Inappropriate Autonomous Body Actions (IABA)

Our bodies sometimes do things that we can't control, and they usually do so when it's the least appropriate time for it to happen. Sometimes those little autonomous actions are simply funny to you and those around you. Sometimes they are mortifying to all involved. The time when we are most vulnerable to our bodies' individuality is when we are sleeping--in front of other people.

I've become a marathon slug-sleeper, and my performance is improving. There are times when I can be asleep within 5 minutes of settling into a car, provided all the circumstances are amenable to doing so. It's the times that prevent me from sleeping that typically get the most blogging attention. Except this time.

Lately, I have been experiencing some repeated incidences of inappropriate autonomous body actions (heretofore IABA). My particular IABA seems to happen most frequently within a few minutes of drifting off to sleep, when you are in a semi-conscious state that leaves you just aware enough to know it happened without realizing it was actually you doing it. I believe it either goes unnoticed does not prompt a reaction from those around me most times. It seems to be happening a lot in the last few weeks, probably because I have been sick. It happened this morning, and I instantly became aware that the person next to me noticed it.

The rides were coming in slowly, and there was beginning to be a backlog of riders to my location. When a car pulled up going to my destination, me and another man stepped out. The man behind me decided to glom onto our ride and asked if the driver would take a third. Of course the driver did, and we all stuffed ourselves into this tiny little car. I got into the backseat behind the seat that was pushed back so far that I was eating seat as soon as I got in. The 3rd rider got in the backseat on the other side. He was so obnoxious that I had to over dramatize the inconvenience he was causing me. He climb into the seat with about 5 enormous bags of differing purposes. He had a briefcase, a gym bag, a lunch bag, a laptop bag, and what appeared to be a trash bag. (Side comment: if you carry that much crap to work everyday, you should consider driving.) So when he got in, he spread out his crap menagerie well into my space, which obstructed my ability to put my seatbelt on. I kept making all sort of grunts and groans and dramatic movements trying to get him to move his garbage out of my way so I could get strapped in. He finally caught on and moved his one bag over. When I got it clicked, he moved it right back. So there I was all scrunched up in the far corner behind an overly recline front seat and a backseat full of this guy's life. I owned my little corner and lowered my head to hopefully drift quietly off to sleep. I managed to successfully lose consciousness within a few minutes, but I was still somewhat aware of what was going on in the car. And then it happened.

I let out a loud little whimper. Yes, a whimper. Apparently, I've become a cry-baby in my sleep. Apparently my life has progressed to such a high degree of suck that I whimper in my sleep. Now, I know your mind was in the gutter and thinking that I was going to say something else, but trust me, whimpering in your sleep can be pretty humiliating too!

So, I let out my whimper, and it immediately brought me out of my quasi-sleep state. As soon as I realized what I had done, I tried to cover it up with a laugh. It was sort of like "whimper....hehehehehe". I discreetly looked around the car to see if anyone else had noticed, and sure enough, Mr. Bagman was looking right at me as if I just shouted obscenities in church. I turned to him and smiled and said "I just remembered something really funny my daughter said to me this morning." In true obnoxious form, he couldn't just leave it at that! He started saying "oh well, it was a good memory, so that's a good thing. It's always nice to start off the day with a good thought, right? blah blah blah blah blah" I stopped listening to him and just closed my eyes again and tried to go back to sleep. A few minutes later, I did it AGAIN! Damn it! This one was a little smaller, so I was pretty sure the guys up front didn't notice it. I looked over at Mr. Bag-full-of-sunshine, and he was sleeping.

Luckily for me, his IABA is loud, obnoxious snoring, so I went back to sleep comforted with the knowledge that my little IABA outbursts would be masked by his. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all!

Scent of a Woman

I love the smell of a clean, well-groomed man who has a nice, subtle but sexy cologne on. I enjoy walking past an attractive man whose scent arouses my senses. But that's the end of it. I don't linger or investigate or comment, unlike....

This morning I stood in line waiting for my lottery number to be called, and this guy in his early 40s was walking toward me to get in line. I'd describe him as an average looking guy with a decent suit, nice shoes, and a fetish. He walked behind me, perhaps a little closer than I'd normally like, but I told myself it was just because he was avoiding something on the other side of him. He passes me and then turns around and doubles back to me. I only sort of halfway noticed that he'd come back until he buried is face in my hair!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He bunched a handful of my hair and just nosedived into it! He made a sort of low-throat "mmmmmmmmmmm" sound as he sniffed with all of his olfactory might. I recoiled forward and turned around with a strong expletive that questioned his motives and mental health. He simply smiled in a slow, mental-patient kind of way and said "you smell so nice." Oh my God! REALLY?

The woman standing next to me was in TEARS laughing at this scene. I was just standing there being sensually violated by this guy's nose, and he was smiling at me like it was perfectly normal to just walk up and hair-sniff a woman! I was partially in shock. The lady next to me who couldn't stop laughing got hers next, but she wasn't laughing so hard when he gave her a sniffing and was not pleased with her scent. He wrinkled his nose and pointed to me and said "eh, you smell better!" and then he smiled and walked to the back of the line.

I would have totally knocked the guy out, but his little jab at the other lady made me happy. So I ducked into my ride with a smile on my face and a mental note to replace my perfume immediately.

Ahhhhh, the slug's life, ain't it grand!

Optimism

I am decidedly pessimistic, and I am not ashamed of it. I see things through a tainted lens of cynicism that drives most people insane, but I regard it as my shield from inevitable disappointment. If I enter a situation assuming the other person will let me down, and they do, then I don't leave that situation feeling crushed by the betrayal of my optimism. But that's just me. There are so many out there who are optimists, or at least they hopeful to become one. Yesterday, I had a truly inspirational epiphany that will probably fade soon, but for today, I feel inspired enough to share the positives of slugging.

Yesterday, I had to break away from my normal routine and go to a different location on the other side of DC from where I normally go. This meant that I didn't know any of my fellow riders or drivers, and I had no clue where I would actually get dropped off (sometimes the location we agree on is just a "suggestion" that you hope gets you close to your actual destination.) Ironically, luck was on my side, and someone drove up calling out my new location and was actually going to the same building as me. I got in and celebrated my luck, and my luck improved even more. The driver and rider was this really nice lesbian couple who were so friendly and helpful. I explained that I normally did not go to this particular location, to which the passenger responded "yeah, we see you in line everyday, but we've never picked you up." (**I'll hesitate here for you to have the same reaction as me**) So, I smiled and explained that I'm just a one-timer, and we all began to chit-chat about various things. We talked about traffic, the election, the weather, the fall foliage, and then slugging in general. I got the low-down on how to get home, and I even got a hand-drawn map! It was just a really nice experience, and I feel like I made 2 new friends that I'll never see again. :)

I went on my way to a long day of meetings and discussions and discussions and meetings, and I left just exhausted. I was dreading the end of the day a bit because, despite my custom map, I was not confident that I'd get a ride home. Basically, the location of this "slug line" was this "the third planter on the right." Yeah, it's that specific. I hiked up the road looking for the magical planter, and I saw a line of people. I stopped and asked if they were going the same place as me, and the nice lady directed me to the correct planter at which there was a car waiting.

The next few moments were surreal for me. Things crossed my mind that normally don't. I slug everyday without even thinking about what I'm actually doing, but for a moment, it was like I was having an out of body experience. I walked up to this man's car who was sitting at the curb. I instantly felt like a hooker. I leaned down and he lowered his passenger window. I asked if he was going my way, and he said yes. Still feeling like a hooker. I almost expected him to ask "how much?". I smiled a bit at the humor of that whole exchange, and I confirmed with him once again, using different terms, that he was indeed going to my location. He said yes again, and I climbed in. At this moment, I asked myself "isn't this what we teach our children NOT to do?"

He had someone already sitting in the back, and I didn't realize it until I got in because of the tinted windows. The initial shock of that realization had me a little nervous, but I calmed down a bit when the driver's cell phone went off and he answered it to have a discussion about dinner plans with his wife and kids. Certainly he and his backseat buddy didn't intend to kill or rape me right after placing an order for General Tsao's chicken.

The pessimist in me stayed on guard for most of the ride, watching and waiting for signals of my impending doom. Fortunately, nothing appeared. It was completely and totally uninteresting. He was a good driver whose windshield needed to be cleaned. He listened to bad Top 40 music on the radio, and he kept his thoughts to himself. The person in the backseat sat typing on his blackberry, and we all arrived to the sluglot unscathed and a little bored with the whole routine of it all.

As I stepped out onto the pavement of the lot that I park in and ride from every day, I looked around at the hundreds and hundreds of cars of people just like me and I saw optimism. Every person parked in that lot rides to work with strangers, who can sometimes become friends. We put our faith in each other in a mutual relationship based on blind trust and optimism. We are optimistic that the driver picking us up will get us where we are going safely, and that optimism is met with results day after day. A process of quasi-institutionalized hitchhiking works in an area where people choose to live long distances away from the big bad city. We share a common suburban personality with big-city ambitions, and we all go to and from work everyday joined in anonymous camaraderie. When a new person reaches out a hand for help and guidance, we gladly take it and show them the way because we all started in that same place.

Some of my best "critics" of this blog often say to me that I'm too negative, that I focus on the bad things and leave out the good. My epiphany was this. This entire blog is based on optimism. I wouldn't have a blog if I were not a little optimistic. I take my experiences and find the pieces that are entertaining to me, but the underlining message is that despite whatever "negative" experiences I have, I continue to rely on strangers to get me take me back and forth to work. I stand in line everyday knowing that I will get in someone's car who has a life about which I know nothing.

With all the negativity, pessimism, and discontent in this world, I embrace my general pessimistic attitude by providing a daily account of my inherently optimistic actions.

