vans that pre-dated the mini-van craze. It was the kind that had the plush captains chairs, television monitors, probably some sort of well-worn and stained bed area, and a wetbar full of Cristal in the back. I'm pretty sure that this particular vehicle had a starring role at some point in MTV's Pimp My Ride. This thing was bouncing and rolling its way up the line, and everyone sort of chuckled at the site of it. The music was loud and awful. I like most music styles, but it's too early in the morning for gangster rap. Seriously. There were two fuzzy things hanging from the rear view mirror, and I'm pretty sure they were breasts not dice.
Just as fascinating as this wacky, tricked out sex mobile was the driver. Oh yeah, I couldn't wait to get a glimpse of this one! In a split second, I dreamed up what I thought he would look like. Reality was SO much better!
He rolled up with his pimp-cup in his hand (OK, it was a 7-11 Big Gulp, but that's not as interesting), and he was driving his little love-machine with a swagger (if that's possible). He was a short little guy who was big on attitude. He gave all the girls a little wink as he drove up, and he flashed that 50-cent smile with such skill that I'm sure it's worked on at least one blind girl. Oh, and yes, he was a white guy with a short buzz cut (think Michael Scofield) and a little goatee. His "little" diamond studs probably cost more than every piece of jewelry I've ever owned or ever will (I can only assume that they were real based on his other splurges on shiny objects--does anyone need THAT much chrome on their vehicle?).
So the time comes for Rico Suave to call out his destination, and all us ladies held our breath. I could feel us getting collectively light-headed. And there it was. Just as I suspected. He called out my destination. In the next few seconds, it was like watching a badly choreographed off-Broadway production. Everyone was looking toward the front of the line where he was waiting like a man who just booked a room at the Bunny Ranch. Slowly, with eerie rhythm, all the heads in the line turned, one by one, each after the other, until their little chorus-line head "wave" stopped with me. They all knew that I was next.
So, I had to decide what was more important, getting to work on time but probably covered in cherry-flavored sex oil or letting this one go to someone else more deserving. I thought about all the things I needed to get done at work, and I did the only thing I could do.
I stood Fembot-still and checked my email on my Blackberry. My posture made it 100% clear that I would be taking the next one. I didn't even move my foot near the curb. I had to let this particular International Man of Mystery go by.
OH BEHAVE!!!
That was me this morning. Time was passing more quickly than I like, and I was still waiting for my destination to be called.
After waiting patiently for about 15 minutes, a car, No! a van, rounded the corner and drove straight down the pickup lane. I heard it coming when it entered the parking lot. When my eyes caught up to my ears, I thought to myself "great, this one will be mine." It was, in the truest definition of the term, a shaggin-wagon that would have made Austin Powers jealous.
It was one of those "old-fashioned" vans that pre-dated the mini-van craze. It was the kind that had the plush captains chairs, television monitors, probably some sort of well-worn and stained bed area, and a wetbar full of Cristal in the back. I'm pretty sure that this particular vehicle had a starring role at some point in MTV's Pimp My Ride. This thing was bouncing and rolling its way up the line, and everyone sort of chuckled at the site of it. The music was loud and awful. I like most music styles, but it's too early in the morning for gangster rap. Seriously. There were two fuzzy things hanging from the rear view mirror, and I'm pretty sure they were breasts not dice.
Just as fascinating as this wacky, tricked out sex mobile was the driver. Oh yeah, I couldn't wait to get a glimpse of this one! In a split second, I dreamed up what I thought he would look like. Reality was SO much better!
He rolled up with his pimp-cup in his hand (OK, it was a 7-11 Big Gulp, but that's not as interesting), and he was driving his little love-machine with a swagger (if that's possible). He was a short little guy who was big on attitude. He gave all the girls a little wink as he drove up, and he flashed that 50-cent smile with such skill that I'm sure it's worked on at least one blind girl. Oh, and yes, he was a white guy with a short buzz cut (think Michael Scofield) and a little goatee. His "little" diamond studs probably cost more than every piece of jewelry I've ever owned or ever will (I can only assume that they were real based on his other splurges on shiny objects--does anyone need THAT much chrome on their vehicle?).
So the time comes for Rico Suave to call out his destination, and all us ladies held our breath. I could feel us getting collectively light-headed. And there it was. Just as I suspected. He called out my destination. In the next few seconds, it was like watching a badly choreographed off-Broadway production. Everyone was looking toward the front of the line where he was waiting like a man who just booked a room at the Bunny Ranch. Slowly, with eerie rhythm, all the heads in the line turned, one by one, each after the other, until their little chorus-line head "wave" stopped with me. They all knew that I was next.
So, I had to decide what was more important, getting to work on time but probably covered in cherry-flavored sex oil or letting this one go to someone else more deserving. I thought about all the things I needed to get done at work, and I did the only thing I could do.
I stood Fembot-still and checked my email on my Blackberry. My posture made it 100% clear that I would be taking the next one. I didn't even move my foot near the curb. I had to let this particular International Man of Mystery go by.
OH BEHAVE!!!
Monday, November 19, 2007
Cell Block Tango
A small percentage of you, most likely just the ladies, know the "Cell Block Tango" reference. For the rest of you, it is a brilliant song/dance routine from the wildly famous Broadway production/movie "Chicago." If you haven't seen the live production or the movie, go to YouTube and see if you can get just this scene. (For the fellas, the woman are half-naked and dancing seductively, so there's incentive to do this.) Here's the basic idea. A bunch of women are on death row for killing a man in their lives for various reasons. (No, I know what you are thinking. I am not thinking of killing a man.) In the song, the women give a little background on what each of their victims did to "deserve" to be killed. Well, the first "lady" in the story came home after a long, hard day, and her husband was sitting on the couch drinking a beer and POPPING his gum. She asked him to stop popping the gum. He didn't. So she fired "two warning shots" into his head. I've always related to that particular reasoning because my nerves simply cannot stand the sound of gum popping. I don't mean blowing bubbles and popping it. I mean that kind of popping that some people have the innate talent to produce EVERY SINGLE TIME they chomp down on the gum. Yes, I relate to the anger of the other women in the song, especially the ones whose husbands/boyfriends cheated on them. But overall, I can most relate to feeling homicidal when someone is popping gum.
Where am I going with this? Bet you can't guess!!
For those of you who read this blog frequently, surely you have figured out by now that I rely HEAVILY upon my iPod for escape from the various disturbances that occur during my daily commute. And, of course, today I managed to leave my beloved iPod sitting in my home office where it was comforting me this weekend while trying to set up my new Macbook.
So, there I was, sitting in the front seat (robbed of the backseat luxury once again), hoping for a nice quiet nap during my early morning commute. Things were going smoothly. I was relaxing as much as I could on the cold, clammy leather seats of the luxury vehicle carrying me to work this morning. My eyes were closed, and traffic was moving smoothly enough that I wasn't jolted back awake every 10 seconds by abrupt braking. Then it happened.
POP! pause pause POP! POP!
Oh my God! Why? POP! I held my breath hoping that it would stop after the initial surge of gum chewing wore off. POP! POP! No such luck. POP! She was going to town on that poor, unsuspecting piece of wintergreen gum. POP! I knew it was wintergreen because I could smell it. POP POP POP! There was absolutely nothing that could be done at this point. POP! I didn't have my iPod, and trying to do deep breath meditation wasn't drowning out the incessant explosions in my head that coincided with every chomp. POP! SMACK! POP POP! It's that kind of popping that is really high-pitched and LOUD. POP!
I tried to find my mental happy place. POP! But, whenever I tried to mentally focus on that beautiful view in Connemara that I love so much, POP! It was no use. POP! Chinese water torture has NOTHING on gum popping! POP POP POP! The Senate was so concerned with having Michael Mukasey declare that waterboarding is torture and shouldn't be used, but where were their outcries for banning gum popping? POP! I'll take simulated drowing ANY DAY! POP! SMACK! After 35 minutes of gum popping in the car this morning, I would have confessed to building gay-seeking WMDs for Iran in my basement. POP chomp chomp POP POP!
When the car rolled to a stop at the agreed upon location, POP, I practically catapulted myself out of the car and started to run. POP! When I noticed that she was following me, no hunting me, I actually turned and walked in the opposite direction. POP! I knew if I didn't, I'd have to listen to that sound the entire walk to my office building. POP! It was too much, so I hung back long enough to get out of popping range. POP! However, even as the popping shrill faded, POP POP, it continued to play in my head. POP POP POP! I'm hearing it even now as I sit at my desk. It's become my Tell-Tale Heart. POP! "It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage." POP POP!
