Tales From the Sluglot

A Cautionary Tale

2010-02-24T14:14:00.003-05:00

No, I haven't been mangled by a wreck on I-95 (hopefully never will), nor have I given up the DC commute for the simple life (I wish). I'm still here, but very little happens these days that could be blog worthy. I've settled into a decent routine that doesn't involve a whole lot of interesting stories. But now I have one that is absolutely worth coming back for!

Here goes (Warning, this posting may offend the particularly chaste):

I jumped into the backseat of a dark, mid-sized SUV for my ride into work. I didn't recognize this woman and had to ask if she was, indeed, going to my destination. She confirmed, and off we went.

As usual, I settled in for my quick nap with my excess baggage on the floor at my feet. I closed my eyes and dreamed of happier places and happier times. As if an internal alarm were set, I woke up 2 blocks from my office building and began to gather up my bags and gloves. It was at this point that I noticed something out of the ordinary in the dark floorboard behind the driver's seat.

The sun was not yet up, as I am required to be at work before the dead are required to awaken, and it was hard to tell what I was seeing at first. I turned to look more closely, squinting my eyes to better make out the figure in the floor. It was bright, bright fluorescent orange. The kind of orange you'd find in a roadside safety kit. After further inspection, I realized that this object did not fall loose from a roadside safety kit. At least no roadside safety kit that I've ever seen available for purchase.

There in the floor behind the driver's seat sat a bright orange, black-tipped, vibrator.

Whatever her emergency needs may be, at least she was being safety conscious. Now I have to go home and burn my winter coat, gloves, handbag, and carry-all bag before immersing myself in a boiling hot vat of acid.

Old Friends

2009-09-30T10:25:00.008-04:00

Over the last 2 years, a lot has happened and a lot has changed. The personalities are free-flowing, gradually shifting in and out of the slugging psyche. You seem some of the "regular" personalities, and then they disappear. Sometimes you find yourself wondering about where some of them have gone. For example, my mind still wanders to the pervert, the pimp, the still high school bitches, and the maniac driver. Because I go to the same place, every day, at the same time, I expect to see the same people. Sometimes that happens, and sometimes it doesn't.

Occasionally, I see someone drive up in line that I will acknowledge with a casual smile and wave as they pick up someone else. There are times when I see someone I haven't seen in a while, and I'm genuinely happy to see their face again. There are other times when I try to look away to avoid any unnecessary contact with someone I don't like because I know my facial expressions always betray me and show EXACTLY how I feel about someone in one look.

There are new people slugging these days, and I can no longer calculate with certainty how many people are ahead of me in line. Sometimes I figure I would get the next ride but 2 people step out in front of me, leaving me to wonder "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU????"

Yesterday, I was praying for a long line of unfamiliars to be in front of me so I could avoid one of my least favorite people on the planet. Yes, you guessed it, I hopped in with Benz Bitch, much to my dismay.

The REALLY funny part is that I jumped in the backseat, leaving the front seat available to the next unlucky slugger to walk up. We had to sit and wait for a few minutes because the line was thin and there were no other riders to our destination. Imagine the awkward silence? Well, there wasn't any because Benz Bitch started arguing with people in the line. hehe

There was some "confusion" resulting from misdirection and miscommunication on the part of the people at the front of the line. They were yelling the wrong destinations to those of us in the back, and Benz Bitch had actually been left sitting there for an extended pause because the ladies in the front were yelling to us in the back that she was going to an entirely different place. I KNEW where she was going, but I thought I'd hit the lottery and avoided having to ride with her because she had somewhere else to go. Nope, the stupid bitches at the front of the line were just ....well...stupid. They couldn't keep the cars' destinations straight and were confusing us in the back of the line. Even after I cleared it up and reluctantly climbed in, they still couldn't get it right.

Then, they had the NERVE to complain about Benz Bitch just "sitting there, not moving up." Hmmmm, well clearly they had underestimated the character they were trying to passively aggressively attack, because she heard THAT and went OFF. Then there came a lot of head wagging and attitude flying between Benz Bitch and Stupid Bitches 1 and 2. This seemed to go on forever. Well, just long enough for someone else to walk up at the exact moment that Benz Bitch decided to move her car up a few feet as she delivered her last zing at the 'Tard Captains. Poor slugger #2, who I know quite well, had his hand on the door handle and almost got it ripped off as she drove up. He stepped back in time to not lose a limb, and EVERYONE in line started shouting at Benz Bitch. Since she didn't see slugger #2 almost get dragged, the fact that everyone yelled at her really set her off.

Finally slugger #2 landed safely in the front seat of honor, and we FLEW out of the lot. I mean, she GUNNED it, pedal to the metal, please-god-don't-let-any-pedestrians-step-out-now kind of speed. I think we took the corner on two wheels, but I can't be sure.

She was mad and she was hanging on to it for the entire ride. Briefly, I appreciated her little oh-no-you-didn't exchange, and I thought....yeah, I'd probably do that too if it was me. But our bonds were severed when she decided to drive the way she was talking. Once she cleared the parking lot, she turned on her radio to an eardrum piercing maximum volume. There's nothing like listening to Steve Harvey at maximum volume at 6AM. She was mad, and she was going to make sure that not a SOUL said or breathed anything to her for the entire ride.

Despite my exhaustion, I couldn't sleep this one out. She was crossing 3 lanes of traffic at full speed without signaling, and doing it repeatedly. She was chatting on her cell phone to a "friend" while trying to adjust the heat to the heavily-roasted setting (I get cold, but damn.). Then she turned up the radio AGAIN when a song came on in between Steve Harvey's rants about "girl you goin do whatchyou goin do." Yeah, OK.

I was gasping for thick, hot air every time she had a near miss with another car, and I was certain that nobody would have heard my screams for help as our car teeter-tottered off the edge of the 14th Street bridge over the sound of Mary J. Blige's untalented squeals of female-empowerment.

Oh, and did I mention that the traffic was backed up because of an accident? Yeah, it was THAT day. I get my good old friend Benz Bitch, when she's pissed at the world, on a day when I have to endure her inherent bitchassness for more than the typical commute time.

Hey old friend, it's nice to see you again.

Drinking and Driving

2009-07-31T13:57:00.004-04:00

There are times when I have to drive to work, and it almost always pans out to be the days when there is a major traffic incident. So, as it would have to be, I had to drive on a Friday. It was a miserable, miserable traffic day going in, and I was deeply dreading going home. I managed to arrange for a few familiar faces to be my sluggers hoping that our past laughs and conversations would make the ride go by faster.

I wasn't disappointed by the conversation or the laughs. We had quite a few college-level laughs that involved body-function humor and a few yells out the car window at unsuspecting HOV violators. The demographics in the car was 2 guys and 2 girls, and the conversations were bouncing around between woman-bashing to man-bashing and back again. It was a 2 hour exchange of snips and jokes and inappropriate comments, and I was glad to have asked them along.

And then things got weird.

One of the guys mentioned "Hey, we should go grab a couple of happy hour drinks after we get back." And, being caught up in the celebratory mood, we all said "ooooh, yeah~! What a great idea!"

So we continued on down the road laughing and joking, and I started to notice that one of the men in the backseat was a little too interested in me and my stories. He kept wanting me to expand on some of the more "inappropriate" comments, and the girl riding with me was starting to give me those "whoa, freaky" kind of looks.

We finally made it back to the lot, and as everyone dispersed from the car, the discussion of where to go came up. After the guys made the decision to go somewhere they like, the other girl BAILS on me and says she can't go. So, there I am, stuck having at least 1 "polite" drink with the boys, both of whom are married.

And then things got weirder.

We walked into this bar that I've never even noticed existed, and it was dark, and smelly and the total tooth count in the bar was probably 36 (my 32 plus the 4 the bartender had). There were about 6 people in the bar other than us, and all of them were the kind of men who looked like they either just got out of prison or were on their last drinking binge before committing a triple homicide.

We sat at the bar instead of the "tables," which looked an awful lot like they were stolen from various places, and we ordered our drinks. I was trying to find something that didn't make me look too foofy in front of all the serial killers, since I didn't want to show weakness. I opted for the shot of whiskey and a coke. I still had to drive home and figured one shot of whiskey wouldn't be too much. The boys ordered their beers, and we all began to chit chat. I carried the body language of a woman about to be gang-raped, but I kept the conversation flowing. The guy who was showing too much interest started asking questions about some of my more adventurous experiences with men. It was at that point that the enormous "oh shit" flag was raised.

So I kicked back the whiskey shot and started doing the not so subtle time check. Overly Interested Guy starts inviting me to concerts and making comments about sexy shoes and lingerie. His friend, feeling the level of discomfort radiating off of me, starts talking about his wife and then says he has to get home. I pull out some cash to pay for my drink, and the guys decide I can't pay for it. That's nice except in my mind I am thinking that will obligate me to reciprocate at another happy hour in the future. Not something I planned on doing ever again. Mr. Inappropriate says "you're gonna stay with me and have another round right?"

Er, no.

I said "you know, I've got to get home and spend some time with my daughter." That wasn't enough for him. He started talking about how she could wait a little while longer and one more drink wouldn't hurt anything. I tried to reason with him using the dangers of drinking and driving, and that didn't work either.

So, out of desperation, I used the fail-safe exit strategy. I leaned in and lowered my voice "I have to get home to see if my test results are back. I just had a herpes outbreak that seemed a little off, and I wanted to make sure I hadn't also contracted syphilis." He laughed. I gave him the straightest "I'm not kidding dumbass" look, took a sip of his beer that he'd just ordered, and sauntered to the door. He was not sure if I was joking or not, but one thing's for sure, he was distracted enough that I was able to escape relatively unaffected.

I will never drive and agree to drinks again.

He also has not asked for a ride from me or offered me a ride since. :)

Gotta Sing!

2009-06-30T11:44:00.003-04:00

There are some days when you take a ride that appears to be completely and utterly uninteresting. You are riding along, and you are resting quietly. Your head starts to slowly relax; your breathing steadies, and you feel yourself drifting off to sleep. The driver appears to be cautious, so you feel relatively confident that you can sleep without too much worry.

It's always those rides that end up surprising you the most.

I rode in with 2 men. I was sitting in the front seat because the bubbly, optimistic little man behind me snagged the back seat, but not before opening my door for me and calling me Ma'am. He greeted our driver with great enthusiasm, and off we went. Our driver was listening to a local radio station's morning talk show at a respectable volume. Everything was smooth as molasses, and I was really starting to settle into a stress-free morning commute, for a change.