The thing that makes Americans great and unique is that we can hope for a better future while complaining about the present. It's the one quality that has allowed us to emerge triumphantly from depressions and world and civil wars. We experience fear, disappointment, frustration, and sacrifice, but we do so because we believe in a "better time." We believe that it will all work out.

So, I will wait in line with my fellow sluggers and confidently ride in cars with strangers.

The Dangers of Mouthbreathing

I get up every morning at the ungodly hour of 4:45 AM. The first thing I do as part of my routine is to turn on the television to listen to the news and traffic. It helps me wake up and predict whether or not my day is going to generally suck for reasons not under my control. I listen with half an ear to the "traffic and weather on the 8's" at least 4 times during my morning routine. You would think, after all that, and the repeated warnings of the temperature being in the f-ing 30s, I would dress appropriately. But no. Not me. I know better. I still live in the days of early autumn when all you need is a light jacket.

When I settled into the snake-like slug line this morning that had coiled itself all the way around the bus shelter, the realization that it's not going to be a mild winter struck me. I was wearing my stylish leather jacket that is only capable of containing temperatures well above freezing and a very thin shirt underneath. I stood there just a little cold at first, and then the heat reserve built up from my car quickly wore off. I was painfully aware that I chose peep-toe flats to wear to work today, and every exposed part of my body was starting to shiver.

I've been sick for the last week, and while I'm getting better, I still can't breathe through all this congestion. My nose is pretty much clogged all the time, but standing out in the cold made it even worse today. So I graciously accepted my ride resigned to the fact that I'm temporarily a mouth-breather.

The guy who picked me up was such a character that I don't even think I can do him justice by describing him. His energy was bountiful, and his enthusiasm was entirely inappropriate for the hour or the audience.

Shortly after merging onto the interstate, he startled me from my slow tumble into commuter slumber by yelling "WOW! DID YOU SEE THAT!!!??" My eyes flew open expecting to see an 18-wheeler riding tandem on a Mini Cooper, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. He followed up by saying "it was a shooting star! Right there, going across the interstate." I halfway wanted to laugh, but the other part of me, the more jaded and aggressive part of me, wanted to tell him to reserve his enthusiasm for flying body parts or mangled metal. I was not in the mood to hear about missing a shooting star.

Then the really funny part kicked in. He was listening to country music, and Garth Brooks' "Friends in Low Places" came on (probably for the 80 billionth time on that radio station). He sat straight up with his coffee in his hand and started singing! SINGING at 6:20 AM on I95. It was like being in another dimension where people are happy and sing songs with strangers before the sun comes up. He looked around at me and the other poor bastard riding with us as if to say "aren't you going to join me for the chorus?" This particular song is reserved for very specific situations in my life, and this was not one of those situations. A very drunk Irishman serenaded me with this song (and a few Irish patriot songs), and I'll never be able to listen to it with the same perspective. So no, I didn't sing along. But it actually put a shadow of a smile on my face.

Things quieted down after Garth shut up, and we drove forward into the bowels of 7th ring of Hell (AKA Washington DC). I sat there miserably trying to close my mouth and breathe through my nose, but my body was not cooperating. I was trying to sleep, but the breathing issue prevented it from coming. Then I started to reason to myself that I didn't need to breathe through my nose. That mouth-breathing is a perfectly acceptable way to intake oxygen, and I shouldn't be hung up on it. I willed myself to sleep through the mouth-breathing, but still it wouldn't come. I finally accepted that I wasn't going to get a nap in, so I just relaxed my head and tried to focus on something else.

Mr. Happy broke my Zen moment with a "oh, oops!" Since my eyes were closed, I figured he probably cut somebody off who had a much less friendly reaction, and I didn't bother to look for confirmation. But that wasn't it. Mr. Manners was warning me about something that my body was presently incapable of detecting. Without all of my sensory faculties in line, I had no way of knowing what was happening to me. There was no olfactory detector in service to give me the heads up. And there, in my congested misery, I mouth-breathed Mr. Happy's fart.

A Latin Lesson

Yes, it's been a while. I've been vacationing around the world and just generally avoiding the commuter grind, but I'm back despite my resistance. I've actually got quite a few stories under my belt from the past few weeks, but I won't go back in time just yet. Today we move forward with a bit of a Latin lesson.

In college, I nerded out and took Latin (and I enjoyed it, so joke all you wish). Anyway, for some odd reason, there was one word that stuck out in my mind because it's also the name of a car. For me, whenever I see that car, I don't see the name, I see the translation.

In Latin, the word "audire" means "to hear." To skip ahead a few lessons, the imperative of "audire" is "audi." So, whenever I see an Audi, I read "HEAR!" OK, a more accurate modern usage would be "LISTEN!" but I always thought it was funnier to say "HEAR!"

So this shiny new "HEAR!" drove up to the line with Peroxide Barbie driving. Without getting started on that, I just have to comment on the car itself. OMG, who designed that piece of garbage car? I mean REALLY! I've been in Datsun's that were more comfortable. (My first car was a Datsun B210 that had a 2X4 holding the seat upright) I was in the backseat, and I have to say, the car itself made me miserable. Whoever designed this particular car hated people riding in the backseat.

I'm short, but when I sat in the seat, the headrest was jabbing me in that part in between your shoulder blades...you know...just below your neck. JABBING me. It was sticking WAY out and jabbing me in the back. I tried to discreetly move it up so that the "headrest" is actually where my head can rest on it, but it didn't budge! It was MISERABLE. I tried slouching down into the seat, but all that did was push my head so far forward that I was practically nosing my chest. Good lord! Cruel, cruel car designers got one over on the average family of 4 in that deal!

But, that's not the point today boys and girls. Today, we must learn the true meaning of the Latin word "audi!"

It's super early this morning when I catch a ride with the Over-processed Barbie, and she was in a bit of a hurry. As I am fumbling with the headrest, I feel her dig her Payless stilettos into the gas pedal and she started to merge onto 95. BUT WAIT, there were cars there! As she violently swerved back into the merge lane and shoved my neck into the torture device in her backseat, she softly mutters to herself "whoa." I'm thinking to myself....that's a mild understatement, but it's a respectable one. A few miles up the road, I start to settle in with my head cocked to the side to avoid the piercing pain of the jabbing headrest. But comfort is not her goal this morning. Oh no. Today, she wants to test the gods of transportation to see if they favor fake blondes. She decided that she wanted an 18-wheeler's lane more than he did, and she just got in it! He, of course, lays on the horn, and her response...."whoa."

Yeah, whoa indeed.

AT this point, my head hurts from the headrest, and the pungent, putrid smell of her jasmine air freshener was breaking through my really thick head cold and choking me to death. Her erratic driving was just making me grumpy. I started to play in my head all the Latin phrases I could remember from college, and I came up with a few. I only wish I had my Latin insult phrase book with me!

I'll share some of them with you, so if you ever find yourself in a scary commuter situation, you too can die like a nerd.

"Quid fit" = what's happening?
"Totus anctus" = in a world of hurt
"Nihil declaro" = I have nothing to declare
"Observa quo vadis, cinaede!" = watch where you're going, jerk!
"Primum non nocere" = first do no harm
and finally, my all time favorite

"qui parvum cerebrum habet stultus est" It's my favorite line from my first year Latin textbook. It's always stuck with me because I actually laughed when I translated it for the first time.

It means "he who has a small brain is stupid." Totally random right?

Anyway, I'm pretty sure that after all these years, and all this Latin I had it all wrong. "Audi!" doesn't mean "HEAR!" It actually means "OH MY GOD RUN FOR YOUR LIFE THIS IS THE WORST CAR EVER!!!!"

Next time little Miss Audi drives up, I think I'm going to shout "Die dulci fruere" and wait for the next ride.

LOOK IT UP! I'm sure you looked all the others up too!

That concludes today's Latin lesson.

Commuter Circus

Have you ever been in a situation that made you stop and just laugh because so many things were going wrong at once?

I was standing in line this morning, and very gradually I started to notice that everything was unraveling. I don't know if it's the influx of new sluggers or just Monday stupidity, but everyone was just insane this morning.

At first it was the drivers. There was a guy who drove up from the back holding up a big sign announcing his destination...written in crayon. He was waving it at all of us and yelling it out for those who can't read. He was acting inpatient that nobody was stepping out, but as far as I know, it's never a good idea to step out in front of a moving car. Two guys sort of crept up to the car as if they were afraid to get in, but it's that same old story of wanting to get to work at any cost. The driver was a nut, but they were in a hurry.

Then this "woman" drove up in her giant SUV, and stuck her head out, again, way towards the back of the line. She was apparently too impatient to wait until she got to the front of the line to call out her destination, as it expected of most drivers. So she starts saying "14th Street!" (actual names and locations are changed to protect the privacy and accuracy of this blog) But nobody moved and she got PISSED. So she, with a deep drill sergeant voice (obviously calling upon her previous career as a lesbian drill sergeant), called out 14TH STREET!!!! It was so loud, and so obnoxious that we all started laughing. Since her daily dose of estrogen had clearly not settled in yet, she started getting angry and commented "you people need to wake up!" To which a guy behind me said "next time you can bring us Starbucks." Then the real fun began. We all took turns making fun of her as she drove off.

Then another guy drives up and calls out a random street in DC that nobody has ever heard announced before. We all just sort of stood there looking at each other as everyone mentally googled a map of DC streets to figure out where he was going and if it was close to them. Someone in the back asked "how far down?" He said "anywhere." Wow, that instilled a lot of confidence in the line. Finally, after much hesitation, 2 people got in and appeared to be worried about the probability of actually getting to work with this guy.