All I can say is, if there had been a shotgun available, she'd have had it coming. And, if you'd have been there, if you'd have heard it, I betcha you would have done the same!
POP!! Happy Slugging! POP!!
Where am I going with this? Bet you can't guess!!
For those of you who read this blog frequently, surely you have figured out by now that I rely HEAVILY upon my iPod for escape from the various disturbances that occur during my daily commute. And, of course, today I managed to leave my beloved iPod sitting in my home office where it was comforting me this weekend while trying to set up my new Macbook.
So, there I was, sitting in the front seat (robbed of the backseat luxury once again), hoping for a nice quiet nap during my early morning commute. Things were going smoothly. I was relaxing as much as I could on the cold, clammy leather seats of the luxury vehicle carrying me to work this morning. My eyes were closed, and traffic was moving smoothly enough that I wasn't jolted back awake every 10 seconds by abrupt braking. Then it happened.
POP! pause pause POP! POP!
Oh my God! Why? POP! I held my breath hoping that it would stop after the initial surge of gum chewing wore off. POP! POP! No such luck. POP! She was going to town on that poor, unsuspecting piece of wintergreen gum. POP! I knew it was wintergreen because I could smell it. POP POP POP! There was absolutely nothing that could be done at this point. POP! I didn't have my iPod, and trying to do deep breath meditation wasn't drowning out the incessant explosions in my head that coincided with every chomp. POP! SMACK! POP POP! It's that kind of popping that is really high-pitched and LOUD. POP!
I tried to find my mental happy place. POP! But, whenever I tried to mentally focus on that beautiful view in Connemara that I love so much, POP! It was no use. POP! Chinese water torture has NOTHING on gum popping! POP POP POP! The Senate was so concerned with having Michael Mukasey declare that waterboarding is torture and shouldn't be used, but where were their outcries for banning gum popping? POP! I'll take simulated drowing ANY DAY! POP! SMACK! After 35 minutes of gum popping in the car this morning, I would have confessed to building gay-seeking WMDs for Iran in my basement. POP chomp chomp POP POP!
When the car rolled to a stop at the agreed upon location, POP, I practically catapulted myself out of the car and started to run. POP! When I noticed that she was following me, no hunting me, I actually turned and walked in the opposite direction. POP! I knew if I didn't, I'd have to listen to that sound the entire walk to my office building. POP! It was too much, so I hung back long enough to get out of popping range. POP! However, even as the popping shrill faded, POP POP, it continued to play in my head. POP POP POP! I'm hearing it even now as I sit at my desk. It's become my Tell-Tale Heart. POP! "It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage." POP POP!
All I can say is, if there had been a shotgun available, she'd have had it coming. And, if you'd have been there, if you'd have heard it, I betcha you would have done the same!
POP!! Happy Slugging! POP!!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
NOT in the Mood for Love!!!
We've all been there. Some days you wake up and you just aren't in the mood for happy people. That's not to say that I woke up in a bad mood today. I'm in a somewhat neutral mood. But I'm not in the mood for happy people, especially happy people who are in love.
It should make me happy to see two well-adjusted, professional people who aren't afraid to openly show affection toward each other and who can have a pleasant conversation about irrelevant minutia. After some pretty serious soul-searching post-commute this morning, I discovered that being around the two people I rode in with this morning simply pissed me off.
I eagerly, and unwittingly, jumped into their car this morning unprepared for the chirping birds and bubbling hearts that were circling these two obvious lovers. I gave my normal "good morning!" in the best "cheery" tone I could channel, but I was greeted with a tsunami of cheerfulness that almost made me jump out of the car as it pulled away.
They were all smiles and Starbucks, and they were holding hands like a couple of teenagers. Again, this should give me hope that there is, indeed, a such thing as "true love" but you as you might guess it does not. The smiley discussion about the coffee and the preparation and "care" (direct quote) that went into making it this morning was enough to make my iPod go close to maximum volume. I tried listening to my favorite playlist that includes quite a few "love songs," but seeing how happy these two were made me opt for something slightly less warm and fuzzy. As Steven Tyler was belting out "My Fist Your Face," I titled my head back in the hopes of catching a few precious moments of half-sleep. Unfortunately, even at near-maximum volume, my iPod was no match for that deafening love-giggle that came flooding out of Doris Day in the front seat. I tried with all my love-hating strength to tune her out and focus on Tyler's scratchy screams. Unfortunately, even Tyler betrayed me this morning, and without warning went into "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing". Ahh, yes, here comes more romance to cheer me up! Seriously, I love this song under normal circumstances. But today, it's like listening to fingernails on a chalkboard. My only comfort at that moment is that Bruce Willis got killed at the end of the movie (still wish the writers would have opted for Ben Affleck).
So, to cheer myself up, I imagined what this relationship is REALLY like behind closed doors. I guessed they've only been married for a year or two, still feeling all newlywedish. They probably dated for two years before getting engaged, and she probably spent a year obsessing over colors and flowers and seating charts. I imagined that he likes his Internet porn, enjoys flirting with any woman who will flirt back, chooses a bad football game over a good afternoon with his perky wife, secretly hates the way his wife giggles at him, and he goes to bed every night satisfied with himself for managing to keep his mistress a secret once again. I imagine her to be basically clueless and sexually flat lining.
Evil, I know. But the possibility that these two love birds are ACTUALLY in love was just too much for me to handle this morning.
I know. There are some of you who are analyzing this and asking yourself "What the hell has happened to this poor woman that she can't stand to be around love?" Perhaps there is an element of general love cynicism in me that rears its ugly head regularly, but today, it's just about timing. Maybe tomorrow I will wake up believing that love stories have happy endings and that relationships really can be healthy and long-lasting. We'll see how my mood goes.
As for Mr. and Mrs. Cootchy-Coo up front, they maintained their cutesy conversation about what they are going to cook for Thanksgiving dinner for most of the trip. Finally, we reached my destination, and I desperately imagined an ejection seat that would get me out before I saw the inevitable farewell kiss. I felt like I was the dumb girl in a horror movie that stuck around to see if the killer was still there. I saw it coming in slow-motion, and there was no way to protect my ears in time to avoid the piercing echo of the adorable little peck that they gave each other.
They kissed. I vomited a little in my throat and exited the vehicle comforting myself with a little angst-ridden Alanis Morissette. I knew she would understand.
It should make me happy to see two well-adjusted, professional people who aren't afraid to openly show affection toward each other and who can have a pleasant conversation about irrelevant minutia. After some pretty serious soul-searching post-commute this morning, I discovered that being around the two people I rode in with this morning simply pissed me off.
I eagerly, and unwittingly, jumped into their car this morning unprepared for the chirping birds and bubbling hearts that were circling these two obvious lovers. I gave my normal "good morning!" in the best "cheery" tone I could channel, but I was greeted with a tsunami of cheerfulness that almost made me jump out of the car as it pulled away.
They were all smiles and Starbucks, and they were holding hands like a couple of teenagers. Again, this should give me hope that there is, indeed, a such thing as "true love" but you as you might guess it does not. The smiley discussion about the coffee and the preparation and "care" (direct quote) that went into making it this morning was enough to make my iPod go close to maximum volume. I tried listening to my favorite playlist that includes quite a few "love songs," but seeing how happy these two were made me opt for something slightly less warm and fuzzy. As Steven Tyler was belting out "My Fist Your Face," I titled my head back in the hopes of catching a few precious moments of half-sleep. Unfortunately, even at near-maximum volume, my iPod was no match for that deafening love-giggle that came flooding out of Doris Day in the front seat. I tried with all my love-hating strength to tune her out and focus on Tyler's scratchy screams. Unfortunately, even Tyler betrayed me this morning, and without warning went into "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing". Ahh, yes, here comes more romance to cheer me up! Seriously, I love this song under normal circumstances. But today, it's like listening to fingernails on a chalkboard. My only comfort at that moment is that Bruce Willis got killed at the end of the movie (still wish the writers would have opted for Ben Affleck).