I was half listening to the talk show host as the show returned from commercial. He was talking over an old song that I vaguely remembered but wasn't really paying attention to. I started to tune his abrasive voice out and slip into a temporary coma, when BAM--in a loud, booming, entirely inappropriate voice that broke the silence and stability of the car, Mr. Backseat Bubbles began singing along to the song I hadn't really realized was still playing.

"THROUGH THE FIRE....TO THE LIMIT.....TO THE WALL...."

He hit a falsetto that I didn't know any man could really hit, but I had mad respect for his skills.

The driver and I were startled, and I just busted out laughing. This of course encouraged our enthusiastic Chaka Khan wannabe to sing even more, and he went through the song until the DJ turned it off and continued his conversation.

Then he settled down and went to sleep.

I guess when you gotta sing, you gotta sing.

PRIMAL SCREAM!!!!

2009-06-18T11:39:00.003-04:00

OK, you guys can all stop giving me crap about not blogging lately. I know, I know! For the most part, I’ve just been too busy or too lazy to do an update, but things have been somewhat predictable lately. I do have a couple of “reserve” stories, so I will probably do a couple of updates close together. So sit back, relax, and shut the hell up.

There are days when I hate everything. Those days are growing to be more and more frequent, but –good grief—today offered me a whole new collection of things, and people, to hate.

I rode in today with a man who normally slugs in alongside me. In fact, I have blogged about him hogging the backseat and snoring. He’s a nice, older man who appears to be gentleman for the most part. Yet, I hate him and his car. Here’s why…
I was the first rider to arrive in the car, and of course, I chose the premium backseat real estate. I always get a funny look from drivers when I am the firs to get in but I choose the backseat. It’s like they take it personally that I don’t want to sit up front with them. And they should take it personally, because I don’t want to sit with them up front. He gave me an awkward glance and then started to chit-chat while we waited for someone else who would be going to our location. He had all the windows open in this fancy little SUV, and it wasn’t too bad because it was pouring rain yet. I was only getting slightly drizzled upon through the front and back windows. He slurped his coffee and talked about how his wife loses everything, and I sat back there praying that he’d shut up and close the windows soon. Finally, a nice man hopped in, and we were ready to hit the road.
Shortly after pulling off, Mr. Chit-Chat rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioner. It was at this point that I realized why he had the windows down to begin with. As the cold, dry air of the air conditioner began to replace the humid, fresh air in the car, the smell of rotting dead Trout guts began to fill my nostrils. I gasped for air and began to choke and cough. It was putrid, to say the least. I don’t know who he pissed off to have them put dead fish in his car, but that person is downright cruel. Oh God, the smell. I was trying to bury my face in my clothes, and at one point, I think I even grabbed a handful of my own hair and started breathing it in.

But, being true to my rugged slugger’s composition, I decided to just sleep through it. If you sleep through it, it will end more quickly and won’t smell as bad. Unfortunately, Old Man Fish Guts decided he wanted to listen to political radio AND comment on it. This was just too much. Since I work in politics, I put in a solid 8 hours centered on political issues, and I am forced to make myself aware of all sides to every issue. I can sit and discuss politics with anyone of any party on any topic. Just because I can does not mean that I WANT TO while I am riding to work and trying to get caught up on sleep! He starts going on about the “wisdom” of Obama, and how he’s the smartest man he’s ever seen in America. How, HOW can I sit in the backseat and sleep through this??? I mean COME ON! I can guard my senses from the nauseating smell of steamed, rotting fish guts, but I can’t withstand the assault on my intellectual sensibilities that declares Obama to be the smartest man in America. OH MY GOD!

My legs started to twitch. By the time he had moved to a discussion of Obama’s “amazing” policies, my leg was in a full-on fidget going about 100 miles an hour. I was squeezing my purse and sending him finger gestures from behind it. I put my sunglasses on, despite the dark clouds and rain, so that he couldn’t see the evil eye beams I was sending his direction. I’m pretty sure that my leg twitch was rocking the SUV.

He was up there slurping and laughing and basking in his Obama-glory when he almost rear-ended not one, but two different vehicles. He started chuckling, CHUCKLING about how I did the auto-Oh Shit response of pumping the air brakes with my twitchy leg. That’s when I lost it.

For the remainder of the trip, I produce a primal scream in my head that, should it have actually been let out, would have deafened the entire population of the DC metro area. It was guttural, and angry, and it involved a lot of cussing. The good thing about doing a primal scream in your mind is that you never run out of breath and your voice never gives out on you.

We arrived at our general location, and I attempted to get out when the front seat passenger jumped out. Our gentleman driver stopped me and insisted that he drop me off at my office because it was raining and he didn’t want me to walk in the rain.

I hate him.

The Consequences of Sleeping with Strangers

2009-03-26T09:18:00.003-04:00

Determined to have a restful nap this morning, I strode to the line with great excitement when I saw the line was short and cars were piling up. I knew my odds of getting a quick ride were pretty good. I recognized the person in front of me as being a regular to my location, so we chatted briefly. Within about 2 minutes of arriving, I scored a ride! My friendly "regular" bumped me out of the backseat privilege, which I knew would make napping less comfortable, but I was determined to get in a few more minutes of sleep before getting here today.

It's raining, so traffic was heavier than a "normal" day. Within 5 minutes, I was asleep. Deep, head resting on your chest, lips drooping kind of sleep. I woke briefly when the driver slammed on his wet brakes, but once I did a quick assessment and realized all was good, I hit the snooze button hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep. And I did.

The next thing to wake me up was "Oh, I took the wrong exit." Still half asleep, I once again did an assessment. Before opening my eyes, I thought to myself "great, this guy is going to take us to Rock Creek Park and murder us slowly." I tentatively opened my eyes to see him taking an exit that should have been easy to navigate in the general direction toward where we needed to go. But, when 3 strangers share a car, you never know what talents any of them have.

The driver and I were directionally retarded. I tried, as I often do when lost, to orient myself to the landmarks. I knew that this one particularly notable DC landmark was something I see from my office everyday, so I tried to mentally backtrack from there to my office. That didn't work real well. The driver handed me a map and then insisted on just going whatever direction he felt we needed to go. After about 15 minutes aimlessly wandering the one-way, wrong-way, security barricaded streets of DC, my backseat stealing friend said "we're on the wrong side of DC guys!" Well, that would have been helpful to know about 10 turns ago wouldn't it!!!

So we turned ourselves around (thank you for the few roundabouts in DC), and I tried to navigate using his tiny, mouse-sized map of DC. I couldn't tell where we were or what direction we were going in, but I was completely and utterly lost! The driver was in no better shape than me, and backseat stealer was just saying to go "south." Helpful!

We finally started to get into an area that I recognized and frequently go to. The problem is when I go into DC it's usually by Metro or someone else's car. I don't drive in DC for a good reason! It was designed by a French moron! We reached a landmark restaurant that I love to frequent, and I was pretty sure I could get us back from there. Another problem there is that I always WALK to that restaurant from work, so I cut through parks and alleys. Not terribly helpful when driving!

I started to roughly remember the general way back and maneuvered us around the dead-ends and barriers until we finally got on a street I KNEW would get us to my office.

At this point, the driver was really nervous because he was going to be late to a meeting and he still had to drop us off and drive more to get there. He was tapping his leg and muttering to himself, and I kept feeling a little stupid for not knowing my way around the city I've worked in for YEARS! But then I thought to myself, "wait a minute self! You were a passenger in his car. HE was supposed to know how to get you there!"

We finally made it here an HOUR late, and I couldn't help but laugh. I felt bad for him for being late to his meeting, but I was late to work too! It took us an hour to navigate through DC to go just a few miles! It was pathetic. We had a collective navigation brain trust of negative zero!

I started to think to myself...I would never go on a date without being prepared. I'm thinking I should never get in another car without a map at least.

Traffic Jam Kit

2009-03-24T13:06:00.004-04:00

Despite my consistent cynicism, I've remained relatively optimistic about my commuting arrangement. I manage to successfully slug to my office on average about 17 times a month. There are times when I have to bend a bit to get to or from work, but generally, the system works for me. There are other times when I need more flexibility, so I drive. I don't like to do it because sleeping behind the wheel is heavily frowned upon in VA. I drive on occasion, and I usually don't enjoy it. But I have a good reason.

At first, I thought it was a coincidence. After a very good sampling of driving occurrences, I concluded that I have the curse. Every time I drive, and I mean EVERY time I drive, there is a traffic jam of some sort. Most days, I get to and from work in 45 minutes or less. That barely gives me enough time to fall into a decent REM. I don't mind traffic jams when I'm a passenger because I generally sleep through them. But, I have once again angered the gods of commuting because whenever I drive I get the major backups.

I drove to work twice last week, and both times, BOTH TIMES, there was a major backup on 95 that cost me nearly an hour! Not just once, but BOTH times I drove! This has happened to me before, but only in scattered circumstances since I haven't driven very often. When I randomly had to drive 2 days in a row, and on both days I got stuck in massive jams, I knew it was me.

On day 1 of this 2-day hell excursion, I joked with a passenger that it always happened to me when I drive. One of them predictably said "remind me to never ride with you again." Well, now. That wasn't very nice. So, already being tired and grumpy, I had to retort, "at least that means I'm BEHIND the accident and not IN it." Then I told him he couldn't ride with me anymore. :)

On day 2, I rode in with a crazy woman who kept saying that she was nothing but a slug and couldn't speak her mind. (Not that anybody asked, mind you) At one point, I sarcastically thanked a guy for cutting me off, and she piped up with an offer to teach me some expletives she learned in the military. I asked her why she was talking to me and reminded her that she was just a slug. The behemoth sitting in the front seat had her iPod SO loud that I could hear every single note and lyric of her awful music over top of my music playing at a moderate volume. I noticed whenever I would say something she would take her earphones out, so I spent a lot of time talking about nothing at all just to annoy her.

So both times I drove, I was stuck in a traffic jam with annoying people and very little escape or distraction. I know I usually get it pretty easy, but that particular arrangement royally sucks. The next time I drive, I will have my traffic jam kit prepared. One of the supplies will be a perfected physical tick that will scare the crap out of my passengers. If I'm going to get stuck with them, I might as well have some fun!