Meanwhile, because the drivers were all off their rockers, the riders were acting as if they couldn't figure out which was was up. People were stepping out for the wrong destination while others were completely clueless which car to get into. Some people attempted to get into a car only to be ejected when it was discovered that they were going somewhere else. At one point, everyone was criss-crossing and bumping into each other trying to get to their rides. It was as if I had stepped out of reality and into a really bad comedy sketch. I kept waiting for a clown horn to go off, but I was disappointed.

My fun came to an abrupt stop when I looked down the line of cars to see HER. It was like all the kids in class goofing off and then the teacher walks in, making every heart in the room sink. She inched up in her Mercedes and all of my "friends" in the back taunted me that I was next up for a ride. Nobody wants to ride with her, and we all like to make the ride more painful by pointing out that it's not our turn that time. So, in true payback fashion, my buddies gave me a little parting taunt before I embarked on the journey to the center of commuter misery. Ironically, I even fought for the ride because some bimbo jumped out in front of me and the guy behind me. I quickly informed her that we had that ride, and she corrected herself back in the line. On a day like today I can't really blame her. Nothing was working the way it was supposed to, and I was in good humor after having poked fun at the crazy lesbian drill sergeant.

So I rode off to my boring old office in boring old DC and, despite my driver's clear lack of people skills, I had a bit of smirk on my face remembering the chaos and confusion that we were all starting our week off with....and then I fell asleep and snored and drooled all over myself.

HAPPY MONDAY!!!!!!!

Sluglot Leviathan

"during the time men live without a common power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is called war; and such a war as is of every man against every man"--Thomas Hobbes, The Leviathan

Road rage is running rampant in the world today. People are stressed by the gas prices, and in DC we are additionally stressed by the increased volume of tourist commuters clogging up the roads during peak rush hour. The parking lots of all the commuter lots in the DC area are being filled to capacity earlier and earlier, so it is becoming a survival of the fittest, fastest, and most cunning drivers to get the few remaining spaces. It's like the mad rush at the Apple stores to get the new iPhone. You just have to do what you have to do to get what you want. I understand this.

However.

I don't accept that you can break the rules to get what you want. There is a reason we have rules, laws, and standards of acceptable behavior. If we didn't, our world would be chaos, and we would eventually die nasty, brutal deaths. But thanks to the forward-thinking wisdom and philosophy of great minds like John Locke and Thomas Hobbes and the influence they had on our Founding Fathers, we have a government with rules, laws, and standards of behavior.

One of those handy rules is that when you come to a stop sign, you stop and let the oncoming traffic that has the right of way proceed before you go. It's probably one of the most basic rules of driving that we all learn within days of entering driver's education classes.

As you can imagine, someone broke that rule this morning. But he didn't just break the rule. He broke it in such a way that I would have been justified in pressing the accelerator to the floor and making direct contact with his legs the next time I see him. But, true to my character, I didn't let him get away with it.

As if his driving violation wasn't bad enough, he copped an attitude with me. And he didn't even do that like a man. He used his cell phone as "cover" to talk smack about me. Well, Mr. Wiseass Coward didn't know who he was messing with this morning, because as he walked by telling his imaginary friend or mail-order bride about "some crazy woman who almost hit him in the parking lot" I made my position known.

For the record, if I had been in the wrong, I would not have gotten into an argument with this guy. But, as is usually case, I was right, and I made sure he knew that. I was not going to let him accuse me of not following the rules when it was HIS mistake.

So, there he was, hiding behind his wireless courage, walking directly behind me as I got out of my car. He wasn't trying to be subtle, so I wasn't going to be subtle either. I walked right up next to him, matched his pace, and said very clearly "it's called a fucking stop sign asshole." (yes, I cuss. It's a hobby) Caught off guard, but not willing to give up his pedestal he assumed was so high above mine, he stopped, held out his cell phone so he could "yell" and tried to answer back with "yes, and you ran it!" Hahahahaha, big mistake Jerkwad.

I very calmly (relative term) turned to him, got in his face, and informed him "if you weren't such an idiot, you would know that it's a one way stop, and you had the stop sign, not me! So go ahead and blame me, but you tried to run a stop sign, and I'd be more than happy to have a cop teach you how that works."

Then his tone changed.

And he apologized.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought that was a two-way stop. I didn't realize I was the only one with a stop sign. I thought you were trying to get ahead of me for a parking space." Well, I was, but I was justified. The rules were in my favor.

OK, so he was contrite. I wanted to forgive him, but I didn't care enough about him to try. The really awkward part was that since we were walking to the line together and yelling at each other, that put us in line together too. So I walked up to the line and greeted all of my friends. He knew nobody, so I played off of my apparent popularity (slight hyperbole) and continued to make him feel like an idiot. While standing in line, at least 3 people walked up and greeted me by name. I carried on a few conversations, and meanwhile he stood there breathing down my back. I could feel him back there, and he kept trying to talk to me but I wouldn't acknowledge him. Another woman came up and everyone commented on our similar choices in clothing for the day, and he tried to make the standard "memo" joke. I ignored him again.

The stars were aligned just right today, and the rides were coming at extremely, excruciatingly long intervals. We stood in line together for at least a half an hour. I acted as if he wasn't there, but I was keenly aware of his discomfort. I could tell he was trying to "make up" with me, but I am not in a place right now where I have the ability to forgive a lot of people. I just didn't think he deserved it, no matter how apologetic he was trying to be.

It......was......just......dragging.....on....and...on. I was considering taking the next ride, no matter where it was going, just to get him off my back.

He spent a lot of time looking at his shoes and trying to insert himself into my conversations. Finally, he said, "I just want to thank you. I could've gotten into an accident. I just thought you were supposed to stop."

Here's where the pre-9AM bitch in me comes out.

I turned to him, said nothing, then turned my back to him.

The afternoon-me knows it was not exactly the most friendly and forgiving way to go about it. He was truly sorry and was trying to make up for the fact that he was a complete ass. But I just couldn't forgive him. He started my day off with a violent near-miss and followed that up with cowardly 3rd-party insults and misguided blame. It brought out too much anger and frustration out in me on a day when I was trying to start fresh with the positive attitude I so desperately need right now.

So, NO, Mr. Stop Sign Runner, I don't accept your apology. Not today.

When my ride finally came, I just walked away without even a backward glance thinking to myself "bellum omnium contra omnes" (putting 4 years of Latin to use).

There is no turning back. Once we discard the rules of the road and commuter etiquette, we launch ourselves back into a state of nature that is "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."

WWJJD

"I'm so proud of my husband," she says as they're seen gardening and hugging over the begonias. "When we talked to our doctor, we just weren't sure." They do this holding hands while she asks all the questions in Dr.'s office.

"But now that we know Viagra is safe, I love my husband all the more for making the decision." On the couch she looks at him with just the slightest self-importance as he smiles back with manly satisfaction. "After all," she says lovingly, "he's doing it for us."
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"Many times, while a woman may believe that vaginal douching prevents or helps prevent vaginal odor, especially after menstruation, douching actually disrupts the normal flora, or naturally occurring organisms that normally live in the vagina. Vaginal douching, therefore, may actually increase the risk of vaginal infection."
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Uncomfortable yet?

I'm only getting started!

These days it is not uncommon to hear advertisements for condoms, viagra, vaginal creams, birth control pills, and general erectile dysfunction clinics on the radio. They have become part of our radio, television, and print landscape. Generally they are not noticed, unless you are in the company of strangers of the opposite sex. I have gotten into a car with people on more than one occasion and had one of these commercials come on. All of us sit there for 30 or 60 seconds half giggling to ourselves and half praying that they will end (depending on which side of the issue we happen to be). It's embarrassing, but it's not unbearable. If you are riding with the right people, it can become the source of great conversation or a really funny joke. (no, I don't hesitate to make jokes about vaginal itching in a car full of men if I know them) :)

But sometimes, things can happen that seem to cross the line.

"She ran her hands along his strong, wide back while they embraced passionately. Their bodies were so close that neither could tell where they ended and the other began. He parted her creamy thighs as she let out a deep, satisfied moan that relayed her eagerness to receive the pleasure he was about to give."

Imagine you get into a car and hear that...

Under some circumstances, this could be funny. Other circumstances, this could be enticing. And others, entirely too uncomfortable for words.

Lucky for you, I have found the words to convey that level of discomfort.

An older man driving an older model of a boring car approached the line and called for my destination. I scrambled for the backseat (a skill I'm improving upon every day), which left the young girl riding with me to sit up front. This is not something I normally care much about, since I have been the victim of front seat confinement on more rides than I can count. But for a while, I felt a little bad about sticking this poor girl who is interning in DC for the summer in the front seat on this particular ride.

We both jumped in and buckled our belts. We quietly sat back to "enjoy" the ride, and Mr. Personality sat gripping the steering wheel in the perfect 10-3 pattern, leaning slightly forward with his eyes fixed on the road. He followed all the rules of the road, and everything was comfortably nondescript. It was shaping up to be an ordinary ride.

Until...

The radio shifted from the traffic to something....else.

A man's voice came on and began to read a poem. It wasn't just any poem, because the words actually caught my attention. The way he read it was relatively deadpan. There wasn't anything particularly controversial about his tone. But the words he read were, for a lack of a better description, erotic. He talked of creamy thighs and throaty moans. He described groins meeting and lust building. Certain verbal pictures were left to linger for uncomfortable pauses that built into yet another verbal picture that involved bodies and sweat and serpentine movements.

I instantly became overwhelmingly aware that I had a stuck that poor intern in the front seat with someone old enough to be her Porn-pa. I didn't know whether or not this was a set-up, so I was watching Pops up front with a keen eye and a ready fist. I had it all planned out how I was going to whack him up side his fragile, age-spotted head with my enormously heavy purse filled with 3-inch heels. I watched for any sign of erotic side-glances or unwanted hand movements, but ironically nothing was happening. He sat in the driver's seat in what appeared to be a frozen position. He didn't flinch. He didn't change his hand positions on the wheel. He didn't move to change the station. He didn't shift in his seat. He did nothing. He was frozen. He appeared unaffected. This baffled me a bit.