So, to cheer myself up, I imagined what this relationship is REALLY like behind closed doors. I guessed they've only been married for a year or two, still feeling all newlywedish. They probably dated for two years before getting engaged, and she probably spent a year obsessing over colors and flowers and seating charts. I imagined that he likes his Internet porn, enjoys flirting with any woman who will flirt back, chooses a bad football game over a good afternoon with his perky wife, secretly hates the way his wife giggles at him, and he goes to bed every night satisfied with himself for managing to keep his mistress a secret once again. I imagine her to be basically clueless and sexually flat lining.
Evil, I know. But the possibility that these two love birds are ACTUALLY in love was just too much for me to handle this morning.
I know. There are some of you who are analyzing this and asking yourself "What the hell has happened to this poor woman that she can't stand to be around love?" Perhaps there is an element of general love cynicism in me that rears its ugly head regularly, but today, it's just about timing. Maybe tomorrow I will wake up believing that love stories have happy endings and that relationships really can be healthy and long-lasting. We'll see how my mood goes.
As for Mr. and Mrs. Cootchy-Coo up front, they maintained their cutesy conversation about what they are going to cook for Thanksgiving dinner for most of the trip. Finally, we reached my destination, and I desperately imagined an ejection seat that would get me out before I saw the inevitable farewell kiss. I felt like I was the dumb girl in a horror movie that stuck around to see if the killer was still there. I saw it coming in slow-motion, and there was no way to protect my ears in time to avoid the piercing echo of the adorable little peck that they gave each other.
They kissed. I vomited a little in my throat and exited the vehicle comforting myself with a little angst-ridden Alanis Morissette. I knew she would understand.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Riddle Me This...
So, for all you heavy-thinkers out there, I have a little riddle for you. You have one car with three people in it. All three people are sleeping. Who's driving the car?
Think about this....it's a real brain twister!
Give up?
That's RIGHT! You win the prize! NOBODY IS DRIVING THE CAR!!!!!!!!
Yes, you read me right slug-lovers. I won the "try to kill me" driver lotto today and got the guy who can't stay awake. But just when I thought the sleeping wasn't bad enough, it turns out he's the ONE driver who does the opposite of the natural "falling asleep at the wheel" reaction. Most people, when they fall asleep at the wheel, decelerate. No, not my driver. He went faster....and faster...and faster....
Here I was...in the backseat (finally the luxury seat is mine!)...minding my own business (in other words, sleeping with my ipod on). It was a long, draining day at work, and I needed a few minutes of unrestful sleep in the backseat of a stranger's car. Besides the pungent smell of body odor and what might have been the faintest smell of urine, the ride was relatively uneventful. The weather was perfect. The sun was beating down on me in just the right way. I was having a nice little nap. Until........brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrap. You know that sound.....your car just QUICKLY drove over the rumble strips on the side of the road. I instinctively opened my eyes to see us heading STRAIGHT FOR THE JERSEY WALL doing about 85 miles per hour (at least that's what the speedometer said when I say him decelerate after waking). We were literally an INCH from smashing head-first into the wall when I screamed SO LOUD I'm pretty sure I woke up this guy's great great great great great grandfather (who probably died falling asleep at the reins of his horse).
I screamed. His head flew up (yes, you pictured that right...his head was ALL THE WAY back...mouth open). My fellow passenger on death row woke up at the same time as Mr. Snoozy McDeathdriver, and we collectively yelled a really bad word. He swerved. We all survived. While I'm all about sacrificing for my art, I'm not too thrilled about ghost writing my blog for Halloween this year.
The silence was deafening after that. My ipod was safely clutched in my trembling hands for the rest of the trip (probably broken now), and my heart was definitively pounding just behind my left eye. I wasn't complaining about the skull-crushing headache that ensued post life-flashing. Afterall, I was in one piece and still breathing. I got lucky. I really DID win the lottery today.
I'm pretty sure that was urine I smelled. I'm sure this isn't the first time Mr. High-speed Sleeper has done this, and his other unsuspecting passengers probably didn't have the bladder fortitude of someone like me.
So, as we all do when we arrive at our destination, me and my +1 gathered our belongings and exited the car. Nothing unusual. I was left for a second with the dilemma of how to "thank" the Grim Reaper for almost driving his death chariot into an unforgiving wall, and I decided on the only fitting exit I could muster.
FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Think about this....it's a real brain twister!
Give up?
That's RIGHT! You win the prize! NOBODY IS DRIVING THE CAR!!!!!!!!
Yes, you read me right slug-lovers. I won the "try to kill me" driver lotto today and got the guy who can't stay awake. But just when I thought the sleeping wasn't bad enough, it turns out he's the ONE driver who does the opposite of the natural "falling asleep at the wheel" reaction. Most people, when they fall asleep at the wheel, decelerate. No, not my driver. He went faster....and faster...and faster....
Here I was...in the backseat (finally the luxury seat is mine!)...minding my own business (in other words, sleeping with my ipod on). It was a long, draining day at work, and I needed a few minutes of unrestful sleep in the backseat of a stranger's car. Besides the pungent smell of body odor and what might have been the faintest smell of urine, the ride was relatively uneventful. The weather was perfect. The sun was beating down on me in just the right way. I was having a nice little nap. Until........brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrap. You know that sound.....your car just QUICKLY drove over the rumble strips on the side of the road. I instinctively opened my eyes to see us heading STRAIGHT FOR THE JERSEY WALL doing about 85 miles per hour (at least that's what the speedometer said when I say him decelerate after waking). We were literally an INCH from smashing head-first into the wall when I screamed SO LOUD I'm pretty sure I woke up this guy's great great great great great grandfather (who probably died falling asleep at the reins of his horse).
I screamed. His head flew up (yes, you pictured that right...his head was ALL THE WAY back...mouth open). My fellow passenger on death row woke up at the same time as Mr. Snoozy McDeathdriver, and we collectively yelled a really bad word. He swerved. We all survived. While I'm all about sacrificing for my art, I'm not too thrilled about ghost writing my blog for Halloween this year.
The silence was deafening after that. My ipod was safely clutched in my trembling hands for the rest of the trip (probably broken now), and my heart was definitively pounding just behind my left eye. I wasn't complaining about the skull-crushing headache that ensued post life-flashing. Afterall, I was in one piece and still breathing. I got lucky. I really DID win the lottery today.
I'm pretty sure that was urine I smelled. I'm sure this isn't the first time Mr. High-speed Sleeper has done this, and his other unsuspecting passengers probably didn't have the bladder fortitude of someone like me.
So, as we all do when we arrive at our destination, me and my +1 gathered our belongings and exited the car. Nothing unusual. I was left for a second with the dilemma of how to "thank" the Grim Reaper for almost driving his death chariot into an unforgiving wall, and I decided on the only fitting exit I could muster.
FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, October 29, 2007
Keep the Slimy Paws Off My Settings
In the world of DC hitchiking, there are some basic human needs that must be met.
1. A safe, clean ride.
2. Drop off at the agreed upon location.
3. Preferably, temperature is adjusted to match the weather.
There are some "creature comforts" that are somewhat in question.
1. The volume level, and choice of music, of the radio.
2. The actual temperature of the interior.
3. The cleanliness and space available for your actual seat.
Having said all of this, I'm here to say that there is ONE thing that is not required to be provided, nor is it in question as to whether or not it should be provided. That one thing is.....
THE POSITION OF MY SEATS!!!!!!!!
When I decide to drive, I'm the INCREDIBLY friendly driver that opens the door to my passengers to comment on the temperature. I make sure they know that it's OK to adjust the vetns if they need to, and I invite temperature adjustment suggestions. NEVER ONCE do you hear me say, "oh please, come on in and readjust all of my seat settings to meet your needs!" If someone gets in and my seat is too far forward (or backward), I will make it clear that they can move the seat up or back. That's only the kind thing to do. But, when you get in and start settling yourself in as if this is your own personal limo suited specifically to your needs, we have a PROBLEM. No, you are not allowed to recline my seats back. No, you are not allowed to move my headrests around. This is not American Airlines. It's not OK to get in and make yourself at home. You aren't going to be in my car for that long (yes, if it actually were American Airlines, you'd be there for a WHILE). It's not like I have my seats adjusted into a backbreaking posture!
Anyway, it's supposed to be a somewhat comfortable ride for you, although God knows I've had my share of sketchy ones. It is not a custom-tailored situation for you. Get in, put your seatbelt on, GO TO SLEEP. Hell, if you ask, I might consent to the changes as long as you agree to put them back where you found them. (Please return trays and seatbacks to their upright position) Otherwise, leave my car's settings alone. That's all I ask.