2009-03-20T11:43:00.002-04:00

I had one of those uniquely interesting rides into work today, and I can't wait to talk about it.

I rode in this morning with a couple of really talkative 20-ish mechanics (yes, mechanics--referring mentally back to my post on commuter uniforms). I've gotten a ride from them before, so I knew I was safe (well, from a murderer at least). I couldn't have enjoyed this particular ride more!

I started out a bit annoyed because I was dead tired and just wanted to sleep. The car was an old beat up sedan of some sort (why do all mechanics drive crappy cars?), and it smelled like an ashtray at a bar. Everything was dirty, and I felt like I had to stay completely still once I burrowed into a somewhat clean spot. Neither the driver nor the passenger believed in that outdated, stuffy old rule of wearing your seatbelt, so I was relatively sure that I was going to die with greasy mechanics in my lap should we crash on the way in. As I closed my eyes to try to recapture a really great dream I had, I was rudely awakened by entirely too much perkiness coming from a guy.

Mr. Goodwrench #1 excitedly asked me how I've been. Apparently, he remembers me from previous experiences. Since I knew he was a talker, I tried to keep my answers short to prevent further conversation. Apparently, there's no such method in his car. I made a joke about how much life sucks (OK, maybe not a "joke" but he didn't know that), and that opened the door to him spilling all too many details about his presently "happy" life. Here are some of the things I learned.

1. He is getting a lot of money back on his taxes because he has a lot of kids from other women.

2. He likes to exact revenge by destroying people's cars.

3. His previous girlfriend(s) left him after getting boob-jobs.

4. His wife is getting a boob-job.

5. His sister is a scary lesbian.

5. His passenger friend likes to beat people up who don't like the way he talks. (I lovingly complemented his lisp several times before leaving.)

6. Mechanics' grease does not blend well with tan colored clothes.

7. He likes to be a gentleman, but he rarely remembers (his words.)

8. He will beat up anyone I want taken care of since my old Mob connections are all in jail.

9. He takes it very personally when someone flinches at his apparent inability to judge the distance between the stopped car in front of him and his own bumper.

10. His "yee haw" was genuine.

11. He aspires to have all of his kids under one roof in a new double-wide.

12. It's perfectly OK to put your own redneck spin on Eminem's style.

13. Being a redneck is a badge of honor for most. For him, it's a way of life.

14. I'm the "coolest bitch" he's ever driven to DC.

Damn straight!

The Commuter Uniform

2009-03-12T09:47:00.003-04:00

While you find hundreds of people with hundreds of unique personality traits commuting out of one lot, you will find some predictable commonalities. Most of us wear the "commuter uniform."

On a typical, cold day at the sluglot, you will find most women wearing their heavy coats and shoes that don't quite work with their outfits. We all wear our commuter shoes because, hey, let's face it, high heels are hard on your feet and easily ruined. So you see most women standing in line with expensive suits or dresses and chunky sneakers or Crocs (ick) or some sort of comfy slip-on. I personally have several options depending on the season. If the weather is wet and icky, I wear Uggs. If it's cold but dry, I wear slip-on, lined clogs. If it's hot, I wear flip-flops. I'm a beach girl after all! Men, you have it too good. Most men just wear their neat little tie-up business shoes without a second thought.

Beyond shoes, we all, men and women, seem to carry a plethora of bags. Women have their purses of course, but it seems we all go a step further on that one. I personally carry a purse (very large), an extra bag for shoes, books, hat, scarf, gloves, etc etc, a lunch box that won't fit in either of the other 2 bags, and on occasion I carry a laptop bag. Most of my fellow commuters share the same burden. Even the men seem to be carrying backpacks, laptop bags, lunch boxes, and man-bags. We all stand in line leaning this way or that and banging into each other with our bag collections.

On top of the commuter shoes and bags, nearly all of us share one other thing in common. We are all heading into DC, and one of the most common, easily identifiable characteristics of a DC worker is the badge lanyard. If you work in Washington DC, chances are you have to carry at least 1 ID badge that swipes you in and out of your building and keeps you from being thrown into a detainee prison. I personally carry 3, but that's on the light end of what most people must carry. We all walk around with our badges swinging left and right, and we all ignore them.

We all coexist and commute with our commuter uniforms, and everything works out just fine. It's when someone is not wearing the commuter uniform that we all sort of stand on edge.

Today, a man in his mid to late thirties was standing in line and everyone was keeping a distance. He stood there, innocently enough, but it was his lack of a commuter uniform of any kind that made us all suspicious. He was wearing sort of dirty jeans, a tee shirt and light jacket, a baseball hat, and very well-worn sneakers. He wasn't carrying a bag. He wasn't wearing a badge of any kind. He was just a guy waiting for a ride.

If you stop and think about it, so what? There are no rules that state that only DC professionals are allowed to slug. There are no laws that say you can't slug unless you wear a badge. But it's what we are all used to, and we get suspicious if someone doesn't fit the bill. We stereotype for a reason. It helps us categorize hundreds of strangers to determine who is and is not a threat. We can't know someone's soul based on their appearance, and we all know that a suit does not make you any less a criminal. But we all stand in judgment when someone stands out like a blinking red "danger" sign. I may joke about the possibility of commuter homicide when riding with strangers, but let's face it, it's a very real possibility.

If I was driving, and this man would have gotten into my car, I would admittedly be freaking out the whole way to work. In the area where I work, there are not a lot of people who would have cause to be down there unless they work for the government in some capacity. What protections do we have if someone is not wearing the uniform?

Remember that the whole slug concept was started by military servicemembers commuting to the Pentagon. They all wear recognizable uniforms and badges, and even out of uniform they all seem to be easily identifiable.

So, now I'm trying to prepare myself for what I would do if someone like that gets into my car OR is going to the same destination as me and ends up sharing a ride. With all the craziness in the world, I'm thinking I might need to add mace to my commuter uniform.

Luck of the Draw

2009-02-26T09:09:00.003-05:00

Some mornings just don't go well. It almost seems like once the suck ball starts rolling you juts can't stop it. By the time I got to work this morning, I was rolling full speed in a life-size suck ball.

As I entered the commuter lot this morning, some clunky-Mustang-driving redneck cut me off and nearly made me wreck my car. My heart was drumming pretty steadily by the time I reached the few available parking spaces left in the lot (thanks inconsiderate van-pools. Us sluggers just L-O-V-E you). I excitedly pulled into the one lovely space left on the row I was in when Mr. Teeter Totter decided to open his car door. My cat-like reflexes of course saved me from ripping his door off, but I sat there a quarter into the space with a line of angry cars jockeying for the holy grail of parking spaces while he peeled his enormous, roly-poly body out of his teeny-tiny little clown car. It seemed to take 5 minutes to complete this process before I could pull into the space. Cars were revving their engines behind me thinking that I must be smoking crack instead of parking, and I got some pretty ugly looks as people were finally clear to go around me. Not my fault guys!

I finally got safely parked, and I loaded all of my work gear onto my shoulders with great exertion of effort. Who knew you needed 3 enormous shoulder bags to sit in an office all day? It was peak traffic time in the lot, so I had to stand by my car for at least 2 minutes waiting to cross the lane to get to the line. I patiently waited for everyone to go by without having the courtesy of letting me cross, and I finally got a break. As I started to cross the lane, a car coming from the lane pointing straight at me decides to come flying through the lane and not stop at the end of it. I was in the middle of the perpendicular lane when he bolted out and almost hit me. I froze and braced myself for what would have been a really painful meet-and-greet with his front bumper. I must have glowed with fear because he slammed on his brakes and stopped just inches from my legs. Then HE waved me across the road. Wow, how generous of you.

He turned the corner, and I walked on my way to the line with shaky legs and heart palpitations (I'm going to need a cardiologist soon). I approached the line and saw at least 20 people in line, and I could tell there was a car sitting at the front of the line waiting. Clearly none of those 20 people were going where that car was headed, so they all sat there staring at each other. I asked the folks ahead of me as I got to the line where the car was going. They turned and said MY location. Wooohooo! Rock on! I love walking up to the line and getting directly into a car, especially when the line is long.

The problem is that I looked around the people toward the car and realized it was the guy who almost just turned me into a grease spot on the road. Wow, this lucky and it's not even St. Patrick's Day?

I hosted a little internal debate between my ego and id, and I finally decided that the guy didn't ACTUALLY kill me, so maybe there's a chance I'll make it work. His car was smelly and uncomfortable, and he slammed on his brakes A LOT. But in the end, he dropped me off at work in good time and alive, so I guess it wasn't all bad. :) (This is me trying to see the "bright" side of things....how am I doing?)

Passive Aggressive Commuting

2009-02-23T13:16:00.003-05:00

Most days, people leave me with a bad taste in my mouth. Common courtesy is a thing of the past. "Old Timers" lovingly refer to the past as the "good ol' days." I wouldn't exactly say that I'm an old timer, but I would say that I remember when courtesy was the norm and not the exception. Our society has created an individualist monster that feeds on selfishness and has no respect for the "fellow man." Most people act based on a "what's in it for me" mentality, and they don't care who they hurt, offend, or completely screw in the meantime. Take this "me" mentality and put it up against my naturally aggressive, somewhat demanding personality, and you get a pretty heated exchange between commuters.

The line of riders was relatively short this morning, and the drivers were stacking up. When that happens, someone has to have the nerve to step out of the line and walk to the cars to ask where they are going. This helps keep things moving instead of cars just sitting still in the back of the line while people are standing in the freezing cold waiting for them. So, today, I sacrificed my line status to move back to the line of cars to call out destinations. People started scurrying back toward me to get into cars, and one of the cars was going to my destination. I could have easily just jumped into that car without regard for whether or not someone was in line in front of me. But, I live by the golden rule, and I refused to rob one of my fellow riders out of a ride. So I called out that destination to the front of the line, but nobody was moving. I called out once again just in case, and there was still no response. While my back was turned, two guys I didn't know heard me and were starting to get into that car.

Oh hell no you don't.

I turned to see this happening and instantly switched on the "bitch." I said "HEY! NO NO NO, I am in line for that car!" The one guy turned to his friend and laughed. My response: "What the hell are you laughing at? Get out of that car!" The driver was clearly caught in the middle, and he couldn't accommodate a third rider, so he just sat there waiting for us to sort this all out. The jerk's friend tells him he needs to step aside and let me have the ride, and his response was "why should I?" Unbelievable! No courtesy.