This erotic reading continued for what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes long. When it ended, I realized it was not a setup on the old man's part. The next break advertised the call letters of the station. "NPR."

I was torn between feeling overly protective, extraordinarily uncomfortable, and astronomically amused at this moment. I had a grin on my face that went unnoticed because everyone in the car was trying to act as if nothing was happening. It was awkward and funny as hell.

I can't imagine that Poor Old Mr. Jeremy (Google it) had ever imagined that listening to National Public Radio would ever cause such an uncomfortable moment. The most controversial thing I've ever heard on there was inappropriately slanted political commentary. I felt bad for him for just a minute.

I sat there wondering what was going through his feeble little mind at that moment. Was he mortified or slightly turned on that he had 2 young women in his car listening to artistic porn. (yes, I'm counting myself as young in this scenario since he's old enough to be my Dad)

Needless to say, we arrived, discreetly exited the vehicle, and laughed our asses off. No really, we laughed so damn hard.

Just ask yourself....

What would Jenna Jameson do?

Sweaty Butts and Bad Attitudes

Gas prices are soaring, which of course means slugging has become a much more popular commuting option for a lot of people. There is no other "free" commuting option available out there that will get you to and from work, so it should not come as a surprise that the lots are overflowing right now.

For those who don't know, the HOV closes off to regular traffic at 6:00AM. Our commuter lot is FULL, bursting beyond capacity, by 6:30AM. Cars are racing through the lot trying to get that ONE LAST SPOT, and as is usually the case, I'm a second too late and have to find an alternative. For the brave, there is the option of parking your SUV (or in some really brave cases...sedans) over the curb and into the mud. For others, they try to "blend" into a surrounding parking lot that is within walking distance of the lot, praying that their car will still be there when they return. But, just because you get a space does not mean you will get a ride or that you won't have to wait for eternity for one to come.

As you can imagine, the more the news trains us on how "bleak" and "hopeless" our economy is, the more frightened and desperate people become. The overall tone of the slug line has changed to a much more somber, less friendly environment. It's not just the riders who are feeling beaten down by our supposed economic plight. The poor drivers who feel that they have to drive are starting to become a little less friendly and cooperative these days too.

However, there is one lady who is just a bitch...always has been and always will be!

If you've been a loyal reader from the beginning, you will remember me writing about a woman who turned up her radio in response to the "good morning" greeting she received from her riders. She was a bitch then, and she was a bitch this week. I haven't seen her much in the last few months, but she's been around a lot lately. As shitty-luck lotteries go, I'm a regular winner.

Bitchita arrived in her shiny Mercedes, and I gladly slid into the leather seats thinking that at least it would be a nice ride despite the leather and the weather. I figured I would just nap and avoid any expectations of friendly banter or even cordial greetings. I didn't bother saying "hello" because I knew she wouldn't respond. As soon as, and I mean AS SOON AS, me and my fellow rider got in, she dialed up someone on her cell phone. And before I forget, let me mention that another rider to my destination noticed that she had an empty backseat, so he tapped on her window and asked if she would take a third. Can you guess her response? DING DING DING, you win! She didn't even bother to roll down her window to respond. She shook her head and looked away. Nice.

I just climbed in the back, loaded up the blessed iPod, and closed my eyes. Despite my moderately volumed iPod, I could still hear her talking to her "friend." [Not sure who would befriend this beast, but hey, it takes all kinds...] Anyway, they were discussing how expensive it is to shop at a new grocery store. This actually took up most of her time and concentration. She was swerving all over the road, gunning the gas, swerving in and out of lanes, and she decided that air conditioning in DC in the summer was superfluous. Having an intimate knowledge of the Mercedes, I looked at the internal thermometer to see just how hot it was. Going by the density of my butt sweat on her leather seats, I was guessing at least 75. That may not sound that hot, but it's inside a car, with the sun coming in, with leather seats, and body heat. I eyeballed the dash temperature gauge and was not surprised to find out that it was a cool 81 degrees in her car. Yep, 81 degrees, leather seats, 6:30AM. It was a great way to start the day.

I was not able to take a nap, in case you didn't already assume that. So when we got close to my destination, I watched closely to see if she would take the exit that would make her pass my office to get to her destination. Of course, she didn't. She took the exit that is the farthest from my office. I wasn't expecting much, but the guy in the front seat made it worse by saying "I'll just jump out here." "Here" was about 1 mile back from the main road. So, she looked in her rearview at me, and I just said, "I'm down at _______, so wherever you can let me out close to that would be great."


HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I'M SUCH AN IDIOT

What do you suppose her response was?

She stopped at the corner and said "you can get out."

Oh yes, leaving an 81 degree Mercedes to walk over a mile in the summer heat in full business attire was exactly what I had in mind for that day. The entire way, every step, I was plotting various ways that I could punish this woman for her attitude. I was getting angrier and angrier with every sweat bead that trickled a path through my freshly applied makeup. Every step that irritated my newly formed blister became a step closer to revenge.

I can't help but to think that this woman clearly misses the point of the slugging system. She thinks it's all about her. She doesn't understand that the only way slugging works is that it be a mutually beneficial arrangement that requires both parties to cooperate and compromise. She must not be married, or if she is, her husband hates her. She is selfish, inconsiderate, and well, a bitch.

The good news is that people are catching on. If you get into a pattern, you start to learn names, faces, cars, personalities, the whole deal. She has been arriving all of a sudden at my regular line time. She has also very quickly developed a reputation.

With it being close to a holiday, the lot was relatively empty (meaning there were about 5 spaces left when I arrived), and the line was pretty long. I, and 4 others going to my destination, was standing in line for what seemed like forever. We started to chatter amongst ourselves about whether or not drivers were going to go to work today. The cars were few and far between, and we all were getting a little fidgety. Then the Benz Bitch rolled in. Those of us in the back of the line all leaned forward to look at our com padres in the front of the line and we all busted out laughing. The guy just strolled up and got in. No worries. He didn't care. The lady looked down at us and offered us her slot. We all held up our hands and insisted that she take her well-earned ride (knowing that there probably would NOT be another car). She begrudgingly got into the car, also knowing that she was going to have to hike down to our end of the world after she got abandoned in B-F-E.

It's my intention to organize a boycott of this woman's car to teach her a lesson in sharing and to send her a message that she needs us as much as we need her.

It probably won't work because, ultimately, we all just want to get to work. But it makes me feel proactive, and it prevents me from plotting different ways to sabotage her car. I like to channel my energy into more positive behaviors after all. :)

I may have passed up the last ride to my destination, but at least I wasn't walking down a major street in the capital of the free world wondering to myself "does my butt look sweaty?"

Just FYI, wait until I tell you about the arguments breaking out in the lines these days!

...to be continued!

Too Much Information

I had to listen to a 60-something woman refer to sex twice in one car ride.

I don't know if I should be repulsed or encouraged.

Either way, I might just be scarred for life.

Shattered Ideals and Dirtsicles

When you picture a man who likes classical music, what do you picture? Personally, I picture an educated, refined man dressed in a well tailored Brooks Brothers suit driving at least a Volvo, if not a BMW (Benz men don't do classical). So there you have it--my imaginary picture of a man who can appreciate the finer qualities of classical music. It is, indeed, imaginary.

This morning I climbed into a moving anomaly. Mr. Mozart drove up in his late-model Japanese special, drab and generic, and he lazily called out his destination in a voice hardly perceptible by human ears. I mosied on over to the passenger side of the car. The second I opened the car door, the FRONT door much to my dismay, I saw the condition of the interior of his car and almost changed my mind. Had it not been for the fact that I already had to wait for SO long to get a ride post-Memorial Day, I would have bolted for a much cleaner ride.

So I stepped into his glorious garbage heap, thankful that I chose an all black ensemble today, and decided that I would just sleep and try not to think about the possibilities. As I was settling in, I looked on the dashboard and noticed actual clumps of dirt. Not just a layer of dust my friends...D-I-R-T--actual clumps of loose earth on the dash. Just stop for a minute and ask yourself how that got there....

Welcome back.

If you are anything like me, you are picturing shovels and dead bodies. But I digress.

So I resigned myself to riding in the dirt-hearse, but my imagination kept playing tricks on me. I have a thing about spiders and ticks and fleas and such, and I kept imagining them crawling on my legs and in my hair. My napping opportunity was out the window already, but ironically it gets worse.

Once he had us trapped, he changed from the local news and weather station to ...you guessed it...the classical station. But he didn't just put on some low-volume Tchaikovsky. No, no. He decided that it needed to be played at a Kanye West concert level. Seriously, can you see us cruising down I95 pimped out in our business suits swaying to the crankin' sounds of Rachmaninoff? It was LOUD. Who needs classical music that loud? He kept turning it up too, like it wasn't already loud enough! He was oscillating between tweaking the obnoxiously loud classical music and cranking the arctic blasts of air conditioning that were aimed at my one patch of flesh exposed.

I sat there, depressed, cold, and itchy. Why had he worked so hard to ruin my picture of the perfect classical-loving, wine drinking, non-dirt car owning man? It was as if I had learned that gravity doesn't actually exist. Next I'll find out that Patrick Dempsey can't actually grow a 5 o'clock shadow!

All in all, I arrived at work and catapulted myself from his car and quickly wiped my pants and jacket off. Even if nothing truly transferred from his car to my clothes, I wasn't going to take the chance. I quickly examined myself for creepy crawlies and praised the warm breezes of late May. I was left with one lingering thought that has carried me through my entire day.

I need a shower!

An Assault on the Senses

I've written about smelly people before. It's a common violation of slugging etiquette based on my experiences. But today was special, so I'm going to take a minute to discuss it again.