So, a new rule to throw out there: sluggers, keep your slimy hands off my seats!
Happy slugging!
1. A safe, clean ride.
2. Drop off at the agreed upon location.
3. Preferably, temperature is adjusted to match the weather.
There are some "creature comforts" that are somewhat in question.
1. The volume level, and choice of music, of the radio.
2. The actual temperature of the interior.
3. The cleanliness and space available for your actual seat.
Having said all of this, I'm here to say that there is ONE thing that is not required to be provided, nor is it in question as to whether or not it should be provided. That one thing is.....
THE POSITION OF MY SEATS!!!!!!!!
When I decide to drive, I'm the INCREDIBLY friendly driver that opens the door to my passengers to comment on the temperature. I make sure they know that it's OK to adjust the vetns if they need to, and I invite temperature adjustment suggestions. NEVER ONCE do you hear me say, "oh please, come on in and readjust all of my seat settings to meet your needs!" If someone gets in and my seat is too far forward (or backward), I will make it clear that they can move the seat up or back. That's only the kind thing to do. But, when you get in and start settling yourself in as if this is your own personal limo suited specifically to your needs, we have a PROBLEM. No, you are not allowed to recline my seats back. No, you are not allowed to move my headrests around. This is not American Airlines. It's not OK to get in and make yourself at home. You aren't going to be in my car for that long (yes, if it actually were American Airlines, you'd be there for a WHILE). It's not like I have my seats adjusted into a backbreaking posture!
Anyway, it's supposed to be a somewhat comfortable ride for you, although God knows I've had my share of sketchy ones. It is not a custom-tailored situation for you. Get in, put your seatbelt on, GO TO SLEEP. Hell, if you ask, I might consent to the changes as long as you agree to put them back where you found them. (Please return trays and seatbacks to their upright position) Otherwise, leave my car's settings alone. That's all I ask.
So, a new rule to throw out there: sluggers, keep your slimy hands off my seats!
Happy slugging!
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
I Hate Leather Seats
Yes, I know what you are thinking. Why on earth would I dedicate an entire posting to my hatred of leather seats? Besides the fact that this is my blog and I can bitch about anything I want, I think my complaint about leather seats could serve as a public service announcement to all current and future leather seat optioners and their unsuspecting passengers.
To clarify, I am NOT a PETA member and this has NOTHING to do with saving the animals. If it was up to me, I'd have more leather and less cows. I'll take the skin, you take the tenderloin.
Why do I hate leather seats? Let me count the ways...
1. If you move the wrong way, it sounds like you just farted in the car. If you are among friends and family, this could be a good source of laughter. If you are in the car with strangers, not so funny. Personally, I wouldn't use this as a reason to not buy leather seats.
2. If you sit too long on leather seats, your butt sweats. Not something anyone but you would notice (unless you leave a wet spot, God forbid!), but unpleasant to get out of a car and do the subtle butt sweep to see just how bad the damage is. I know nobody wants to admit this, but like I said....public service announcement.
3. People who own cars with leather seats feel inclined to polish their precious leather with some obnoxious leather treatment oils. See where I am going with this? I went to work smelling "Lovely" and I am now spending my day smelling Bovine.
4. When you sit on leather seats, your clothes become a dust rag (the accumulation of dust is magnified by the leather oil). Good for the owner, bad for the passenger. It's really bad enough that I have to smell like your leather, but now I am walking around with your stripper girlfriend's glitter debris!
5. Finally, this one is SERIOUS. When you are not paying attention and you find yourself making a violent and sudden stop to avoid hitting the car in front of you, my ass continues to slide forward even though my seatbelt has harnessed the rest of me. Ladies and gentleman of the leather-seat owning community, do you really want a lawsuit for ass-lash?
Happy slugging!
To clarify, I am NOT a PETA member and this has NOTHING to do with saving the animals. If it was up to me, I'd have more leather and less cows. I'll take the skin, you take the tenderloin.
Why do I hate leather seats? Let me count the ways...
1. If you move the wrong way, it sounds like you just farted in the car. If you are among friends and family, this could be a good source of laughter. If you are in the car with strangers, not so funny. Personally, I wouldn't use this as a reason to not buy leather seats.
2. If you sit too long on leather seats, your butt sweats. Not something anyone but you would notice (unless you leave a wet spot, God forbid!), but unpleasant to get out of a car and do the subtle butt sweep to see just how bad the damage is. I know nobody wants to admit this, but like I said....public service announcement.
3. People who own cars with leather seats feel inclined to polish their precious leather with some obnoxious leather treatment oils. See where I am going with this? I went to work smelling "Lovely" and I am now spending my day smelling Bovine.
4. When you sit on leather seats, your clothes become a dust rag (the accumulation of dust is magnified by the leather oil). Good for the owner, bad for the passenger. It's really bad enough that I have to smell like your leather, but now I am walking around with your stripper girlfriend's glitter debris!
5. Finally, this one is SERIOUS. When you are not paying attention and you find yourself making a violent and sudden stop to avoid hitting the car in front of you, my ass continues to slide forward even though my seatbelt has harnessed the rest of me. Ladies and gentleman of the leather-seat owning community, do you really want a lawsuit for ass-lash?
Happy slugging!
Monday, October 15, 2007
So many things, so little time....
It's been a while since I posted, and I know most of you are wondering what has happened. Well, between some relatively uneventful commutes and a glorious week off from work, I haven't had much to say. But let me assure you, I have PLENTY to say right now. As before, I'll try to break it down a little so I can cover everything relatively quickly.
#1. SHUT UP! Seriously! Shut up!
We all get to know each other relatively quickly. You ride at the same times with roughly the same people every morning. Knowing this should, SHOULD, make you hesitant about sharing your lurid personal details with semi-strangers! Granted, I don't necessarily know your name, but with the level of detail you provide me, I could certainly track you down. (granted, I don't want to, but what if I was a psycho? Let's stop and think people.) I understand the urge to be chatty when you are in a car full of people for a long time. I also understand the urge to get your problems off your chest. God knows I have a Mack Truck load I could dump on you. But I don't say anything. Why is that? Because it's NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. Just like it's NONE OF MY BUSINESS who your daughter is sleeping with, was sleeping with, or how many weapons your boyfriend keeps around just in case.
Yes, I leave room for the possibility that there are indeed people in the car who want you to share all of your bizarre personal details. Hell, if it's the afternoon commute, I'm all for listening to your latests soap opera moment. But, as I have stated previously, before 9AM, I am NOT interested.
So, here's a little cheatsheet for "how to know if the people in this car care about my ______": if the people to whom you are blabbing keep dozing off, THEY AREN'T LISTENING. If their response to your questions consist of a few grunts and a sigh, THEY AREN'T LISTENING. If they snore, THEY AREN'T LISTENING!
Do yourself, and your fellow commuters a favor, when you see these signs, save your breath for the ride home (provided these signs are not present again).
As for me, ALWAYS assume that I want to sleep. :) I love sleep.
#2. This is a quick review of a previous complaint, so it will be short.
If your car's inspection sticker has expired, and I don't just mean a few days ago, you should NOT endanger other people's lives. I can only assume that there are mechanical issues preventing your vehicle from passing inspection. If you want to take that chance, that's up to you. But do me a favor, DON'T LET ME RIDE IN YOUR DEATH MACHINE. Good Lord people! Let's use some common sense.
It could be, and I could be wrong, but it could be that the reason the car won't pass inspection is because it's so FULL of trash that the inspector couldn't get in to do his checklist. That's right, I sat on top of trash that was on top of trash. And, despite my fortunately short stature, I was so crammed into your backseat that my short little knees were up to my chest. Try, TRY to think of what you are putting your riders through!
#3. This is just funny, so I'm going to share.
Referring back to #1, but it has nothing to do with me.....
If you get into a car and greet the driver and their response is to turn up the radio louder without responding, there's a GOOD chance that person does not want to talk to you.
Just a thought...I could be wrong.
Happy slugging!
#1. SHUT UP! Seriously! Shut up!