The nice guy steps out of the car and says "you can take my place." Really admirable of the guy since it was my ride to begin with, but his friend wasn't giving it up. So he was in the front, and I was in the back. Mr. No-Manners decides to act like a 3 year old in a temper tantrum, and he starts doing little annoying passive aggressive things to drive me crazy. He pushes the seat back as far as he could without completely crushing my legs, so I buried my knees as far into the back of his seat as I could get them. It required a great deal of effort, but I kept constant and undoubtedly uncomfortable pressure on his back the whole time. He kept cracking his window to "let fresh air in." So I would lean forward and cough and sneeze on his head. At one point I'm pretty sure I produced phlegm in a fake cough that landed on his ear. :) Oh well.

The whole ride was a tit for tat exchange of immature behavior, but I was not going to let him get away with any of it. It ruined my nap, but I was comforted by a sense of accomplishment that I had also prevented him from enjoying his ride.

We both got out at the same place, but he walked in a different direction. He tried one last time to get in my way, so I nailed him with my lunch bag in his leg. Ooops, who knew fruit and yogurt could be so heavy. I just smiled and flipped him a good old fashioned Irish 2 as we went our separate ways.

All I can do is hope that nobody else ever lets him get away with that again! As for his friend, next time I see him, he's got a guaranteed ride.

Tales From the Sluglot: A Notable Return

2009-02-18T13:17:00.000-05:00

Tales From the Sluglot: A Notable Return

A Notable Return

2009-02-18T10:09:00.003-05:00

Wow, yes, it has been 2 months since my last update! I imagine most people have lost interest at this point, but this is still a great outlet for me when things get a little wacky in the slug world. Yesterday was one of those times.

I’ve been getting lazy lately because I’ve established a predictable routine of riding with the same people nearly every day. Yesterday, that routine was shattered when work got in the way and my driver couldn’t leave work on time. So, in true flexible slugging tradition, I slipped on my comfortable shoes and hoofed it over to the slug-hub at the Pentagon. I stepped into line behind two men and watched anxiously as cars drove through the lane. When you slug from the Pentagon, you have much less predictable circumstances, and the drivers are from all over the place. You don’t really come to know the characters that you will ride with, so it’s a crap-shoot. Anyway, I stood in line and watched this nice, brand new, really sweet Mercedes pull up with a really attractive guy driving, but as my luck dictates, he took the two men in front of me and didn’t offer to take a third person. I waited only about two more minutes for the next car, and appearances were definitely deceiving!

The driver was a 30-something black woman in a nice, clean, bright red sedan. I figured that it would be an uneventful ride during which I could get a few quick minutes of rest. HA! Instead, I got in and before we got to the ramp of the HOV, she lifts her leg and farts toward me. She rips one out, and then looks at me to see if I noticed. I was too shocked to actually react, so I just smiled and looked out the window. After the interior air was sufficiently blanketed in fart gas, she made a comment about being sleepy and needing to open the windows. My first instinct was to roll my window all the way down, but I decided to be a little more subtle. We hit the open road with a few cracked windows and my wool coat covered in leftover Mexican lunch gas, and she started to suck on a 20oz bottle of coke. She wasn’t just drinking it, she was sucking on it. Each suck was followed by a dramatic lip smacking and open-mouthed sigh of satisfaction. She was doing this about 10 or 12 times in a row before putting the bottle back into the holder. Meanwhile, she continued to fill the car up with noxious butt fumes and started to drift in and out of her lane. She was driving like a drunk driver, only she was drunk on Coke and red beans and rice. I was frozen in my seat by panic and a fear of deep breaths, and she decided to step it up a level by picking up her cell phone to make a call! I thought the stress was going to push me into an anxiety attack that would require us all to pull over and get out.

She got on her phone and did a lot of “mmhmm, yeah girrrrrrl, I know you right” and “mmm, you ain’t got to tell him a damn thing.” All the while, she was swerving the car in emphasis depending on the direction her “free” hand was waving on the steering wheel. She blabbered on for about 5 miles, and my heart was now approaching a full-stop. Finally, she tells her friend on the phone “girl, I be so tired I can’t hold my eyes open. I hope I make it home.”

S E R I O U S L Y?????????????

I turn to the guy in the backseat to see if he is paying attention to all this, but he has his earphones in and his nose buried in his scarf! Smart bastard!

She hung up her phone, sucked on some more Coke, and started to pick her teeth with her freshly designed finger nails. I am assuming she had to clear out the remainder of lunch that wasn’t being cycled through her colon. She picked, sucked, swerved, and farted her way all the way down the HOV while I panicked, gagged, and prayed. After several near-misses and major horn blows from neighboring drivers who didn’t appreciate her loose lane standards, she moved over to the right lane where her drifts were primarily focused on the wake-up strips on the outside of the white line. Apparently, she’s a heavy sleeper because she rode on the “wake-up” strip for about a half a mile at one point and didn’t bother to correct.

When I arrived at the lot, I went to take off my seat belt and realized that I had death-gripped the belt and dug my fingernails into my own flesh. Normally I have a low tolerance for pain, but the panic did a manual override on pain and I didn’t notice. The backseat guy hopped out blissfully unaware of our near-death experiences, or at least unfazed by them. I detached my fingernails from the palm of my hand and fumbled with the seat belt before launching myself out of her car. When she drove off very slowly down the middle of the road, I had to sit on the curb and regain my composure. I had so much adrenaline coursing through my veins that I almost couldn’t sit still. I was so very happy to get behind the wheel of my car, and I was keeping a very close eye out for her around town from now on.

I decided today was a good day to drive to work.

Inappropriate Autonomous Body Actions (IABA)

2008-12-10T08:20:00.004-05:00

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

2008-11-14T09:43:00.005-05:00

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

2008-11-07T11:45:00.002-05:00

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

2008-10-23T07:45:00.003-04:00

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

2008-10-21T14:15:00.003-04:00

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

2008-07-28T13:27:00.004-04:00

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

2008-07-16T10:36:00.008-04:00

"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

2008-07-09T08:47:00.004-04:00

"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."
_______________________________________________________________________________________
"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."
______________________________________________________________________________________

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

2008-07-02T13:39:00.005-04:00

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

2008-06-04T15:00:00.002-04:00

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

2008-05-27T14:13:00.004-04:00

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

2008-05-01T08:51:00.004-04:00

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

2008-04-22T08:19:00.006-04:00

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

2008-04-16T09:38:00.005-04:00

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

2008-04-14T08:34:00.004-04:00

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

2008-03-21T08:17:00.003-04:00

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

2008-03-20T09:18:00.005-04:00

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'

2008-03-11T08:54:00.004-04:00

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?

2008-02-25T13:28:00.002-05:00

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!

2008-02-19T11:07:00.004-05:00

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?

2008-02-15T15:02:00.004-05:00

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

2008-02-14T10:07:00.002-05:00

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

2008-02-05T11:55:00.000-05:00

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.

An Open Letter

2008-01-30T09:00:00.000-05:00

Dear Holy Lords of Slugging:

I write to you with great humility and desperation. I humbly beg for your understanding and assistance.

I do not know what I have done to anger you or to deserve your vicious wrath, but I will do whatever I need to do to make amends.

I feel as if you are working against me, constantly. Everyone I talk to loves their experiences overall, yet I keep getting stuck in these awful situations.

First, you send me to a lot that does not have adequate parking. In the reverse, when there is adequate parking, there aren't adequate rides.

Then you stick me in the car with all kinds of crazy, sexually depraved, bad-tempered, talkative, and generally bizarre people.

Today, with the winds gusting at 30 miles per hour, you stick me in a parking lot FULL of drivers going to destinations other than my own. So much for styling my hair, thank you very much! After you finally decide to cut me some slack, you send in a hippie with a hybrid who doesn't believe in heat (I guess she's counting on global warming to warm us up inside her car?). Then, you pile on to that with the MOST talkative lady to ever ride in the DC HOV lanes and an unexpectedly severe backup.

So, here I sit, dancing dangerously close to hypothermia (but saving the planet apparently) listening to a 90 mile an hour conversation between this woman and herself but only doing about 4 miles an hour on the road. As I try to block out the endless chattering of her mouth and my teeth, I realized that I must have done something to anger you to make you treat me so brutally.

Have I shown too much hubris by trying to arrive at the lot on a consistent schedule? Have I given too many "sympathy" rides, therefore messing up your ability to torture the innocent slugger soul? Have I simply failed to pay the proper dues? Must I sacrifice something at your sacred alter of slugging? Please tell me what I must do, and I will do it!

I am at your service, oh great Lords of Slugging.

Tomorrow, 5 minutes earlier than usual, you will find a gas receipt laying at the bus shelter alter with my solemn promise to behave written in oil and tears. Just please, please give me a nice, quiet ride to work for at least a few days in a row!!!

Please?

Your humble slugging servant,
ME

Creepy Casanova Strikes Again

2008-01-29T14:11:00.000-05:00

Isn't it just my luck that I keep running into the ONE GUY who has pissed me off the MOST over and over and over again?

Mr. Creepy Casanova (the guy who struck out with Blondie a few months ago) was in line in front of me today. There were 3 people initially separating us. I INSTANTLY saw him as I walked up the line, and my stomach lurched just a little. It's a good thing I didn't have time to eat breakfast yet!

Despite the people buffer, he sees me walking up and flashes me the biggest, cheesiest, makes-me-want-to-take-an-acid-shower kind of smile I've ever seen, and he says in a very deliberate deep voice "hi there." The closest comparison I can come up with is Matt Dillon's character in "There's Something About Mary." ICK! He's got so many of the same characteristics as Dillon's character! He's got the big, fluffy hair, the giant teeth, the overly bushy flavor-saver. He wears gold bracelets and necklaces, and his cologne is strong enough to knock you unconscious. In fact, knowing his MO, I wouldn't doubt it if his cologne is a watered-down version of chloroform that will actually knock a woman unconscious if she gets too close.