I already know of several of my friends who will take GREAT offense at what I'm going to talk about, so I will apologize ahead of time. But as some background, I will say that I am a recovering smoker, so while I sit in judgment of this individual, I can understand where she's coming from. Also as some background, I suffer from SEVERE seasonal allergies, and Spring is the absolute worst time of the year for me. This particular year has been the worst I can remember, so I'm basically in a constant state of itchy snot-dom.

Moving on...

I drove this morning because I needed flexibility and the f-ing lot was full again. As is always my luck, when I'm driving there are no riders, and when I'm riding there are no drivers. I sat in the front of the line of cars for almost 15 minutes this morning. (OH, and as a side note, that skinny little pencil neck geek that goes to my destination but decided to take a car BEHIND me in the back of the line this morning because he didn't have to walk as far--making me wait EVEN LONGER--is officially blacklisted from my car FOREVER. If he walks up, I'm changing my location. Period. That guy just crossed me on the wrong morning!) Where was I?

Right, so I drove in today.

Thank goodness two riders finally came along who know the rules and got into the car. But the woman in the backseat (where my baby seat is) gets into the car still puffing on her cancer stick until the very last second. She puffs out a big lung full of smoke that basically did that little devil swirl in the air before firmly settling into the fabric of my poor little girl's seat (who just so happens to be suffering from allergies as bad as me). And of course, she didn't do a full exhale, so as she's talking and laughing at her own bad, humorless wit, she's exhaling little puffs of smoke into the air over and over again. As a recovering smoker, this both offends me and makes me want to smoke a quick cigarette again (I know, if you've never smoked, you are thinking I'm SICK). Anyway, she's sitting back there destroying one of my few precious sanctuaries from allergy torture by polluting my car with her smoke. But that's not the worst part!!!!!!!!!!

She's one of those guilty-conscience smokers who KNOWS she stinks of cigarettes but doesn't want to. So, what does she doe? That's right, you guessed it. She overcompensates for it by bathing in obnoxious perfume. Obnoxious is actually too kind a word to describe the toxic WMD she sprayed on herself this morning. In fact, now that I think about it, she did look a little suspicious....maybe I should call DHS or the FBI. I'll put that on my Outlook Tasker for later today.

I'm trying to drive in with a tissue in one hand, snot queuing at my nostrils just waiting to pour out, trying to adjust the air vents to blow her smoke and perfume away from me as I pass about 400 VA State Troopers trying to quickly compensate for their broken quotas for April. I was pretty worried that I was going to start swerving and vomiting because I was being poisoned by the Fairy Urine this woman tried to spray over her smoke-soaked work clothes. Then I started wondering if this was some sort of new terrorist weapon that could be used to kill brain cells of government workers one by one, and I started to wonder if it was best that I try to get pulled over to notify the police to prevent her from entering her office and poisoning everyone.

But then I woke up from my seasonal allergy haze and realized she was just a poor smoker who hates the fact that she can't break the habit. So she covers herself in the only perfume she can actually still smell with what's left of her nose-lining. Whatever "flower" is the base component of that perfume is, without a doubt, the worst smelling flower God ever created. If it can break through my wall of congestion enough to irritate me, it should be on Al Gore's list of banned chemicals that are bad for the environment. Come to think of it, it DID start to get a few degrees warmer while she was in my car. Maybe there is some validity to Al Gore's scientifically unfounded theory.

Nah.

Slugging Confessional

I think I have to change my name and give myself an unofficial PhD. I appear to attract people who want to confess some of their darkest deeds and deepest secrets, and I don't even know them. I can't help but picture some of the episodes of that horrible, but captivating HBO special "Taxicab Confessions." If you haven't seen it, it's basically people acting badly in taxicabs and the driver egging them on. Usually you see and hear some pretty strange stuff.

When you think of slugging in DC, you can pretty much assume a generally affluent, educated commuter joining the throngs of other affluent, educated commuters to form a relatively boring crowd of affluent, educated robots marching into DC to fire up their Dell desktop computers in their cubicles. At least that is what I used to think until some of these folks started sharing some of the darker aspects of their personalities. It's amazing what people will blurt out in an hour long ride to work with strangers!!!

To be fair, I've become friends with some of these people. I will not go into some of the sordid details of their lives out of respect. But the anonymous ones who choose to air their dirty laundry to a stranger, I won't really feel so bad about summarizing those.

I actually think it started with the Pope's visit. It seemed like once he landed in the U.S. everyone became a Catholic to some degree. People were feeling the need to just make their sins public. I don't recall anyone asking for forgiveness, but sometimes just saying it out loud can be an act of contrition and repentance all on its own.

Over the last few weeks, I've heard about random sluggers' adulterous affairs, cheating spouses, illegitimate children, money problems, drinking problems, sexual dysfunction (my personal favorite), extended family disputes, property disputes, disrespectful children, wedding plans, divorce plans, travel plans, and career plans. Most of this falls into the popular category of "WTMI" (for those not in with the cool kids, that's "way too much information").

I don't consider myself nosy, nor do I consider myself a gossiper. But this slugging experience has started to intrigue me. I'm always wondering what people will tell me, just how personal they will get. Maybe it's just my nature, but unless I know you and trust you, I don't just vomit my personal problems all over people. Perhaps these people haven't figured out that they will see the same faces again and again. Perhaps they don't care. It bothers me to know that someone I hardly know knows my personal business, out of context, and is probably judging me. I know. You are asking yourself right now if I'm judging these folks.

ABSOLUTELY!!! :)

Nah, not really judging them so much as using them to form a larger picture of life against which I can compare my own.

In some cases, I feel better about myself and my life based on what I hear. In some cases, I hear about something someone is going through, and I feel somewhat pessimistic about my experiences. In others all together, I feel sympathetic or empathetic, and I try to offer advice or understanding because I have been there or done that.

Overall, I've noticed that it happens more when I drive. I think it's because people know you are watching the road and won't make eye contact with them. It usually happens in those earliest moments before the sun comes up. In fact, it seems that the talking slows or stops as the sun comes up. It happens most often with people who know you just enough to recognize your face or car, but there is rarely a name exchange. The conversation nearly always ends with a farewell wish for the best and an empty promise that everything will be OK.

If you've ever been to confession, you are seeing the spooky comparisons here right?

I guess you could say that this is basically supporting proof for the soul-cleansing experience of confession, no matter how you do it. Sometimes our burdens can become too heavy, and we need to know that someone else out there will carry them for us. Another common thread with these people is that they all seem to be missing that one person to whom they can go to be completely honest and open. They live lives that require them to lean on someone, anyone for at least a few minutes even at the expense of their pride or reputation.

As Oscar Wilde once wrote, "it is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution." So, those who don't seek priests or don't believe in the formal act of confession seek therapists or friends. In Washington DC, they seek a fellow slugger.

Dr. Jill
Hours: 6-7am and 3-4 pm, by appointment only as seats are limited.

(remember, I'm changing my name and giving myself a PhD)

Why Working in DC Only Sucks Most of the Time

Ahhh, Washington, DC, the seat of the national government. What isn't there to love? On any given day, amidst the beautiful landscape of monuments and museums, you can find protesters, politicians, street hustlers (also see politicians), and oceans of robotic government workers (see those of us who work for said politicians and street hustlers). Finishing out that beautiful picture are hundreds of thousands of cars pouring into the city at the same exact moment creating a beautiful collage of colors and textures. There are some days that are more lovely than others. Right now, the sun is shining, the temperature is mild, flowers are blooming, and the freaks are out in full force.

The Pope is in town, and every wacko known to man is either here to see him or to protest him. Only in DC can you find love and hate all in the same place. When you have a buffet of political causes and world renowned leaders to choose from , you can even turn your love and/or hate for any topic into a full time job. Because this is a monumentally historic moment, security has to be beefed up drastically. Roads have to be closed. Buildings have to be closed off and used as spotter locations. Metro service has to be increased, and parking fees have to quadruple. So for those of us with REAL full time jobs, monumentally historic moments like the Pope's visit became monumental pains in the ass. (Yes, I'm Catholic.)

I just so happen to work close enough to the beautiful new Washington Nationals Stadium where Pope Benedict XVI will say Mass tomorrow that life has the potential to really suck for a while. Today, he's traveling across town to visit the President, etc etc. He's conducting Pope business. Meanwhile, the lowly minions serving the great and valueless dollar must figure out ways to get to work around various road closures, blockades and checkpoints.

Yesterday, just as I was leaving work, the Pope was landing in our beautiful capital, and the city was vibrating with ringing church bells and squealing sirens. Traffic, at rush hour, was stopped or diverted from the busiest roads known to man.

In case I haven't mentioned it, also mixed in with the politicians, protesters, street hustlers, government minions, and general freaks you can find a very large, unwanted selection of media representatives. Everyone from ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX, CNN, CSPAN, FOXNEWS, Discovery Channel, Telemundo, Disney, Wayne's World, whatever, has cameras set up and rolling in my direct line of commuting. Every other media wonk is standing around flashing a press badge hoping to hear or see something that will win him or her the coveted "who gives a shit" prize for writing something completely useless.

Tomorrow will be worse. Oh so much worse. Bridges and roads in and around the city are going to close starting at 5AM. They are expecting at LEAST 500,000 people to be wandering the streets near the stadium hoping for a Pontiff glimpse. This is on top of the 50,000 attendees inside the stadium. Oh and yes, just as DC rush hour begins, the transit system will flash us all a very large middle finger and wish us a good day.

But here is why working in DC only sucks most of the time.

I'm working from home tomorrow! :)

For the rest of you unlucky bastards, ENJOY! Just remember, I sat for 7 hours on I95 for no reason. The cosmos owe me one!