We all get to know each other relatively quickly. You ride at the same times with roughly the same people every morning. Knowing this should, SHOULD, make you hesitant about sharing your lurid personal details with semi-strangers! Granted, I don't necessarily know your name, but with the level of detail you provide me, I could certainly track you down. (granted, I don't want to, but what if I was a psycho? Let's stop and think people.) I understand the urge to be chatty when you are in a car full of people for a long time. I also understand the urge to get your problems off your chest. God knows I have a Mack Truck load I could dump on you. But I don't say anything. Why is that? Because it's NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. Just like it's NONE OF MY BUSINESS who your daughter is sleeping with, was sleeping with, or how many weapons your boyfriend keeps around just in case.
Yes, I leave room for the possibility that there are indeed people in the car who want you to share all of your bizarre personal details. Hell, if it's the afternoon commute, I'm all for listening to your latests soap opera moment. But, as I have stated previously, before 9AM, I am NOT interested.
So, here's a little cheatsheet for "how to know if the people in this car care about my ______": if the people to whom you are blabbing keep dozing off, THEY AREN'T LISTENING. If their response to your questions consist of a few grunts and a sigh, THEY AREN'T LISTENING. If they snore, THEY AREN'T LISTENING!
Do yourself, and your fellow commuters a favor, when you see these signs, save your breath for the ride home (provided these signs are not present again).
As for me, ALWAYS assume that I want to sleep. :) I love sleep.
#2. This is a quick review of a previous complaint, so it will be short.
If your car's inspection sticker has expired, and I don't just mean a few days ago, you should NOT endanger other people's lives. I can only assume that there are mechanical issues preventing your vehicle from passing inspection. If you want to take that chance, that's up to you. But do me a favor, DON'T LET ME RIDE IN YOUR DEATH MACHINE. Good Lord people! Let's use some common sense.
It could be, and I could be wrong, but it could be that the reason the car won't pass inspection is because it's so FULL of trash that the inspector couldn't get in to do his checklist. That's right, I sat on top of trash that was on top of trash. And, despite my fortunately short stature, I was so crammed into your backseat that my short little knees were up to my chest. Try, TRY to think of what you are putting your riders through!
#3. This is just funny, so I'm going to share.
Referring back to #1, but it has nothing to do with me.....
If you get into a car and greet the driver and their response is to turn up the radio louder without responding, there's a GOOD chance that person does not want to talk to you.
Just a thought...I could be wrong.
Happy slugging!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
That Ride was Mine! MINE MINE MINE MINE!!!!!!
I'm not a morning person. I'm normally a very easygoing, sociable person, but if it's before 9AM, it's in everyone's best interest to keep a safe distance. I imagine most of my slugging compadres feel the same, judging from their tired, frustrated, Starbucks-craving faces.
When the line and the wait is particularly long, we all get a little agitated. After about 5 or 6 cars go through and you don't get any closer to getting a ride, you can lose your patience. I understand this. But the bottom line is, when it's that early, and I'm that cranky, and those around me feel the same, I simply can't be held responsible for the can of whoop-ass that I might pull out when someone KNOWINGLY breaks one of the basic rules of mankind.
Even my toddler knows that you wait your turn.
So, out of the kindness of my only recently awakened heart, I will give you some friendly advice. If you take my ride one more time, you will suffer catastrophic, too-early-in-the-damn-morning-to-play-games consequences! I WILL start a riot, and Rodney King will not be there to appeal to my inner peacenik.
Here's the deal: when the lines are long and the cars start to stack up, line proximity does not give you the right to take the ride of another person IN FRONT OF YOU. It's quite an orderly process, and if you follow the rules, you'll continue to have use of both your legs.
I stood waiting at the FRONT OF THE LINE for my destination to be called. A car came and called and 4 people stepped out at once. Me, being the mannered person that I am, acknowledged that the 2 in front of me had the ride, and you and I stepped back in line. YOU, Mr. Back of the Line, tried again to step out from the BACK because the car was stopped close to you. Unfortunately for me, because I was now at the FRONT of the line, I did not hear this kind driver offer to take a third rider for our destination. But you, in your proximity to the vehicle, took advantage of a good opportunity and TOOK MY RIDE. Some would chalk this situation up to "he didn't see you." Oh, but you did! We both stepped out for the ride at the same time and made EYE CONTACT. Yes, sir, I saw you looking into my eyes. I know YOU KNOW that was MY ride.
I hope you are sitting at your desk right now remembering that look in my eyes. Because if you see it again, you might want to RUN AND HIDE!
Do a little review of your most basic rules of orderly social behavior and keep your ass out of my seat next time.
When the line and the wait is particularly long, we all get a little agitated. After about 5 or 6 cars go through and you don't get any closer to getting a ride, you can lose your patience. I understand this. But the bottom line is, when it's that early, and I'm that cranky, and those around me feel the same, I simply can't be held responsible for the can of whoop-ass that I might pull out when someone KNOWINGLY breaks one of the basic rules of mankind.
Even my toddler knows that you wait your turn.
So, out of the kindness of my only recently awakened heart, I will give you some friendly advice. If you take my ride one more time, you will suffer catastrophic, too-early-in-the-damn-morning-to-play-games consequences! I WILL start a riot, and Rodney King will not be there to appeal to my inner peacenik.
Here's the deal: when the lines are long and the cars start to stack up, line proximity does not give you the right to take the ride of another person IN FRONT OF YOU. It's quite an orderly process, and if you follow the rules, you'll continue to have use of both your legs.
I stood waiting at the FRONT OF THE LINE for my destination to be called. A car came and called and 4 people stepped out at once. Me, being the mannered person that I am, acknowledged that the 2 in front of me had the ride, and you and I stepped back in line. YOU, Mr. Back of the Line, tried again to step out from the BACK because the car was stopped close to you. Unfortunately for me, because I was now at the FRONT of the line, I did not hear this kind driver offer to take a third rider for our destination. But you, in your proximity to the vehicle, took advantage of a good opportunity and TOOK MY RIDE. Some would chalk this situation up to "he didn't see you." Oh, but you did! We both stepped out for the ride at the same time and made EYE CONTACT. Yes, sir, I saw you looking into my eyes. I know YOU KNOW that was MY ride.
I hope you are sitting at your desk right now remembering that look in my eyes. Because if you see it again, you might want to RUN AND HIDE!
Do a little review of your most basic rules of orderly social behavior and keep your ass out of my seat next time.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
If you have that much gas, drive yourself to work!
It's getting cold outside in the mornings, and the lines are pretty long at the sluglot these days. That means, more than likely, the heat is going to be on in the car that picks you up. This is a GOOD thing. Let's not ruin it.
If you are the type of person who feels the need to pass a lot of gas, you should consider riding into work alone. Just a suggestion. Here's why: first, none of us want to be intimately familiar with the inside of your colon, and second, when it stinks in a car running heat, it's unbelievably worse.
Lucky me, in my usual pattern of bad seating, I got stuck in the backseat with a man who thinks passing gas is a sport and he's trying to win a medal. Apparently, he doesn't realize that leather seats make this sort of thing OBVIOUS (as if the smell didn't already)! After about the third time, I looked over at him and made an audible gagging sound. It didn't seem to affect him, because he did it at least 3 more times!
The smell of his ass mixed with the cheap drugstore perfume on the woman in the front seat was becoming too lethal, and luckily the driver decided to take action. I thought he was going to go for the windows, but he lowered the temperature in the car to 65 degrees (yes, he had a digital temp gauge on his AC, so I know this for a fact)!!!!!!!!!! I was still cold from standing outside with no jacket on, but I was grateful for the lifting of the ass cloud hanging in the car. So I huddled up to my purse and prayed for light traffic.
The lesson I learned today is to keep a spare bottle of my favorite perfume in my desk so I can hopefully get the smells of my fellow commuters off of me once I get to work.
As for Mr. Exxon Valdez, do us all a favor and propel yourself to work solo from now on!!!
If you are the type of person who feels the need to pass a lot of gas, you should consider riding into work alone. Just a suggestion. Here's why: first, none of us want to be intimately familiar with the inside of your colon, and second, when it stinks in a car running heat, it's unbelievably worse.
Lucky me, in my usual pattern of bad seating, I got stuck in the backseat with a man who thinks passing gas is a sport and he's trying to win a medal. Apparently, he doesn't realize that leather seats make this sort of thing OBVIOUS (as if the smell didn't already)! After about the third time, I looked over at him and made an audible gagging sound. It didn't seem to affect him, because he did it at least 3 more times!