Anyway, in response to his overly friendly greeting (especially considering our history), I pulled out my Blackberry and turned my back to him. Unfortunately for me, I go to the one destination that doesn't bring in a lot of drivers. So, it wasn't long before the nice, comfortable distance between us closed. There I was... standing next to the guy who commented on the sun when trying to pick up a woman and who made me walk in the mud. Now he's going to try to get on my good side? Not likely. I just had nothing to say. He literally stood there staring right at me for what seemed like FOREVER. I just checked email, and when I ran out of email to read, I decided it would be a good time to review some of the features of my Blackberry. Riveting stuff. I was painfully aware of his not-so-subtle stare, but I was not about to give him the time of day. Besides, how can I look him in the eye when I know he prefers to enter through the exit, if you know what I mean. An excellent example of things not to share with strangers, if you ask me!!!

As is also my luck, the ride ratio worked out just perfectly so that I had to ride with HIM again! Good lord, what have I done to deserve him?

So, we hop into our middle-class limo, and I decide to kick back with the iPod and relax. I needed a good nap, but it wasn't likely because there was a very VERY talkative, chattering woman also riding with us. I needed to make sure that I left absolutely NO opportunities for Mr. Sunshine to try to strike up a friendly chat with me. I just leaned my head against the window and zoned out facing away from him.

At one point, he inserted himself into the people in the front seat's conversation. I noticed that they basically stopped talking after that. He's such an ass, but at least I got some sleep. :) Good on ya.

This guy is NOT on my list of friends, nor will he ever be. But he is apparently on my list of COWORKERS! Yes, that's right! I recently passed him leaving the building I was entering! Oh boy! How long will it be before we get stuck working together? No offense boss, but I'm going on unemployment before I work 2 seconds with that creep!

As if being around him isn't annoying enough, I woke myself up from my little catnap SNORING in the backseat! Wow, I'm one hot babe!! Embarrassed and annoyed, I just counted the seconds until the car stopped.

When we arrived at our destination, we started to get out of the car, and he offered me his HAND! SERIOUSLY? I'm not normally rude, but for him, I would rather not have any kind of physical contact.

I simply said "No thanks. I don't need mud on my shoes today." Then I ducked into Starbucks to avoid having to walk next to him but not before taking in a deep breath of his "cologne"!! It took me at least a good 15 minutes to regain single-vision and not feel light-headed.

Why me?

Happy slugging!

DC Slug High School

2008-01-25T12:43:00.000-05:00

A lot of us couldn't wait to get out of high school. Some of us were looking forward to starting a new chapter of our lives that didn't involve backstabbing cliques and a relentless rumor mill that could destroy someone's reputation in a nanosecond. Unfortunately, it appears that those high school characteristics never go away, they simply shift to an adult crowd.

It's not uncommon to get to know the names and faces of those people who slug with you, especially if you are on a regular schedule. It's also not uncommon to get to know some of their "stories." If you stand in line long enough, which I do, you start to learn who knows whom and who likes whom. It is basically like high school. Cliques form. People develop grudges. It's a neverending cycle of immaturity.

Today, I heard some ladies talking about some other ladies who slug from our line. If there would have been a few more "like"s thrown into it, I would have sworn I was in high school again.

First, they were talking about a guy in the line (think football player grows up, loses hair, gains a few pounds). They were giggling and whispering like they were plotting to ask him to go "steady." Good lord! So, out of curiosity, I checked it out. Yeah, he was cute in a middle-aged, getting soft, probably works on computers now kind of way. But these ladies were smitten. I figure there is a shortage of available men in their office for them to have focused in on this guy so closely. Anyway, they giggled and whispered about him for what seemed like forever until, thank God, he got a ride and left.

In the absence of male butt cheeks to giggle about, they turned their juvenile energy on a particular woman who appears to have some sort of connection to them. The woman was standing there, all alone, in line minding her own business. They started picking her apart. They criticized everything she was wearing, how she does her hair, the color lipstick she was wearing. They stopped short of making fun of her purse for some reason, but personally I felt that was the worst part of her ensemble. Clearly, they are no authorities.

After they performed a fashion autopsy (incomplete as it was), they moved to a discussion of her dating habits. It went like this:

Woman 1: "Did you hear that she dated Joe from the 3rd floor?"
Woman 2: "(dog-like giggle) Who hasn't?"
Woman 1: "He dumped her because she wanted to get serious."
Woman 2: "I heard he dumped her because she had an STD."
Woman 1: "No WAY!??"
Woman 2: "OH Yes! She's a walking VD. (dog-like giggle...snort)"
Woman 1: "Well, Jenny told me that she was trying to get Joe to have a baby with her but he wasn't interested. He wanted to get away from her as fast as he could!"
Woman 2: "(dog-like giggle...snort...squeal) She's a tramp anyway."

Wow, I think my face just broke out and my breasts got smaller.

Now, keep in mind that I'm standing roughly in between these ladies and where this poor VD-ridden woman with no taste in purses was standing. I know she could hear them, especially as the distance between them shrank as the line moved along. I felt bad for her, and I felt like I should help. People were all sort of standing there uncomfortably acting as if they aren't hearing all this.

My ride arrived, and I had to walk past Syph-girl. Just like in High School, I did what I could to stand up for those who were undeservedly targeted by those who have low self-esteem. She seemed like she was getting an unnecessary roasting, so I tried to help her out.

In a not-so-subtle way, I said to her, and everyone else in line, as I approached my ride "I heard that the woman in the black coat slept with Bobby in the backseat of his Mom's car, but he won't touch her again because her left nipple is hairy and inverted."

Everyone laughed. (Except the lady in the black coat and her BFF.)

Needless to say, I expect they will find things to say about me the next time we find ourselves in line together.

Since I have an impeccable fashion sense and my purse rocks, they will have to dig up something on my prom date.

GO! FIGHT! WIN! LET THE GAMES BEGIN! :)

A Mean Streak

2008-01-14T10:48:00.000-05:00

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that I have encountered some ugly situations while slugging. So please keep that in mind as you read this. :)

Circumstances have me doing a lot of driving lately, so I have a different slug perspective. This morning I just felt like being a little bit mean. Nothing that I should be too ashamed of, but it was just a little cruel. Let me explain before you go off judging me!

I woke up after only about 1.5 hours sleep, sick children are such a treat, and I had a RAGING headache. So, on top of being tired, stressed, and a little bit sad, I had to drive to work today. Normally, I can catch a little power nap on the way in when someone else drives. Needless to say, I was a little resentful that the guy who jumped in the front seat this morning was comatose before I ever left the lot! No, seriously, he was SLUMPED over in the front seat within 5 minutes. If it weren't for the seat belt, this guy would've been laying in his own lap.

On top of that, the lady in the backseat brought the LOUDEST shopping bag I've ever heard. OK, granted, I was a little sensitive this morning, but COME ONE! I kept hearing this high-pitched crinkling sound the whole way in. It was almost as bad as the gum popping lady. She kept shifting it around and adjusting it. Nothing was stopping that noise. If you are going to recycle plastic bags, that is just fine with me. Use them as much as possible. But can you only do it with the quality ones? Target has some nice plastic bags that don't really make noises. The cheap bags you get with your Chinese take-out shouldn't have ever been used to begin with! Use them with the pooper scooper! It's likely that there used to be a dog in the bag anyway ("chicken" chow mein anyone?).

Moving on.

After a few miles, I started to feel just a little mischievous. I decided to see just how deeply he was asleep. First, I CRANKED the heat up REALLY high. I mean it got so hot in there I couldn't breathe. Finally, I gave in after I realized that I was getting third degree burns on my feet. So, heat wasn't going to disturb him.

I noticed he would twitch a little when I changed lanes or stepped on the brake. AH HA! A weakness revealed. So, I started doing some "aggressive" driving (i.e. hard and sudden braking and abrupt lane changes) to see how that would affect him. Every time I hit the brake hard, his head would sort of roll forward, but he still wasn't waking up. This guy was TIRED. Being there myself, I just couldn't let him have a peaceful nap. I know it was wrong, but it was keeping me awake. :) Ultimately, that's in everyone's best interest anyway.

I'm not a tailgater, and I don't do aggressive lane changes. I'm a safe driver. (no comment necessary!) So, I had to simulate these things to get him to wake up. Unfortunately, every time I did, the lady's bag would rattle, driving me closer to the edge of insanity. There were only a few times that the guy seemed to even budge when I would do something like that, so I decided to give that up.

Then I got a tickle in my throat!

Ta da! He didn't like that very much. It appears he can sleep through near-death experiences, but excessive hacking wakes him up! :)

For the last few miles of the trip, I would do a really good, deep-chest cough. He would raise his head, eerily like Dawn of the Dead, and then he would settle back down. Out of the corner of my eye, I'd see his head drop back down, and I'd suddenly feel the urge to cough again.

In all fairness, I should have let the poor guy sleep. But I wasn't feeling fair this morning. I was doing a good deed by driving, especially at these gas prices, so I felt I needed a little entertainment that couldn't be fulfilled by music this time.

The crinkling bag lady in the back must have thought I had Bird Flu because she seemed to recoil every time I coughed. Bonus! One time I even turned my head in her direction, just for fun. (I'm not actually sick, and these were manufactured coughs. I was not intentionally spreading a disease, so calm down!!)

It's amazing how a simple ride to work can turn into a rewarding, cathartic experience. While I'm still tired, I feel somewhat energized knowing that I spread a little bit of discontent this morning. Somewhere out there, one of my slugs is probably acting a little grumpy because of their ride to work, further spreading discontent. Have a nice day! :)

Maybe tomorrow I will talk to myself the whole way in.

Happy slugging!

Lost and Found

2008-01-08T19:42:00.000-05:00

First of all, Happy New Year to everyone! I am simply going to admit that I have been too lazy to update the blog during the holidays. I was going to do a year in retrospect, but let's face it, I didn't feel like it. So moving on to 2008 without further delay.

So, considering that sluggers are hitchhiking with complete strangers, there are some things that are a little difficult to do. For example, if you lose something, how do you get it back? If you are lucky, you will lose something around someone that you know. There are some sites you can try to post a lost and found type message, but unless someone is specifically trying to seek you out to return your lost goods, you can pretty much kiss it goodbye. I've often tried to think through a scenario where I lose something very valuable and want it back. I try to figure out how I would get the word out that I've lost something.

Despite the fact that I like to keep this blog anonymous for obvious reasons, I will use this particular outlet to try to get something very valuable that I've lost returned to me. It should be pretty easy for those who know that I lost this to figure out who I am. Hopefully, they can help me out.

Here goes. Wish me luck!