Moving in slow motion

OK, enough bitching about my not updating my blog since I got back from vacation! :)

You know how it is. You come back from vacation, and you need a few weeks to readjust your attitude. I've simply been struggling to remember why I came back to work at all! But I'm back, and so are the stories.

Have you ever had those days when it feels like you are moving in slow motion all the time?? Today is one of those days for me. I can't really figure out why, but I know it's progressing at an alarming pace. Maybe it's because I'm so doped up on allergy medication in celebration of the blooming of spring, or maybe it's because I'm still not sure why I'm still here. Either way, today, my life is moving in slow motion, and I'm on the outside watching it all happen.

I arrived at the lot, late, because nobody would cooperate this morning. I had an overly tired child, and I was overly groggy myself. One of my dogs decided that she would take a break from her normal in and out morning routine to conduct a thorough inspection of every blade of grass within an acre of my house. Normally this would make me somewhat stressed and agitated. Instead, I was just standing there watching it all happening and thinking to myself "this sucks." That's the best I could come up with!

So I finally arrived at the lot, and there are people in the line who instantly recognized me. So they stepped out of line to jump into my car before I fully pulled up. Unfortunately, at the same time, I noticed a man at the front of the line who was also going to my destination. Alas, it was too late to stop them from jumping rank, and I sat and watched this guy's face curl up in anger...in slow motion. I did the "I'm not looking in your direction" departure, avoiding all eye contact or recognition. What could I do? I just didn't have a fast enough reaction time to stop the violation!

Much to my disappointment, one of those people line jumping is the most talkative person on the planet. This is not hyperbole my friends. This person will make you wish you were deaf. And s/he talks about absolutely nothing I could possibly care about even under threat of waterboarding. I drove in with these lips flapping in my ear 1000 miles an hour, but all I could hear was the Charlie Brown teacher voice. "mwah mwah mmmwah wah" over and over again. Since I had no clue what s/he was saying or why, I basically just nodded my head in agreement. I could have been agreeing to drive him/her to work for life, and I wouldn't have known any better. It was as if I had lost complete control of my brain, and my brain was checking out.

Even now, I'm sitting here typing this, and I think it's taken me an hour. I could be wrong. It could be 10 minutes. But right now, everything is moving so slowly that I just can't tell the difference.

So tomorrow when I show up to slug to work, there will be an angry man gunning for me, a talkative person waiting to give me updates on something I have no background on, and possibly a missing dog howling at me. I hope my reflexes can catch up.

For now, I'm going for Round 2 of the caffeine war.

Smellapalooza

One thing I've learned is that you get exposed to all kinds of people when you slug to work. You meet some really wonderful, friendly, helpful people who shower, and you meet some really nasty people with bad attitudes or smelly bodies. Lucky for me, I won the stink lottery this morning.

It's the Friday before my vacation, and I'm leaving early today. For my reward, I get to the lot ready to drive my fellow commuters to work, and I find that nobody is there. So I wait....and wait...and wait. A few people begin to straggle in, and I decide to call out multiple destinations until I get lucky. My second destination call proves to be lucky with one man as he climbs into the front seat. He's the kind of guy who likes to exercise before work, which means he does his workout when he gets there and THEN he showers. It appears he also likes to work out at night because he smelled like a moldy gym bag full of sweaty jock straps. I'm thinking to myself "great, he wants to sit up front with me."

Then another gentleman wanders up and takes me up on my offer. He climbs in the backseat, and his smell actually outpowered Mr. Clean up front. Coming from the backseat, you KNOW that he smelled bad, but this was a uniquely bad smell. He smelled like a dirty hamster cage. Those of you who had hamsters as a kid know what I mean. It's a sort of pissy cedar chip smell mixed with sweaty fur and rat poop. You know, the point that your cage reached when your parents didn't have to tell you to clean out the cage because even you couldn't take it anymore. Yes, that was him in all his non-seatbelt wearing glory. I'm hoping his smell doesn't stick to the babyseat!

I know it's Friday, and I know lots of folks are going on vacation after today (ME INCLUDED), but SERIOUSLY, can you not shower before going to work? I understand the desire to stay in bed a little later on Friday mornings. I get that completely. But power-showers are worth the effort. In fact, Al Gore says short showers will stop global warming (probably because your noxious dirty body fumes aren't depleting the ozone layer?). Either way, do your part to contribute to the health of all current and future generations by showering and applying a generous amount of deodorant--stick or aerosol are fine with me.

But before I conclude for the next beautiful week, I must ask the one question that may never receive an answer.

How does a grown man come to smell like a hamster cage?

Talkin' about Revolution

Sometimes I feel like I'm in the spin-cycle of WTF. (Yes, we all know what that means, and I spelling it out would be inappropriate. You can say it out loud in your own head, but then who would be the potty mouth?) :) There are days when everywhere I look I discover something that makes me ask the quasi-rhetorical question of "WTF?" But I digress.....

There is a woman who frequents our little slug line, and she is either campaigning to be "Ruler of the Free World," "Captain of the Safety Patrol," or "Supreme Line Leader." I'm thinking she'll take any of the above positions should they be offered to her.

Unfortunately for us all, she goes to one of those locations that doesn't get a lot of traffic, so she's generally in line for a long time. And she screws up EVERYTHING!!!! In some cases, her "input" has almost gotten people steamrolled by confused drivers.

Recently, I arrived on the Grey Mile, and she was positioned roughly in the upper-middle part of the line. She has the ability to make her voice carry long distances, much to the despair of my one remaining good ear, and she likes to call out the drivers' requests. She gets so carried away that she starts to call them out incorrectly, especially when the cars start to stack up. For example, someone will pull up and call out "Pentagon." She will yell out "Pentagon" and if nobody responds before the next car pulls up and calls out "L'Enfant" she will start to get confused. I don't know if she's ADHD or just not capable of multitasking, but she starts to confuse the locations. The results are people wandering up to cars they shouldn't be getting into and then jumping back out when they realize they are in the wrong car. In the meantime, someone behind that person has taken their ride from them because they were lucky enough to figure it out first. People are hopping in and out of line, and it's TOTAL mass confusion. At one point, she was pointing people to cars and telling them to hurry up. She's yelling at other cars to move up as people are crossing in front of them. For SOME reason, our line is predominantly populated by lemmings because they are blindly following this lady's "directions."

I am going to run with the theory that she was either denied a position in the safety patrol in elementary school or she lost several elections for class president in high school.

Lucky for me, I'm developing my own little reliable "clique" of riders and drivers, and we all look out for each other. We basically use hand signals and codes to coordinate our ride sequence. I, former safety patrol member and elected student government official, have created a well-oiled process for moving riders and drivers through our line for our particular destination without the input of this disorganized scatter-brain. We all sort of giggle when she tries to intervene. Everyone else can have her.

Right now, our little sluglot runs itself without official governance. As our Founding Fathers reminded us, bad government is not a viable alternative to anarchy. Right now, our lot is facing anarchy as a result of bad government. Madame Line Leader, may I suggest you back off and mind your business before you face a revolution you can't handle!

Viva la sluglot!

Keep on Truckin'

I’ve been taking a bit of a break from blogging to try to regain some focus. I have had people tell me that I should focus more on the “positives” of slugging. I’ve been mulling that thought over for quite some time, and I have basically concluded that I’m one of those people that perform better when complaining. In the spirit of optimism, I’m going to attempt a positive entry; however, not right now.

First, I have to complain. I have so many after all these weeks that I don’t even know where to start! OK, yes I do!

I’m going to start with the obnoxious, completely oblivious, self-centered big-truck drivers. Parking in a commuter lot is at a premium in some places. I happen to be in one of those places. I arrive at the same time, give or take a minute or two, every morning. On some mornings, parking is plentiful. On more mornings than I care to remember, I end up driving because the lot is full. But on most mornings, I’m squealing into the last available space. This morning was no exception, but the problem is that when the person parked in front of me leaves to go home he’s going to be towing my car. Let me explain.

There is a phenomenon here in the United States. Despite the high gas prices and the lack of necessity, we have a large population of people, particularly men, who like to drive gigantic, enormous trucks. I believe, but I could be wrong, that these trucks were invented for the “working man” to haul his various work supplies. There are all kinds of justifiable reasons for owning a large pickup truck. Construction, landscaping, repair work, etc, etc, etc. HOWEVER, if your big ass truck is parked in a commuter lot, odds are pretty good that you don’t need it to do your job. I’m guessing the main reason it’s parked there is because it uses up 50 gallons of gas a minute, and you can’t afford to drive to work in it. So, since we’ve established that you are an idiot, I can move on to why you are also a jerk.

I personally do not care what a person drives. I’m not an environmentalist. I believe global warming is a good thing. Bring on the warm weather! I don’t slug to save the environment. I slug because it gets me to work faster, and I can nap. I DO care when your vehicle invades my precious space. There are at least THREE trucks that are REPEAT OFFENDERS, daily, on this particular topic. One guy pulls into his space with his enormous truck, and he always parks over the line. So basically, unless you drive a mini cooper, you can’t fit a car into that space. In most cases, that’s a wasted space. Not for me, though. Today, it was the last space. Let’s just say that my car is hitching a ride home today because my front bumper is on top of his hitch ball. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I did it intentionally. I hope when he pulls off he damages my vehicle because I wrote down his license plate number. There is another guy who does a similar thing but he can’t really help it because his truck is SO long that he can’t park in just one space. I’m thinking that if you need a truck that large for daily life, you probably shouldn’t be working in Washington DC. To add insult to injury, he actually back-parks into the space!!! So, many times, I’m pulling into the lot and I have to wait for 5 minutes while he maneuvers his 18-wheeler into 2 parking spaces. I’ve parked on top of him before as well. But the back-parking! UUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Why do you men feel the need to prove your "manliness" by demonstrating to the world that you can drive not only forward, but backward as well. It's like a genetic programming that evolved out of the frustration of the horseback riders who couldn't get their horse to go in reverse. I don't really see how parking your car backwards makes you more of a man. I can parallel park. Does that make me bisexual?