The smell of his ass mixed with the cheap drugstore perfume on the woman in the front seat was becoming too lethal, and luckily the driver decided to take action. I thought he was going to go for the windows, but he lowered the temperature in the car to 65 degrees (yes, he had a digital temp gauge on his AC, so I know this for a fact)!!!!!!!!!! I was still cold from standing outside with no jacket on, but I was grateful for the lifting of the ass cloud hanging in the car. So I huddled up to my purse and prayed for light traffic.
The lesson I learned today is to keep a spare bottle of my favorite perfume in my desk so I can hopefully get the smells of my fellow commuters off of me once I get to work.
As for Mr. Exxon Valdez, do us all a favor and propel yourself to work solo from now on!!!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Leave Me Out of Your Mid-Life Crisis!!
Growing up at the beach, I, like most of my friends, dreamed of owning a cute, sporty convertible to drive down to the strip and be seen in. It was a fleeting fantasy that most of us grew out of, and for good reason. Convertibles just aren't economical, efficient, or safe. Unfortunately, some men hit middle-age and decide that they want a sporty convertible to drive around and be seen in. Perhaps they want to pick up women or just appear to be "cool" to those around them. I don't know the justification. Whatever it is, I would just like to offer some advice and suggestions from a slugging perspective.
First let me say, reverse shotgun rules do NOT apply when approaching a convertible. Being the savvy convertible connoisseur that I am, I knew better than to get into the backseat of this convertible. Anyone who's ever been in one knows that the air stream is brutal in the backseat. There was only one problem. The other passenger was taller than me and needed to ride up front. So, as is always my luck, I got the worst possible positioning. Lucky me!
Next, to Mr. Mid-Life Crisis, owning this cute, sporty convertible did NOT make you any sexier or appealing. I just needed to get that out!
Finally, from a slugging perspective, when car manufacturers made the convertible, I believe it was meant for the leisurely drive at speeds of 55 or less. If you are on I95 going 80 miles an hour surrounded by 18-wheelers, road debris, and discarded cigarettes from the car in front of you, DO NOT DRIVE WITH THE TOP DOWN. Yes, it's beautiful weather in DC right now. Yes, the sun is shining and the air is the perfect temperature. NONE of this can be truly enjoyed with the top down on the INTERSTATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, and yes, you DO have to turn up your radio to hear it better with the top down, but you do NOT have to broadcast your "oldies but goodies" to the fucking MOON! I'm fairly certain that I've lost another 20% of my hearing from riding in that convertible.
While driving a convertible may make you feel young and valid again, your fellow commuters feel beaten and bloodied by the end of the ride and find it terribly difficult to gain any benefit from it. So, in the spirit of the other "unwritten" rules of slugging designed to make the ride comfortable for all, let me suggest that we add "Leave us out of your Mid-Life Crisis and Leave the Top UP!"
First let me say, reverse shotgun rules do NOT apply when approaching a convertible. Being the savvy convertible connoisseur that I am, I knew better than to get into the backseat of this convertible. Anyone who's ever been in one knows that the air stream is brutal in the backseat. There was only one problem. The other passenger was taller than me and needed to ride up front. So, as is always my luck, I got the worst possible positioning. Lucky me!
Next, to Mr. Mid-Life Crisis, owning this cute, sporty convertible did NOT make you any sexier or appealing. I just needed to get that out!
Finally, from a slugging perspective, when car manufacturers made the convertible, I believe it was meant for the leisurely drive at speeds of 55 or less. If you are on I95 going 80 miles an hour surrounded by 18-wheelers, road debris, and discarded cigarettes from the car in front of you, DO NOT DRIVE WITH THE TOP DOWN. Yes, it's beautiful weather in DC right now. Yes, the sun is shining and the air is the perfect temperature. NONE of this can be truly enjoyed with the top down on the INTERSTATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, and yes, you DO have to turn up your radio to hear it better with the top down, but you do NOT have to broadcast your "oldies but goodies" to the fucking MOON! I'm fairly certain that I've lost another 20% of my hearing from riding in that convertible.
While driving a convertible may make you feel young and valid again, your fellow commuters feel beaten and bloodied by the end of the ride and find it terribly difficult to gain any benefit from it. So, in the spirit of the other "unwritten" rules of slugging designed to make the ride comfortable for all, let me suggest that we add "Leave us out of your Mid-Life Crisis and Leave the Top UP!"
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
What is Slugging?
For those not familiar with "slugging" here is some basic information. I borrowed this from slug-lines.com, so feel free to go to that site for more information. This should help you put my rantings into perspective!
"
What is Slugging?
Slugging is a term used to describe a unique form of commuting found in the Washington, DC area sometimes referred to as "Instant Carpooling" or "Casual Carpooling". It's unique because people commuting into the city stop to pickup other passengers even though they are total strangers! However, slugging is a very organized system with its own set of rules, proper etiquette, and specific pickup and drop-off
locations. It has thousands of vehicles at its disposal, moves thousands of commuters daily, and the best part, it’s FREE! Not only is it free, but it gets people to and from work faster than the typical bus, metro, or train. I think you'll find that it is the most efficient, cost-effective form of commuting in the nation.
How the Slugging Works
The system of slugging is quite simple. A car needing additional passengers to meet the required 3- person high occupancy vehicle (HOV) minimum pulls up to one of the known slug lines. The driver usually positions the car so that the slugs are on the passenger side. The driver either displays a sign with the destination or simply lowers the passenger window, to call out the destination, such as "Pentagon," "L’Enfant Plaza," or "14th & New York." The slugs first in line for that particular destination then hop into the car, normally confirming the destination, and off they go.
No money is exchanged because of the mutual benefit: the car driver needs riders just as much as the slugs need a ride. Each party needs the other in order to survive. Normally, there is no conversation unless initiated by the driver; usually the only words exchanged are "Thank you" as the driver drops off the slugs at the destination.
There doesn’t need to be any discussion about the destination , such as giving directions, because the drop-off points are generally understood. "Rosslyn" means the Metro station in Rosslyn, not at some other point along the way. The "Pentagon" means the curb along Fern Street, not the North Parking Lot. However, there are a few places where the destination drop-off point is not understood; in these cases, the slug must state where he or she wishes to be dropped off. For example, at "Tackett’s Mill," the driver usually asks "New or Old Lot?" because the driver will take you to either. And there is Crystal City, where drivers drop off slugs anywhere between 12th Street and 23rd streets. Later in the book these exceptions are explained in greater detail.
IF YOU WANT MORE INFO ON THE HISTORY OF "SLUGGING", GO TO WWW.SLUG-LINES.COM !!
"
What is Slugging?
Slugging is a term used to describe a unique form of commuting found in the Washington, DC area sometimes referred to as "Instant Carpooling" or "Casual Carpooling". It's unique because people commuting into the city stop to pickup other passengers even though they are total strangers! However, slugging is a very organized system with its own set of rules, proper etiquette, and specific pickup and drop-off
locations. It has thousands of vehicles at its disposal, moves thousands of commuters daily, and the best part, it’s FREE! Not only is it free, but it gets people to and from work faster than the typical bus, metro, or train. I think you'll find that it is the most efficient, cost-effective form of commuting in the nation.
How the Slugging Works
The system of slugging is quite simple. A car needing additional passengers to meet the required 3- person high occupancy vehicle (HOV) minimum pulls up to one of the known slug lines. The driver usually positions the car so that the slugs are on the passenger side. The driver either displays a sign with the destination or simply lowers the passenger window, to call out the destination, such as "Pentagon," "L’Enfant Plaza," or "14th & New York." The slugs first in line for that particular destination then hop into the car, normally confirming the destination, and off they go.
No money is exchanged because of the mutual benefit: the car driver needs riders just as much as the slugs need a ride. Each party needs the other in order to survive. Normally, there is no conversation unless initiated by the driver; usually the only words exchanged are "Thank you" as the driver drops off the slugs at the destination.
There doesn’t need to be any discussion about the destination , such as giving directions, because the drop-off points are generally understood. "Rosslyn" means the Metro station in Rosslyn, not at some other point along the way. The "Pentagon" means the curb along Fern Street, not the North Parking Lot. However, there are a few places where the destination drop-off point is not understood; in these cases, the slug must state where he or she wishes to be dropped off. For example, at "Tackett’s Mill," the driver usually asks "New or Old Lot?" because the driver will take you to either. And there is Crystal City, where drivers drop off slugs anywhere between 12th Street and 23rd streets. Later in the book these exceptions are explained in greater detail.