LOST: My dignity.
Last Seen: Sometime between getting on the metro at L'Enfant Plaza and getting off at the Pentagon.
Last person to see it: The rude, young military guy who wouldn't give up his seat for the disabled old man, thus forcing me to get up and give up MINE.
How it was lost: Walking across the Pentagon parking lot with the skirt of my dress folded up underneath my belt in the back. More than likely occurred when I stood up to give up my seat to the sweet old man who could barely stand.
Possible witnesses: the ENTIRE parking lot of the Pentagon.

It's pretty common to find someone who works in, around, or with the U.S. military in this area. I am not exception. I will admit that I work around the defense industry. What I've learned being around the military is that they are typically very polite and will go out of their way to help someone. Obviously, I blame the lazy military guy who didn't get up for this unfortunate loss (I won't name the service, but its initials are N A V Y).

Well, I can basically say this. I've done my part to support the troops by giving the boys (and girls) at the Pentagon a little "show."

If anyone who was walking behind me today and happened to see where I lost my beloved dignity, please return it ASAP.

Low-Rent Royals

2007-12-19T12:48:00.000-05:00

The British are coming! The British are coming! (OK, technically, that's an historical inaccuracy that Paul Revere shouted that phrase, but you get the point!)

This morning I arrived at the lot and stood in the FREEZING cold waiting for my destination to be called. A British couple drove up and called out those magical words, and I rejoicingly jumped into the car hoping for warmth, comfort, and a nap.

When I was all buckled in and we were halfway out of the lot, "Prince Edward" informed me that he would be dropping off "Queen Elizabeth" on the OTHER SIDE OF TOWN from my office. My response was "um, what??" Yeah, no kidding! Major rule violation! When you call out for one destination, you certainly don't head for another on the other side of town!!! What a British jerk! There's a reason why Revere helped devise an alarm system that would alert people that the British were coming. Good grief!

So, here I was in the backseat wondering if my carriage would arrive at my castle on time, and I got caught up in their absolutely meaningless, boring conversation! I know I should have been sleeping. God knows that the content was enough to make me go comatose, but I was absolutely drawn in by the fact that two such boring people could actually carry on a conversation!!

All my American friends can relate to me on this. Just about anything sounds interesting with the right accent. But these two had such a snooty tone and were so prim and proper that it was almost comical. I was halfway waiting to see a camera crew jump out and tell me I was on candid camera or something (there IS a writer's strike in Hollywood...they need filler!). They were discussing a book, but not even the content really. He said "oh, thanks for the book." She said, in a very Mary Poppins kind of way, "oh, I just thought it was delightful!" Seriously? Who talks like that? I half expected her to break out in a verse of "A Spoonful of Sugar" when the driver complained of the traffic backup!

Then they were discussing the color of her bag and whether it was blue or some other variant. IT'S FREAKING BLUE. Blue is blue is blue! SHUT UP you boring British drones!!!!! Get me to work ON TIME with NO DETOURS! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Then we arrived at the UNPLANNED destination and they parted ways with the driest, most dispassionate farewell kiss that I've ever seen. It makes me wonder if they've ever even seen each other naked or if they do it with their "dressing robes" on! LOL (sorry, sometimes I crack myself up!) I couldn't help but to think of the British Royal family and how they always seem so cold and disinterested toward each other.

Clearly, the Royals have moved to America and bought a late-model Honda that they use to dupe unsuspecting Americans into riding in during rush hour while they dribble on about in consequential minutia! Are the Royals slumming and slugging?

Then I started having flashes of the supposed Royal conspiracy to kill Princess Diana, and I got nervous. In a very Catholic sort of way, I prayed that I would make it to work on time and in one American piece! :)

By gosh, by golly, I made it there in one piece! I was still just a little ticked that I got tricked, but what the hay..it's Christmas!

As I climbed out, I did a quick check to see if there were any Royal Jewels hanging out in the backseat, but to no avail! Oh well!

For all of you who appreciate the hard work and ingenuity of the great Paul Revere, go out on Dec. 22 and have a drink in his honor to celebrate his birthday! If it weren't for him, we might all be boring, cold British fish! :)

Maybe next time I see them pull up, I'll hold up 1 lantern if I want to go to my destination and 2 if I want to take a detour.

Southern Hospitality

2007-12-18T09:01:00.000-05:00

I am not a rude person. I consider myself to be well-mannered and respectful toward my fellow man. Sometimes, I place the interests of those around me above my own, because it feels wrong to be selfish. The problem is that when people take advantage of my kindness and consideration I can become a raging bitch.

When I drive, as I did today, I am extremely considerate of my passengers. I ask several times during the ride if they would like me to adjust the temperature up or down. I offer them use of my cupholders, even when it's technically against slugging rules to bring a beverage into someone else's car! I keep a steady but safe speed and distance so as to not scare the holy hell out of my passengers. In other words, I go out of my way to make their commute more comfortable. It's just who I am.

Because of my kind nature, even when I'm getting disgusted by someone's behavior, I may still appear accommodating and deferential. Often I will even put up with it for the most part, and the I will just walk away without warning when I've had enough. It's like a mask that I wear to prevent others from seeing the absolute monster I can become when I'm angry. I sometimes try to use humor or mild sarcasm to disarm a situation, and I generally try to avoid serious confrontations. I don't like to fight. I like to have a nice, quiet, peaceful coexistence. That's not because I'm afraid to fight. It's because I fear for the safety of the person who makes me angry enough to want to fight.

No, I didn't get into a fight this morning on my way to work. But let's just say that the line came close to being crossed this morning.

I woke up feeling reflective and introspective. I have a lot of things on my mind right now, and when that happens, I need time to let my brain just work it all out on its own. The main way that I do this is through music. I generally use music to help me sort out my thoughts, hence the extreme overuse of my iPod. When I'm feeling like this, my social skills tend to be lacking because I am a little bit too self-absorbed to really notice those around me. It would have been a perfect day to be a rider, because I could have climbed in and turned up the Pod and just focused on my own thought processes. But, since I had to drive, I knew I'd have to be out of my fortress for a little while.

When my riders jumped in, I greeted them as usual. Driving to the lot, I turned on a playlist I just created that was helping me to focus. I was getting in a "zone" that was sort of improving my general outlook. I needed to stay on that path. I kept the volume of my music at a respectable level that would allow my passengers to sleep but I could still hear it over the road noise. This is frustrating to me already because when I get like this I want it loud and all-consuming. I did the obligatory offer of a temperature adjustment, but I got an attitude from the woman in the front seat. Mistake #1. In this kind of mood, I'm easily set off.

I bit my lip, and I simply turned the music up a little bit. Traffic was moving well, and we were making good time. I was back in my zone when she decided to start talking to me. I was already annoyed with her for rebuffing my hospitality, so I was not terribly interested in a conversation. She started blabbing on about the holidays and traffic and office parties and blah blah blah blah blah. I just couldn't be bothered to listen or care. I was doing the "yeah I'm listening" head nod, but I was really trying to concentrate on the music. I was starting to feel like I was reaching a crucial point in my thought process where I was going to make a really difficult decision and feel good about it, and she was yakking about pantyhose or her runny nose...I can't be sure. So the more she talked, the more I would slowly and subtly increase the volume of the music hoping she would notice my passive-aggressive attempts to politely get her to shut her flap-trap. It wasn't working.

When I hit a slowdown, I noticed that the music was a bit too loud for the crowd. Despite the fact that this is exactly what I wanted, I turned it down to be a good host. This is when the drive north turned south.

She actually had the nerve to say "you shouldn't listen to your music so loud when you have people in your car." Yep, that pause was my brain telling my fists to stay firmly planted on the steering wheel. Normally, in a less combative mood, I would have simply just laughed it off. This morning I felt the need to respond. "Did you not notice that I turned it down?" I said it in the nicest of nasty tones and with a gentle-womanly smile on my face. I think she said something else after that, but I decided that I was not interested in being polite anymore. Then it happened: the one act that would simply be too much for me to withstand today.

Her cell phone rang.

Normally, when you are slugging, you avoid long or loud phone conversations. You don't broadcast your business to strangers, and you don't force them to listen to your petty crap. It's polite and acceptable to answer and engage in a quick, low volume conversation that ends with "I'm on my way to work in someone else's car. I'll call you later." Well, I'm betting you can guess what this woman did NOT do.

She started talking on her phone at maximum volume. You know that volume that people take when they are talking to foreigners who don't speak English that makes them think that speaking louder can break the language barrier? Hers was louder. The man in the backseat, who had been peacefully sleeping (lucky bastard), was now awake and looking a bit confused. Oh no, I did NOT just turn down my music for THIS woman!

So, in response, as could only be expected, I turned up the volume on my music, not to an obnoxious level but an obvious one. I was still trying to be respectful and considerate of the drooling man in my backseat who had done nothing wrong.

Her conversation got louder.

My music got louder.

Again.

and Again.

I was nearly reaching a volume that I would never, ever reach when other people are around. She was pushing me to do it. I had no choice.

She stopped her conversation and rudely said "I'm trying to talk here. Can you turn that down?"

I responded, in an even tone of voice (a major accomplishment for me today) "your conversation is interfering with my music and his sleep. I'll turn my music down when you get off the phone."

Apparently she didn't like this answer because not only did she keep talking but she started talking ABOUT ME. Mistake #2--big time!

I looked in my rearview mirror at the poor man in the backseat, and we exchanged a look. My look was basically letting him know things were about to get uncomfortable, and his was basically saying "do what you gotta do."

So the playlist changed. Considering her demographics, I decided something loud and heavy-hitting would annoy her the most. Out came the Metallica. As any good Southern woman of my generation, I keep it conservative for the most part. But I have the tools available to let it get loud and ugly. Mentally, the earrings were coming off and the sleeves were getting rolled up.

A little "Through the Never" at a good volume seemed like an appropriate response. It would annoy her but not be so obnoxious for the guy in the back. If she's going to talk about me to her little friend, I'm going to give her something to talk about. I can't be sure, because I was drowning her out with my singing and my steering wheel drumming, but I think she called me a bitch. Moi? A bitch? NEVER!

At this point, I'd forgotten about whatever was making me feel all introspective this morning. Now I was just plain having fun with being angry and bitchy.

She got louder, and so did I!

"All that is, ever
Ever was
Will be ever
Who we are
Ask forever
Twisting
Turning
Through the never"

Air guitar.....

Steering wheel drum.....

She slams her cheap ass cell phone shut. Mission accomplished.