The arrogance of these truck drivers makes me mental! They simply don’t care that they are screwing someone out of the opportunity to commute to work because they feel the need to own a monster truck.

To end my little rant, I must address the ignorant ass who thinks that the commuter lot is a used car lot and parks and LEAVES his car there with signs all over it. I can assure you that NOBODY in that lot is looking at your broken down, beat up piece of junk that is taking a permanent parking space and thinking “hmmm, let me buy that.” So, MOVE IT. Unless you are paying for that spot, and you aren’t, you need to move that crap NOW. The next time I have to drive because there isn’t any parking left, I’m going to buy some window paint and paint “TOW ME” all over the windows!

I don’t know about you, but these little complaints are cathartic. That which I cannot change makes me angrier. And I deal with it by writing about it.

For the record, I’ve made lots of friends by slugging. There are people I commute with nearly everyday, and I have come to really like them. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop complaining!

So, if you are a regular reader, feel free to weigh in. Want me to tell more of the positive stories? I have to warn you that I have to leave a lot of details out because of the need for anonymity, so there aren't going to be as many "nice stories." I'd love to hear from you! :)

Choice or Fate?

I found myself pondering one of those "life questions" on my ride to work today. It was bizarre how it happened, and the question itself might seem a little odd to you. Stick with me for a minute and see if you end up making the same observation I did.

I got into my ride this morning, and I immediately settled into the cold leather backseat (I practically had to knock the guy down who was in line behind me and was trying to steal my coveted backseat approach). Anyway, with it being a Monday morning, I settled myself into what I assumed would be a quiet uneventful ride that would give me the benefit of quiet commuter slumber. For the most part it was. I dozed in and out of consciousness, repeatedly stirred awake by the oscillating volume levels of the local news station. I couldn't understand why this guy needed to turn his radio up so loud, and I was a little fuzzy when I would open my eyes to see what was going on.

It was in the semi-awake state of mind that I made an odd observation. The guy driving this car looked like his car.

NO, really, I'm not doing drugs. That fuzzy state was completely sleep-induced.

Let me explain. I won't tell you the exact details of this guy's car because I have to maintain a certain amount of anonymity, so forgive me if I take creative license to make my point.

The man driving was older, roughly late 50s. His hair was about 90% grey. His face was sort of boxy and showed his age relatively clearly. He seemed sturdy and reserved, and he was quietly classy. He's not the splashy type. I don't see him going out to pierce his ear, buy a Corvette, and start picking up young women half his age. He seemed more like the type that has been married for 25+ years, has kids and probably grandkids, and loves his life just the way it is. He seems like the type who would be loyal to the very end. I got the sense that he likes to live a comfortable life but nothing too extravagent. His car suited him. I just can't describe it any better than this. He LOOKED like his car. It was as if he and his car found each other.

His hair blended into the pale grey leather seats. His car was new, well-maintained, clean, but it was not flashy. It was a sturdy car that is American-made but has a slightly more luxurious appearance. It sort of resembles a very high-dollar classic luxury vehicle, but it's clearly not too expensive. The car has all the basic comforts of a higher-end vehicle, but it's not over the top. The car seemed like the kind that would run for a long time as long as it's maintained well. The body style, particularly in the front, was boxy and reserved.

I've always looked at cars from the perspective that they provide transportation. I have owned a luxury vehicle, but even that was not at the top end (or even lower middle) of the class. I try to buy based on utility first, then I move to appearance. But I look back over the years at all the cars I have owned, and I ask myself "did I look like my cars?" What a depressing thought! The first car I ever bought was right after high school. It was a white, 2 door Geo Metro (if anyone laughs at any of this, you will be cursed with high gas prices for eternity). It was compact, dependable, plain, and it had a little bubble butt. So far, things are lining up.

My next car was an "upgrade" to my 2 door Geo Metro, the 4 door. It was dark blue (what was I thinking) and still had a bubbly behind. Like me, the car was expanding and could fit a little more junk in the trunk. It was a little more colorful, but soon it's distinct color annoyed me. I was still discovering myself, but I stuck with that car for a whole lot of years. That car gave me virtually zero problems. I only had to do basic maintainence on it, and I never had any major mechanical failures. It was still running like a champ when I sold it to the nearest CarMax. I almost felt guilty selling it after being so reliable all those years, but I was trading up to a more luxurious car.

At this point, I had finished college and landed a really good job. I was "moving up" in the world, or so I thought, so I decided to reward myself with an affordable extravagent expense. It was an indulgence, but I LOVED driving that car. It was a two-door, and it purred like a panther getting its belly rubbed (especially at high speeds---or so I hear). The seats seemed to mold to my body, and the overall look of the car suited me just fine. It was a little sporty, but still with a classic overall appearance. It had a bit of a bubble butt as well (anyone noticing a trend here?), but it was a great car. At this point, I made the declaration that I will only own black cars. When they are cleaned and polished, nothing can compare. Black is classic and always holds up. It never goes out of style, leaving you with a car that you get sick of looking at everytime you get in. That car was kick-ass, and that's at least how I felt for a while.

About a year or so after I bought my little kick-ass car, I got pregnant. I instantly knew that my vehicular love-affair was going to have to end, because it doesn't make sense to have a baby in a two-door sports car. OR DOES IT? I somehow managed to manipulate me and my baby in and out of the backseat of that car for a couple of years before I finally gave up. I kept telling myself that the car was safer than most other options on the road, even if it was a two-door. But I eventually caved in and bought an SUV.

My current SUV, more of a mini-SUV--NOT A MINIVAN--, is of course black. It's sturdy, reliable, and utilitarian. There's nothing flashy about it. It has only the basic options, and it's relatively plain and does its job. It does have a big trunk to accommodate my various child-transporting needs (the trend continues). I think it fits who I am right now in my life.

So upon reflection, I really do think that our cars are a reflection of who we are. What does that say about the insane number of Toyotas and various types of SUVs on the road? I think it's entirely possible that our cars tend to match our personalities at the time we purchase them. In some rare cases, the cars match our physical appearance as well. In those cases, I believe the car-driver relationship is more one of fate and not choice.

The next time you are driving, preferably riding, take a look at the people driving the cars around you. Do you see a connection?

What do you think? Do we choose our cars or do they choose us?

Live From DC....It's Tuesday Morning!

There are times when we are all surrounded by annoying people. Commuting to and from work everyday with strangers increases the likelihood of encountering those people with great regularity. If you've gotten to know me at all, you will know that I am probably a little more easily annoyed than most. I just have a low idiot threshold, and I generally like to be left alone in the morning while my brain tries to wake up and prepare itself for the day. (This takes longer as I get older)

Where am I going with this? Right...

A New Guy showed up at the sluglot this morning, and I will be perfectly content to never see or hear from him ever again....ever (never ever).

Mr. NG is a somewhat attractive (wouldn't have noticed if he didn't bring attention to himself), well-dressed, mid-thirties-ish, and annoying as ALL HELL! No exaggerations necessary.

What can be so bad about this poor guy you ask? He is what Saturday Night Live sketches are made of! In fact, the folks at SNL probably know this guy and use him as a muse FREQUENTLY!

This man comments on everything to everyone, and he doesn't care who is or is not listening.

I was standing in line for a good 5 minutes when he sauntered up to the line. He was about 8 to 10 people behind me in line, but distance did not make the heart grow fonder. He was able to broadcast his annoyance all the way to my spot in line and beyond. I didn't notice at first because I thought he was talking to a friend. I tuned him out, as I do most people at 6AM. But his voice just kept pinging on my fragile sound barrier, and I eventually stopped trying to tune him out to see what was going on with this guy. Nobody has a need to talk that much that early in the morning.

First, I listened.

"Wow, that's the second car going to the Pentagon."
"Gee, nice Escalade."
"Could that guy pull up?"
"Wow, his car is clean."
"It's getting cold outside."
"Yesterday was nice!"
"I think the line is moving."

OK, besides being the King of Obvious-land, he was just saying this stuff out loud to nobody in particular. That notches him up on the annoying ladder by at least 10 spots (basically putting him at the top). All of these little comments happened within the space of about 5 minutes (or less).

Dying of curiosity, I had to turn my head down in his direction to see what was going on. I fully expected him to be a paste-eating IT nerd (no offense to all you IT nerds out there--yes there are IT people who AREN'T nerds, but I'm not talking to you!). He turned out to be normal looking. So I started watching the people around him. I started to notice that people were increasingly focusing their attention in directions opposite from him. It was almost like he had just announced he has mouth cooties and everyone was trying to avoid getting them.

King Obvious did not seem deterred as he continued to comment on everything.

"The bus has already made 2 complete routes."
"I'm going to get to work on time if the next ride is mine."
"The writers might be going back to work soon."
"My bag is heavy."
"I forgot my scarf."

Why are you talking to yourself sir? Do your friends find you as annoying as the strangers around you, so you end up talking to yourself a lot? Are you just oblivious to the fact that this stuff leaks out of your brain, down into your mouth, and out into public air? Have you convinced yourself that your input is so valuable that everyone must receive it?

I just don't understand how life and circumstances haven't broken you of such a nasty habit. Can you imagine being on a date with this guy?

"Wow, a salt shaker."
"Look, the waiter is coming this way."
"My pants are too tight."
"Your hair is long."
"The sky is blue."

Oh come on! I can't handle this level of annoyance this early in the morning!!!! Stop making the running commentary! If you want to be a sportscaster, go audition at NBC, in another state so I don't accidentally end up watching you. In the meantime stop talking!