IF YOU WANT MORE INFO ON THE HISTORY OF "SLUGGING", GO TO WWW.SLUG-LINES.COM !!
BOTH Hands on the Wheel!!
A special message for drivers: please, do everyone on the road and in your car a favor. Keep both hands on the wheel, especially if one of your hands is rubbing your penis.
When I got into the car, I knew the driver was a little "off," but I didn't really imagine what would happen next!
The man who jumped in with me immediately grabbed the backseat, as any good slugger wants to do, a bit of a reversed "shotgun." Well, that left me up front with creepy, hairy, pervy guy who decided to give me a bit of a show.
I was nose-deep in my new Blackberry trying to get all my settings to work, and I kept noticing in my peripheral vision that the driver was looking at me every few minutes. I thought maybe he was being nosey or he objected to my technology-focus, but I ignored it until I started to sense that more was happening over there. Traffic was moving relatively quickly, so I expected he was focused on the road. When I turned my head to do the quick cursory glance the next time I sensed him watching me, I noticed he was rubbing his penis. NO guys, not a quick penis adjustment, not a quick scratch and sniff. This was FULL ON RUBBING. How do I know, besides seeing the hand consistently and repeatedly rubbing across his groin? He winked at me. Yes, he fucking winked at me!
From that point forward, roughly another 10 miles, I was so grossed out I could hardly breathe! I kept wondering if the guy in the backseat saw anything and if he did, would he say anything. I debated, internally, whether or not to come straight out and say something or just complete the ride and run. Most of you who know me would assume the former, but for some reason I went with the latter. He gave me about 3 good "yeah, I'm rubbing my penis for you" looks, and I basically felt the need to shower in hot boiling peroxide when I got home.
In retrospect, I can't quite find the reason for NOT speaking out against his self-gratification at my expense. I think it was because I was a little worried, deep down, that he knew the guy in the backseat and this was a setup! Yes, there goes the paranoid mind hard at work. (Note to self: find keychain mace container) I didn't really want to disturb the hornets' nest, so I figured I'd play dead for the rest of the ride home. I hoped that if I didn't react, my chances of just being delivered to my car safely and without his body fluids on me were better than if I raised hell. So, I went against my normal hell-raising, ball-busting (pun intended) instincts, and I chilled.
A note to the Gentlemen riders out there: if a male driver pulls up and you are in line with a woman, give up your shotgun instinct and let her have the backseat. I can't speak for the men, so I won't suggest the opposite be true for the ladies.
All in all, I think I'll take the lunatic speed-racers over the hairy, creepy, penis-touching drivers. Maybe it's just me! If you are a bit on the touchy-feely side, would you guys please hang a sign on your window?
When I got into the car, I knew the driver was a little "off," but I didn't really imagine what would happen next!
The man who jumped in with me immediately grabbed the backseat, as any good slugger wants to do, a bit of a reversed "shotgun." Well, that left me up front with creepy, hairy, pervy guy who decided to give me a bit of a show.
I was nose-deep in my new Blackberry trying to get all my settings to work, and I kept noticing in my peripheral vision that the driver was looking at me every few minutes. I thought maybe he was being nosey or he objected to my technology-focus, but I ignored it until I started to sense that more was happening over there. Traffic was moving relatively quickly, so I expected he was focused on the road. When I turned my head to do the quick cursory glance the next time I sensed him watching me, I noticed he was rubbing his penis. NO guys, not a quick penis adjustment, not a quick scratch and sniff. This was FULL ON RUBBING. How do I know, besides seeing the hand consistently and repeatedly rubbing across his groin? He winked at me. Yes, he fucking winked at me!
From that point forward, roughly another 10 miles, I was so grossed out I could hardly breathe! I kept wondering if the guy in the backseat saw anything and if he did, would he say anything. I debated, internally, whether or not to come straight out and say something or just complete the ride and run. Most of you who know me would assume the former, but for some reason I went with the latter. He gave me about 3 good "yeah, I'm rubbing my penis for you" looks, and I basically felt the need to shower in hot boiling peroxide when I got home.
In retrospect, I can't quite find the reason for NOT speaking out against his self-gratification at my expense. I think it was because I was a little worried, deep down, that he knew the guy in the backseat and this was a setup! Yes, there goes the paranoid mind hard at work. (Note to self: find keychain mace container) I didn't really want to disturb the hornets' nest, so I figured I'd play dead for the rest of the ride home. I hoped that if I didn't react, my chances of just being delivered to my car safely and without his body fluids on me were better than if I raised hell. So, I went against my normal hell-raising, ball-busting (pun intended) instincts, and I chilled.
A note to the Gentlemen riders out there: if a male driver pulls up and you are in line with a woman, give up your shotgun instinct and let her have the backseat. I can't speak for the men, so I won't suggest the opposite be true for the ladies.
All in all, I think I'll take the lunatic speed-racers over the hairy, creepy, penis-touching drivers. Maybe it's just me! If you are a bit on the touchy-feely side, would you guys please hang a sign on your window?
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Sluggish Humanity
In the course of our lives, most of us get burned repeatedly, and we become cynical and untrusting. It's a natural instinct that keeps us going as a species. If you learn from your mistakes, you will hopefully not repeat them. I am one who has undoubtedly encountered some of the worst, most dishonest people in the world, and I am probably the least trusting person you will meet. Why do I bring this up?
Well, slugging is starting to restore my faith in humanity. OK, maybe not "restore" completely, but perhaps it's giving me hope that OTHERS won't become as cynical as me.
I received a ride from a nice 30s-ish woman in a BIG SUV. When I got in the backseat, I noticed her purse was sitting next to me on the seat. Being the cynic that I am, I wanted her to NOT have that purse there. NOT because I had any intention of robbing her, but because I wanted to remove any doubt that anything could happen (there was another passenger in the backseat with me). So the whole ride, I was sitting there thinking about how much trust this woman must have in people.
I understand that you have to have a certain amount of trust to invite someone into your car. And of course, a certain amount of trust to get into a stranger's car. But for me, my view is that you just don't give someone an opportunity to disappoint you. Whenever I've done that, I've gotten burned. Apparently, this nice lady hasn't. She never once checked the status of her purse, (or VERY expensive shoes) and that includes when we all jumped out of the car. WOW, seriously, that's TRUST. I'm amazed and a little envious. I wish I wasn't quite so cynical.
At least I know that, for that day...on that ride, her faith was not shattered in her fellow man. As her cynical, self-appointed guardian, I made sure the other guy didn't slip his hand in to get his lunch money for the day.
All I can say is that I hope that she continues to have such a sunny outlook of her fellow man. For me, it's getting slightly brighter.
Well, slugging is starting to restore my faith in humanity. OK, maybe not "restore" completely, but perhaps it's giving me hope that OTHERS won't become as cynical as me.
I received a ride from a nice 30s-ish woman in a BIG SUV. When I got in the backseat, I noticed her purse was sitting next to me on the seat. Being the cynic that I am, I wanted her to NOT have that purse there. NOT because I had any intention of robbing her, but because I wanted to remove any doubt that anything could happen (there was another passenger in the backseat with me). So the whole ride, I was sitting there thinking about how much trust this woman must have in people.
I understand that you have to have a certain amount of trust to invite someone into your car. And of course, a certain amount of trust to get into a stranger's car. But for me, my view is that you just don't give someone an opportunity to disappoint you. Whenever I've done that, I've gotten burned. Apparently, this nice lady hasn't. She never once checked the status of her purse, (or VERY expensive shoes) and that includes when we all jumped out of the car. WOW, seriously, that's TRUST. I'm amazed and a little envious. I wish I wasn't quite so cynical.
At least I know that, for that day...on that ride, her faith was not shattered in her fellow man. As her cynical, self-appointed guardian, I made sure the other guy didn't slip his hand in to get his lunch money for the day.
All I can say is that I hope that she continues to have such a sunny outlook of her fellow man. For me, it's getting slightly brighter.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Off To a Sluggish Start
I'm on my 6th day of slugging, and so far, I've met some interesting characters. I knew from Day 1 that I was going to have some interesting stories to tell, but since I'm 6 days behind, I will simply summarize my experiences so far.