We are about 5 minutes away from getting to work. Her head is twitching in circles and her lips are flapping away, but I'm just singing and pretending to be a rockstar.

This got a smile from the man in the back.

I turned down the volume and said "since you aren't on the phone, I can turn this back down."

Her response: "you are the rudest person I've ever met in my life."

I reached over to the visor, pulled it down, opened the mirror and said "not anymore."

We arrived, and I was mad as hell. But I held it in. She was just about to get me to the point of no return, but I was fighting against my desire to strike her down with all my strength.

I'm pretty sure she wanted to have a good old fashioned fist fight. I'm pretty sure I wanted to be a good hostess and oblige her. But I didn't.

She got out and muttered something under her breath, and I simply said "have a nice day" in that "screw you very much" kind of voice. The guy in the backseat laughed and said "I would have thrown her out in Springfield."

Kill them with kindness I always say!

HO HO HO, 'tis the Season!!

Happy Slugging!

Trapped with Familiar Strangers--Warning: Slightly X-Rated

2007-12-17T08:58:00.000-05:00

For those of you who read this who have never had the pleasure of commuting up and down the I95 corridor during rush hour, I will try to be as descriptive as I can so that you understand.

Traffic in Northern Virginia, heading into DC, is predictably unpredictable. You can always count on the traffic patterns to be the exact opposite of what you are prepared for. On beautiful sunny mornings, traffic will be at a dead stop for no apparent reason, and on rainy, crappy, dark days, it will move so quickly that you feel like you are getting away with something naughty. You can be moving along at full speed (or more if you are some drivers) and all of a sudden be sitting completely stopped for 30 minutes without warning. Traffic is all over the board here. You just have to get in the car in the morning and try to be prepared for anything.

Well, slugging adds a whole new category of "anything" that you have to be prepared for. When you are slugging in, you take pretty much the first ride that comes along going to your destination (unless there are extenuating circumstances as mentioned before) because you never know when another will come along. I got to the lot this morning praying for a quick ride because it is beyond cold and windy outside, and I didn't want to stand in that for a long time. Lucky for me, the first car waiting was waiting for ME! Oh the joy! But wait....

Remember Don Juan DeJerkoff who tried to score with the hot chick a few weeks ago? He was in the back seat. The guy driving...a guy I have, up until now, not mentioned. I've hitched a ride with him a few times, and I have basically let him slide off the blogging radar. He's a nice enough guy, a seemingly normal family man. Apparently, when combined with the "X" factors of Mr. SmoothJazz in the back seat and stopped traffic, he becomes a sexpert (nope, not a misspelling).

As I'm sure you've all figured out by now, before 9AM, I'm a different person. I'm grumpy and less receptive to anything out of the ordinary, especially when I'm tired and want to nap. Considering this morning's commute was extra long, I could have had a REALLY GOOD nap. But oh no, not me. That's not how things work for me. I could tell pretty quickly that there would be no napping today.

Now, I know what you are thinking. Mr. "The Sun Looks Pretty Today" didn't pay any attention to me when Hot Babe #1 was in the car, but apparently, when he's a passenger with me and this other guy, I become really interesting. Funny how things work out. Yes, he remembered me and commented on how he was changing his air freshener to something that smelled less "pimp oilish." The driver wanted to know what we were talking about. So, he gave a basic description of the "princess" that rode with him and the fact that I told him he had no chance. He was using a snide tone, so I had to jump in. I told the driver about the backseat comment and the mud, just so he didn't think I was a total bitch. The driver said, and I believe I will be able to quote this accurately word for word, "you are too pretty for that." (OK, ladies, you are with me.....MAJOR SCORE for him!! I woke up just a little bit after that and flashed my biggest, most charming southern belle smile to thank him.) But things went downhill from there. Apparently, this opened the door to a sex conversation. Oh boy!

Smooth Talking Driver Guy started talking about how he watched a particularly sexy movie from the 80s. Then he started asking questions, first to the skeezer in the back and then to me, about sexual fantasies. Backseat guy is apparently also a backdoor kind of guy, if you get my drift. Yep, I'm grossed out too. He gets to me, and I simply said "I'm a virgin" thinking I could cleverly avoid anymore sex talk. Oh no, apparently the driver likes virgins! WTF!?? At this point, we are still sitting in traffic a long, LONG way from work. I'm feeling a bit trapped and uncomfortable. I figure I have nowhere else to go from here, so I might as well play along. In retrospect, the next thing I said probably could have been a pretty foolish and dangerous thing to say, but I figured I needed to get outrageous to shut them up. He pushed me for an answer again. I guess he, for SOME reason, didn't believe my "virgin" answer. Hmmmmm...anyway. So, here's what I said.

"I've always fantasized about being trapped in a car with two strange men who decide to pull off the road and have sex with each other right in front of me. That gets me hot." I figured the backdoor backseat guy probably wouldn't mind so much. Men, generally, are not comfortable with gay innuendo, especially when they are acting all macho and talking sex to a woman.

The rest of the ride was relatively quiet, and I got a short power nap in before arriving at my destination. Like I said, the commute can be unpredictable.

Ahhhh, the Joyful Smells of Christmas

2007-12-14T14:22:00.000-05:00

There are some smells that I absolutely love, especially this time of year. At Christmas time, things smell more festive and alive, and I always look forward to those smells.

I love the smell of the pine needles from a Christmas tree (even though I haven't had a real Christmas tree since I was 11). I love the smell of hot cocoa and chocolate chip cookies. I love the smell of distant woodburning fireplaces and how it reminds me of simpler times (but don't ask me to give up my gas fireplace!). I love the smell in the air when it's getting ready to snow. I love the faint smell of scotch tape that lingers in the air after all the Christmas packages have been ripped into.

There are some winter morning smells that I love as well. I love the smell of that sort of crisp, still early morning air that you get before all the daily pollutants have gotten going (hey, you learn to appreciate the small things when you are angry for having to be up that early). I love the smell of coffee brewing, even though I hate the taste. I love the smell of freshly baked breakfast pastries, especially when one is in my hand waiting to be eaten.

There are some "people" smells that I even tend to really appreciate. I love the smell of a clean, well-groomed man. I love the smell of freshly washed hair. I love the smell of my own perfume.

Some smells that I do not love: unbathed men who clearly live INSIDE a woodburning stove (or burned their house down this morning)who consider Budweiser as their early morning "wake up" beverage of choice and whose body odor is so pungent that it has overpowered my freshly applied, meticulously selected perfume.

Oh yes, he was drunk off his ass.

As I drove Mr. Smokey Drunk to "work" this morning, some questions sprang to mind:

1. IS this person actually gainfully employed? (He's wearing your stereotypical "IT Guy" uniform of khaki chinos with a barely pressed dress shirt, but he could be heading into his "former job" to shoot up the place....who knows?)

2. Did this person sleep last night or is he returning to work after drinking at his holiday party all night and morning?

3. Is he really singing "Jingle Bells" in my car?

There are some mysteries that will never be solved.

Either way, he stumbled out of my car when I reached his destination, and I'm pretty sure he started singing "Silent Night" to the crowd at the crosswalk.

I might be wrong, and we'll never know, but I'm guessing that, if he did indeed have an employer this morning, he does not have an employer this afternoon.

As for me, I'm going to go back to enjoying the festive smells of Christmas, and I might even sing a few verses of "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas" now that it's after 9AM.

So, Merry Christmas to All, and to him, a long bath!

The South Will Rise Again

2007-12-03T13:55:00.000-05:00

There are only two words that can fully describe my ride to work this morning.

Yee-haw.

In case there is ANY question as to what I am referring, the kind young gentleman escorting me to work this morning was a Redneck.

I will steal from the great "Redneck Comedian" Jeff Foxworthy and give you this list:

"Your Driver Might Be a Redneck if..."

10. He drives an old, mismatched paint truck (think early 80s Blazer or Bronco). (CHECK!)
9. He wears an OLD baseball hat on which the visor has been carefully crafted to bend into a sharp downward "U" shape. (CHECK!)
8. He smokes Marlboro Reds. (CHECK!)
7. His rearview mirror is missing. (CHECK!)
6. He's alternating between country and classic rock on the radio. (CHECK!)
5. He has sworn his allegiance to a number that corresponds to a Nascar driver. (CHECK!)
4. His clothes are already dirty, and the day hasn't even started yet. There is also plaid flannel and construction boots involved. (CHECK!)
3. He says he works on cars, but his car barely runs. (DOUBLE CHECK!)
2. Out of respect for his passengers, he switches from cigarettes to chewing tobacco so as to not bother them! (CHECK!)
1. He has a confederate flag sticker that says "The South Will Rise Again." (YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW)

I know. You were all expecting there to be reference to his southern drawl, but that was TOO obvious. OF COURSE he did!

He was very well mannered, except for the intermittent tobacco spitting. His music wasn't too loud, and he drove relatively safely. My only REAL complaint was that the smoke cloud was SO heavy in that truck that I got a nicotine buzz from the seatbelt. I could tell his "old lady" was a smoker from the slightest hint of menthol and lipstick lingering on the seatbelt strap. OK, in all fairness, it could have been his sister, but what's the difference really?

Having grown up in a town not too unfamiliar with the redneck variety, it didn't really bother me. I was used to being around that type. It was the black gentleman in the car with me that I wondered about. Did he notice the sticker? Was he sitting there wishing he could punch this guy on principle? The driver actually went out of his way to talk to the guy, so my guess is the driver was more uncomfortable than the passenger.

I would have slept had it not been for the rattling muffler and tobacco-spit induced gag reflex. It was freezing cold inside the truck (the heat probably hasn't worked in at least 5 years), but I was reluctant to encourage any kind of heating effort for fear of what might spew out of the vents. I should have packed the flannel!

We all made it to our destination safely, and Mr. Billy Bob maintained his manners in a way that would make his Momma proud.

Happy Slugging and YEEEEEEHAWWWWWWWWW!!!

Beauty and the Beast

2007-11-29T09:19:00.000-05:00

OK, I will start off by eating a giant slice of humble pie. I am, by no means, a beautiful woman. I completely recognize that I'm somewhere in the middle, between f-ugly and drop dead gorgeous. But of course, beauty is entirely in the eye of the beholder. I know that some men will find me attractive enough to pay attention to me, and some men will not even blink in my direction. It's not something I'm prone to think of very often anymore. I'm basically beyond my obsession with trying to be something I'm not. Unfortunately, on more than one occasion, I have been reminded of just where I stand in the beauty spectrum, and lucky for me, today was one of those days!