Perhaps you would be good at something else that would make you move far, far, far away from DC and would prevent you from commuting with other strangers.

But I'm not that lucky am I?

Really?

OK, without giving too much away, I'm short. Not midget-like mind you! But I'm horizontally challenged in such a way that I don't require a lot of leg room in a vehicle. I do, however, require SOME leg room. Not much, just a little.

The rides were few and far between this morning, and I was about to give up on my destination and try for somewhere else. Just as I was thinking this, a driver called out for my beloved destination. I was excited because this was going to save me some unpleasant commuting options on an already cold and crappy Friday. But here's the kicker....I could BARELY get in the backseat at all!

The driver had his wife, girlfriend, mistress, whatever with him, and she decided that she was going to have a nice leisurely horizontal nap on the way to work. Since the other side of the backseat was completely blocked by a mountain of garbage, yes there were some food wrappers, cups, and various other unpleasantries, I had no choice but to sit behind this rude monster.

Let me see if I can use my rusty literary skills to paint a verbal picture of how this went down.

There I was, my short little stumps squeezing in behind this full reclined seat. Her seat was SO close that I had to literally put a leg on EITHER side of the seat. I couldn't curl up my legs any closer. I had to literally give birth to her damn seat the entire way to work. To make it worse, the seat was leather, and you know how much I hate leather seats.

On top of that, her hair stunk like she's never washed it, and it was right in my face the ENTIRE time. I was wearing a scarf around my neck, and I decided that it would make a good mask. So I covered up my nose and mouth to avoid sucking in her hair mites while I did what I could to control the contractions.

Because I wasn't squeezed in tight ENOUGH behind her apparently, she kept pushing BACK against me in the seat. For a minute, I considered lighting her hair on fire, but I figured I was too trapped to escape from the inferno that would surely be caused by the greasepit she's collecting on her head. Although, the smell of burning flesh and hair would have been an improvement. I still don't know if she was pushing back because she could feel my legs groping for space or because she really was just that rude. Either way, the only thing that got me through the ride was letting myself imagine 10 different ways to crawl over her body in case of an accident.

All I can say is if I had been stuck in THAT car behind THAT beast on Tuesday, this would have ended differently.

Since I wasn't and it didn't, I did my best to behave and exit like a lady.

When they pulled up to my spot, I opened the door and with GREAT fanfare and many grunts and groans "attempted" to remove myself from the stirrups of her seat. Being a little overly dramatic, I decided to turn myself horizontal in the seat and exit feet first laying on my back. (I did my best to not dip my head in their precious trash collection). The driver said "oh do you need some help?" Gasping for breath and holding my right knee, I simply said "no, no, I needed the exercise."

I should have spit in her hair.

Everything I Need to Know, I Learned in 7 Hours of Traffic

For those of you blessed enough to live outside of the Beltway, you officially NEVER have the right to complain about your traffic conditions EVER again. No exceptions. No appeals will be heard on this topic. DC Metro area traffic is, hands down, the worst ever in the world. I don't care what anyone says.

Sitting completely still on I-95 for nearly 7 hours (technically 6.5) gives you lots of time to reflect and explore yourself and those around you. Before I give you my little list of observations I have come up with as a result of Hell Tuesday, let me give those of you unaware of the situation some background.

On Tuesday, the day of the Potomac Primary (Chesapeake Primary depending on what channel you are watching), at approximately 3:00 pm it started to sleet in Washington DC and the outlying areas. Considering we live in an area that gets traffic reports that announce "sunshine delays," it is NO real surprise that traffic was going to be heavy. People are already stupid when they get behind the wheel of a car, and adding bad weather multiplies that ridiculously. So at 3:30 pm, I rushed out of my office to meet my ride outside (bypassing the bathroom and snack machine), and we were on the interstate by 3:40 pm. Traffic moved slowly for about 4 miles, and then it started to REALLY slow down. It wasn't until people around us started to put their cars in park and turn off the engines that we realized we were going to be sitting for a little while.

We sat unsuspectingly, oblivious to the traffic realities around us. The traffic reports that repeat every 10 minutes on the "8s",and were completely and totally useless. People started to get out of their cars and walk around in the sleet after about an hour. It became clear to me and my fellow sluggers at the 2 hour mark that we were screwed. We all suspected that there was an idiot convention ahead of us that was causing all the emergency vehicles to go racing by us.

Apparently, the braintrust at VDOT decided to SHUT DOWN I-95 South and block the entire southbound commute out of Washington DC because it was getting icy. Yes, SHUT DOWN.

So, I sat trapped in the car for almost 7 hours trying to get home to vote in the presidential primary. In case you didn't figure it out, I didn't make it. Nobody made it. So for those of you OUTSIDE of the Potomac Primary region, don't believe the election results. The employed, thoughtful voters who wanted to vote for their candidate were prevented from doing so by a well-crafted, well-timed conspiracy between God and VDOT.

Without making you wait any longer, here are some slugging survival tips that I have devised as a result of my hell ride.

10. Always eat a snack just before leaving work. If you aren't hungry, at least make sure you have mints or gum in your purse or pocket. Slightly chewy lint starts to look good after about 4 hours.

9. Charge your cell phones and Blackberries while you are at work. It is guaranteed that on the day you have to sit in traffic and make a million phone calls your cell phone will start to die.

8. Bring a change of clothes. Again, guaranteed that you will be stuck in hell wearing control top pantyhose.

7. Grab a bottle of water to go. Even if you aren't thirsty, it might come in handy for number 6.

6. Always, always make a trip to the bathroom before leaving work. Even if you "just went," give it a try. Every trickle counts when you are sitting in traffic for 7 hours. In case you were in a hurry to meet your ride, consider a water bottle. :)

5. Don't accept a ride from someone unless you know you can sit trapped in a car with them for more than the typical hour-hour and a half.

4. Make sure you have at least one friend in the world who will IM with you for several hours checking the primary results and sending you jokes to break up the monotony.

3. Always work on less sleep than you need. It will be the ONE day that you actually got enough sleep to sustain you that you will get stuck in a car for that long. On most days, I am begging for the chance to sleep. I could have had an entire night's sleep on Tuesday before I ever got home.

2. Bring something with you that could double as a pillow.

1. Learn some buttcheek exercises. Sitting on your butt for that long without moving will lead to numb-butt syndrome which could lead to a very unpleasant olfactory experience for those around you.

In all seriousness, the number 1 thing I learned that is THE most important is that you absolutely MUST have someone who does not live or work in DC that would be willing to pick up your child from school when you can't. If it weren't for my very good friend, God only knows what would have happened to my child that night! I wasn't reunited with my child until 10:30 pm!

The Perfect Storm

It was bound to happen, especially with my luck these days. One person who embodies nearly every irritating characteristic known to man offers me a ride home. It was inevitable and unpleasant.

I started the day thinking I would be writing a long complaint about the car engine parts I shared a seat with in the morning. I was ready to vent about the smell of grease and oil and redneck all over my clothes this morning. And then it happened...

Mr. Tsunami picked me up to take me home, and it didn't start off well. First, he was late. And I don't mean a few minutes. He was 20 minutes late with no phone call. As if my freaking day wasn't long enough, I wanted to add 20 minutes to it standing in the rain with Jeffrey Dahmer in the middle of DC. (Yeah, I'm pretty sure the guy stalking me was related to Dahmer....long story...but scary)

I guess this guy thinks that because he has a "luxury" vehicle he gets a pass on manners and good slugging etiquette. I disagree.

He picked me up late, and he suggested that I get in the front seat. I HATE the front seat. I especially hate the front seat when the third and final passenger is this guy's best friend to whom he talked the whole way home. If you know you are picking up your best dude, do you throw him in the back seat? NO!

Speaking of seats, they were leather and COLD. Apparently Hurricane Harry doesn't believe in heat, so I sat there FREEZING...literally shivering...the entire way home.

I was tired and wanted desperately to sleep as I had several hours of home overtime to complete yet. These two bozos decided to talk about absolutely NOTHING relevant to anyone. I had the pod on and their incessant yapping was still coming through. To make it worse, Teddy Tornado has the WORST BREATH EVER. Imagine the worst garbage smell if you've ever experienced (think rotting diapers in a garbage heat in late summer in Miami). Now imagine that smell bouncing off the windows everytime this guy opened his mouth to talk. Yep, there was no escape. I tried to tuck my head into the little corner of the window where the seatbelt is, but the aerodynamics of luxury vehicles basically makes it impossible to hide from the ricocheting air draft from his hell-hole of a mouth.

It doesn't matter anyway. I could NEVER sleep wondering if those high-dollar airbags were going to come flying out at my face any second. Earthquake Erwin was doing the "I'm going to drive really fast and test out my brakes at the last second" option, and I was trying really hard not to cry. I'm pretty sure I ate my tongue when he almost sent us flying UNDER an 18-wheeler.

The funny thing is he was bragging to his friend, with whom he appears to spend a lot of time and drives with frequently, about his 2002 BMW. Wow. Seriously? You've had this thing 100 years and you are still bragging about it? Come on. It's time to upgrade to a new outdated replacement for your penis that stopped working 20 years ago.

To top off this beautiful ride, Sal the Cyclone took me to an entirely different location which would have required a phone call on my behalf to get back to my car. He neglected to inform me of this, and I made that known. Cooler heads prevailed and he agreed to get me to my car (one piece was still optional to him).

As we approached the lot, I said "so this is a 2002 huh?" in my best Marilyn Monroe, I'm terribly interested in you kind of voice. He smiled proudly and let out a mouth-cloud so toxic that could not only reverse Global Warming but send us into another ice age. I said "yeah, I had a 2003, but I got rid of it because I wanted something newer. Thanks for the ride. Have a nice night!"

Next time, I won't go looking for the fish when a storm is coming.