Slugging with complete strangers twice a day gives you a new perspective on humanity. Certainly, you have to take into account that you are being invited into someone's personal vehicle and receiving a free ride to work. That isn't to say that this is a one-sided relationship by any means. Without slugs, a driver going into downtown DC, or even the Pentagon, could find themselves in traffic on the mainline of I95 three times longer than on the HOV. So understanding that this is a mutually beneficial relationship is key.
There are websites, books, message boards, email lists, and many other media that talk about slugging etiquette and provide resources for drivers and riders. The rules, while "unwritten," appear to be passed down by tradition fairly well. So far, I've experienced that most of those rules are quite easily discarded depending on the driver or rider.
Rule Violation #1: Day 1 of my slugging experience started off with a middle-aged, normal looking woman picking me and another man up to head into DC. All was well until we got to the light at the outside of the sluglot. That's when she knew she had a captive audience, and without batting an eyelash she inserted what I am convinced was an evangelical indoctrination seminar. Despite the fact that my iPod was on, I began to pick up on little things that were coming out of this driver's radio. From the tone and cadence of the speaker, I instantly knew that it was some form of religious sermon. While drivers are obviously allowed to listen to whatever they want in their cars, this seemed to overlap with a cardinal slug rule (and a generally accepted rule of polite behavior). NEVER DISCUSS POLITICS, RELIGION, OR SEX WITH STRANGERS. OK, so she wasn't exactly discussing religion, her brainwashing tapes were far from subtle. The topic of this tape (yes, it was a cassette tape) was standard Baptist religious sermon stuff until the guy on the tape began to talk about how women need to be more submissive to their men and stop blaming the men for their own shortcomings. OK, WHAT THE FUCK??? Seriously?
This particular experience wasn't my only experience with the "no religion" rule in my short 6 days. The next experience was far less offensive, but annoying nonetheless. If I'm going to work, I want a nice, safe, quiet ride to work. I managed to get into a car with two older black men who immediately began discussing their faith and religious experiences. Again, nothing offensive or off the wall, but I simply wanted to get into his nice plush ride and SLEEP. Once again, my iPod was pushed to its capacity in an effort to drown out the Baptist dribblings.
Rule Violation #2: OK, this one should be a given, but I have to say that it's alarmingly not followed. IF YOU ARE A BAD DRIVER, PLEASE DON'T PICK UP STRANGERS AND MAKE THEM FEAR FOR THEIR LIVES. On THREE occasions already, I have been a passenger in what seemed to be a fast ride to Hell (good thing I'd been exposed to all that religion ahead of time!). One lady, clearly a New Yorker, couldn't drive the car and talk at the same time because she was basically pointing the car in the direction of her hand gestures. Not a good idea on a straight road. She wasn't so bad. Today was basically themed "Holy Shit! Watch What You are Doing" day for me on both rides. My morning commute started with a very nice woman, in a very nice car, who talked 100 miles an hour but drive 150. Pretty scary when everyone else is going 75 (still over the speed limit, but an acceptable one). But even her Nascar paced driving didn't compare to kamikaze crazy man this afternoon!
From the SECOND I got into his big ass boat-sized car, I knew I was in trouble. He pulled out in front of oncoming traffic, narrowly escaping being sideswiped (yes, my side). He then ran 2 stop signs on the way TO the interstate. Once on the on-ramp to 95, he began SCREAMING at the drivers around him for no apparent reason. Now,I admit that I feel the need to yell at the occasional reckless asshole on 95, but EVERYONE pissed this guy off! He clearly wanted to get home quickly because he was going so fast, everything around me was a blur. The one thing that WAS clear was the bumper of the cars in front of us that he was only inches away from. You might assume that I'm using hyperbole here, but I promise you, there were literal inches separating us from death. When things quieted down, he stopped screaming, but he decided to comment and cuss at all the surrounding drivers under his breath. At first, I was hoping he was reciting the rosary or something (hey, it's a religious theme!), but when I managed to decipher "mother fuckers just won't get out of my way!" OVER AND OVER AGAIN I freaked out. My normal hour to hour 10 commute took me 45 minutes! If that doesn't give you perspective, I don't know what else will!
Do aggressive drivers not know they are aggressive? Do they just assume that everyone sucks? Only time will tell, if I survive!
I've been confronted wit
Slugging with complete strangers twice a day gives you a new perspective on humanity. Certainly, you have to take into account that you are being invited into someone's personal vehicle and receiving a free ride to work. That isn't to say that this is a one-sided relationship by any means. Without slugs, a driver going into downtown DC, or even the Pentagon, could find themselves in traffic on the mainline of I95 three times longer than on the HOV. So understanding that this is a mutually beneficial relationship is key.
There are websites, books, message boards, email lists, and many other media that talk about slugging etiquette and provide resources for drivers and riders. The rules, while "unwritten," appear to be passed down by tradition fairly well. So far, I've experienced that most of those rules are quite easily discarded depending on the driver or rider.
Rule Violation #1: Day 1 of my slugging experience started off with a middle-aged, normal looking woman picking me and another man up to head into DC. All was well until we got to the light at the outside of the sluglot. That's when she knew she had a captive audience, and without batting an eyelash she inserted what I am convinced was an evangelical indoctrination seminar. Despite the fact that my iPod was on, I began to pick up on little things that were coming out of this driver's radio. From the tone and cadence of the speaker, I instantly knew that it was some form of religious sermon. While drivers are obviously allowed to listen to whatever they want in their cars, this seemed to overlap with a cardinal slug rule (and a generally accepted rule of polite behavior). NEVER DISCUSS POLITICS, RELIGION, OR SEX WITH STRANGERS. OK, so she wasn't exactly discussing religion, her brainwashing tapes were far from subtle. The topic of this tape (yes, it was a cassette tape) was standard Baptist religious sermon stuff until the guy on the tape began to talk about how women need to be more submissive to their men and stop blaming the men for their own shortcomings. OK, WHAT THE FUCK??? Seriously?
This particular experience wasn't my only experience with the "no religion" rule in my short 6 days. The next experience was far less offensive, but annoying nonetheless. If I'm going to work, I want a nice, safe, quiet ride to work. I managed to get into a car with two older black men who immediately began discussing their faith and religious experiences. Again, nothing offensive or off the wall, but I simply wanted to get into his nice plush ride and SLEEP. Once again, my iPod was pushed to its capacity in an effort to drown out the Baptist dribblings.
Rule Violation #2: OK, this one should be a given, but I have to say that it's alarmingly not followed. IF YOU ARE A BAD DRIVER, PLEASE DON'T PICK UP STRANGERS AND MAKE THEM FEAR FOR THEIR LIVES. On THREE occasions already, I have been a passenger in what seemed to be a fast ride to Hell (good thing I'd been exposed to all that religion ahead of time!). One lady, clearly a New Yorker, couldn't drive the car and talk at the same time because she was basically pointing the car in the direction of her hand gestures. Not a good idea on a straight road. She wasn't so bad. Today was basically themed "Holy Shit! Watch What You are Doing" day for me on both rides. My morning commute started with a very nice woman, in a very nice car, who talked 100 miles an hour but drive 150. Pretty scary when everyone else is going 75 (still over the speed limit, but an acceptable one). But even her Nascar paced driving didn't compare to kamikaze crazy man this afternoon!
From the SECOND I got into his big ass boat-sized car, I knew I was in trouble. He pulled out in front of oncoming traffic, narrowly escaping being sideswiped (yes, my side). He then ran 2 stop signs on the way TO the interstate. Once on the on-ramp to 95, he began SCREAMING at the drivers around him for no apparent reason. Now,I admit that I feel the need to yell at the occasional reckless asshole on 95, but EVERYONE pissed this guy off! He clearly wanted to get home quickly because he was going so fast, everything around me was a blur. The one thing that WAS clear was the bumper of the cars in front of us that he was only inches away from. You might assume that I'm using hyperbole here, but I promise you, there were literal inches separating us from death. When things quieted down, he stopped screaming, but he decided to comment and cuss at all the surrounding drivers under his breath. At first, I was hoping he was reciting the rosary or something (hey, it's a religious theme!), but when I managed to decipher "mother fuckers just won't get out of my way!" OVER AND OVER AGAIN I freaked out. My normal hour to hour 10 commute took me 45 minutes! If that doesn't give you perspective, I don't know what else will!
Do aggressive drivers not know they are aggressive? Do they just assume that everyone sucks? Only time will tell, if I survive!
I've been confronted wit
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