First, let me say that I believe that there is a such thing as universal beauty.

There are some men and women who are just universally attractive. These are the type of people who end up in magazines and in movies. They have the sort of appearance that basically makes them attractive to nearly everyone within reason. They are our gold standards of beauty. It's what we all strive to achieve.

Having said all that, today, I was in the presence of one of these universal beauties, and it nearly made me want to get acquainted with the underside of some one's tires. It was not because she was gorgeous and I was jealous, which you are all assuming. No, it was the way the man who picked us up was reacting to her that made me want to become a hood ornament for a Mack truck.

She and I were going to two different destinations, and she was in line behind me. The fact that we ended up in the same car should give you an indication of just how this little joy ride was going to go for me this morning.

Let me set the stage: middle-aged man who has the same sort of greasy, creepy appearance as Eric Roberts in Star 80 (google it) pulls up in his piece of crap car that he's tried to make seem more luxurious by adding an expensive stereo, air freshener, and beaded seat-cushions. He calls out for my stop, and I excitedly head to the car (it's FREEZING cold outside!). Junior Heidi Klum purrs out to him to see if he would take her to HER destination. Since you can guess what his response was, I'll move on. This is a 2-door vehicle, so already feeling frumpy and insignificant, I got to make that graceful climb into the backseat that required leg-hiking and an involuntary grunt or two. On this particular morning, I would have skipped the backseat luxury just to make her crawl into such an unflattering position, but being the sensible woman I am, I knew she'd be getting out before me.

For the record, I don't hate this woman or begrudge her the beauty she was blessed with. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't get a glimmer of joy knowing she was uncomfortable in some way. Why should everything be perfect for her all the time?

So, we all settled in, and Mr. Gawk-man immediately began mentally undressing her. He even set the mood, I believe, hoping that she might actually strip for him. When we got in, he was listening to news talk radio. A few minutes later he turned to a slow jazz station. I was literally waiting for him to light candles and pop a cork with TWO glasses. Lacking a fireplace to set the mood, he actually said "the sun is really pretty this morning."

Oh
My
God.

Now, I imagine this genetically blessed princess is more than used to men rolling out the red carpet for her. I figure there are men who would go, or have gone, into the poor-house buying her expensive gifts just to keep her around. She probably has a closet of jewelry boxes of "rejected" mementos to prove it. (I still have the same jewelry box I've had since I was 9 years old, and it's mostly filled with fake "jewels.") Her apparent boredom with the attention was the only comfort I had this morning.

After she was done filing her nails, yeah--seriously, she decided she needed MORE beauty rest. All this time, Hefner was staring at her about every three seconds and the road about every 65 seconds. It was something like this: eyes on the road, 1-1000, 2-1000, 3-1000, eyes on hot babe, still, still, still, HARD BRAKING. Yes, we almost plowed into the back of about 4 different cars this morning. The fact that he kept slamming on his brakes only made her shift in her seat slightly. I guess she's accustomed to causing accidents. I, on the other hand, was scared out of my ugly head.

Once, he actually stared at her and then glanced back at me in his rear view mirror. I can't be sure, but I think he cringed. Even if he didn't, I didn't appreciate the obvious comparison. So, forgive me if I spew a little hatred on him for a minute.

This guy was just slightly below the middle in the looks department, but he thinks much more highly of himself. He clearly thought he was going to score with her. He was probably plotting out his proposal as we drove in. The fact that she was ignoring his little Ladies Man routine was absolutely divine from my perspective. His behavior was so obnoxious, and clueless, that I don't see how he could honestly believe he was going to get her attention or affection. I knew, as would a dead person, that this was NOT going to be a match, but that didn't stop him from acting like he was God's gift to women (the pretty ones of course). On the OFF CHANCE that this guy would have done the same to ME, still no match. See what I am saying? Even I am out of his league. Again, this didn't stop him from treating me like complete scum.

We began to get close to HER destination, and he started to panic. He tried to strike up a conversation. I believe he tried to comment on something on the radio. She giggled in a COMPLETELY and OBVIOUSLY disinterested way. I'm pretty sure she didn't even hear him. My ears were ringing with too much fear and voodoo curses to hear anything he said. All I know is I could literally see the look hit his face when he realized his hope of pollinating her flower was far too unattainable, even for a stud like him. His whole facial expression changed, and he actually seemed a bit angry. Welcome to the real world, my friend. We've been waiting for you!

OK, here's where it gets uglier for me. (This is not something I would normally tell ANYONE, but I'm sacrificing for my art here.)

She got out, and I figured it would make sense for me to go ahead and climb into the front seat while I had her to move the seat up for me. Do you know what that bastard said to me?

Ready?

"You can stay back there if you want."

Yep. He actually said that to me.

OH, yes, I was pissed. There was no time to be insulted or hurt. I was down-right pissed off. If Patrick Dempsey were to be rude and dismissive to me, I could halfway accept that. But THIS GUY? Why should he get to take out his failure to score with someone hotter than he could ever hope to get out on ME--seriously! I was FUMING, and I was 100% sure I was going to have to do something about this.

After dropping her off, he decided to pull out in front of a Mack truck doing about 60 MPH. It was at THAT moment that I decided I was not going to feel bad about myself for this bastard, and I certainly wasn't going to consider death as an alternative to his rejection!

He pulled up to where he was going to let me out, and just as I was getting ready to open the door he said "wait, let me pull up a bit more." So he pulled up to where I'd have to step out into the mud!

With mud on my shoes and ice in my veins, I thanked him for the ride and said "you never had a chance with her! She was way out of your league. Oh, and your air freshener smells like pimp oil."

Off I went to Starbucks for a hot chocolate and a muffin settled on the fantasy that somewhere, someday, someone will stuff someone ELSE in the backseat and make them step in mud for me!

IT COULD HAPPEN!

Yeah Baby Yeah!

2007-11-27T10:13:00.000-05:00

It's getting late, and the slug line is 40 people deep. You've already been standing there for 10 minutes, and the cars are so spaced out that you start to wonder if you should try to take an alternate destination to increase your likelihood of making it to work today. People are getting antsy and doing that little curb-studder dance when a destination is announced. You know what I mean. The driver yells out "PENTAGON!" and 5 or 6 people all step off the curb trying to see if they are the lucky one next in line for the ride. Three of them half-heartedly stumble back onto the sidewalk, heartbroken, and calculating how many more cars have to come before they are on their way. You stand there long enough, and you get psyched-out on enough rides that people start to figure out who is waiting for what destination.

That was me this morning. Time was passing more quickly than I like, and I was still waiting for my destination to be called.

After waiting patiently for about 15 minutes, a car, No! a van, rounded the corner and drove straight down the pickup lane. I heard it coming when it entered the parking lot. When my eyes caught up to my ears, I thought to myself "great, this one will be mine." It was, in the truest definition of the term, a shaggin-wagon that would have made Austin Powers jealous.

It was one of those "old-fashioned" vans that pre-dated the mini-van craze. It was the kind that had the plush captains chairs, television monitors, probably some sort of well-worn and stained bed area, and a wetbar full of Cristal in the back. I'm pretty sure that this particular vehicle had a starring role at some point in MTV's Pimp My Ride. This thing was bouncing and rolling its way up the line, and everyone sort of chuckled at the site of it. The music was loud and awful. I like most music styles, but it's too early in the morning for gangster rap. Seriously. There were two fuzzy things hanging from the rear view mirror, and I'm pretty sure they were breasts not dice.

Just as fascinating as this wacky, tricked out sex mobile was the driver. Oh yeah, I couldn't wait to get a glimpse of this one! In a split second, I dreamed up what I thought he would look like. Reality was SO much better!

He rolled up with his pimp-cup in his hand (OK, it was a 7-11 Big Gulp, but that's not as interesting), and he was driving his little love-machine with a swagger (if that's possible). He was a short little guy who was big on attitude. He gave all the girls a little wink as he drove up, and he flashed that 50-cent smile with such skill that I'm sure it's worked on at least one blind girl. Oh, and yes, he was a white guy with a short buzz cut (think Michael Scofield) and a little goatee. His "little" diamond studs probably cost more than every piece of jewelry I've ever owned or ever will (I can only assume that they were real based on his other splurges on shiny objects--does anyone need THAT much chrome on their vehicle?).

So the time comes for Rico Suave to call out his destination, and all us ladies held our breath. I could feel us getting collectively light-headed. And there it was. Just as I suspected. He called out my destination. In the next few seconds, it was like watching a badly choreographed off-Broadway production. Everyone was looking toward the front of the line where he was waiting like a man who just booked a room at the Bunny Ranch. Slowly, with eerie rhythm, all the heads in the line turned, one by one, each after the other, until their little chorus-line head "wave" stopped with me. They all knew that I was next.

So, I had to decide what was more important, getting to work on time but probably covered in cherry-flavored sex oil or letting this one go to someone else more deserving. I thought about all the things I needed to get done at work, and I did the only thing I could do.

I stood Fembot-still and checked my email on my Blackberry. My posture made it 100% clear that I would be taking the next one. I didn't even move my foot near the curb. I had to let this particular International Man of Mystery go by.

OH BEHAVE!!!

Cell Block Tango

2007-11-19T08:03:00.000-05:00

A small percentage of you, most likely just the ladies, know the "Cell Block Tango" reference. For the rest of you, it is a brilliant song/dance routine from the wildly famous Broadway production/movie "Chicago." If you haven't seen the live production or the movie, go to YouTube and see if you can get just this scene. (For the fellas, the woman are half-naked and dancing seductively, so there's incentive to do this.) Here's the basic idea. A bunch of women are on death row for killing a man in their lives for various reasons. (No, I know what you are thinking. I am not thinking of killing a man.) In the song, the women give a little background on what each of their victims did to "deserve" to be killed. Well, the first "lady" in the story came home after a long, hard day, and her husband was sitting on the couch drinking a beer and POPPING his gum. She asked him to stop popping the gum. He didn't. So she fired "two warning shots" into his head. I've always related to that particular reasoning because my nerves simply cannot stand the sound of gum popping. I don't mean blowing bubbles and popping it. I mean that kind of popping that some people have the innate talent to produce EVERY SINGLE TIME they chomp down on the gum. Yes, I relate to the anger of the other women in the song, especially the ones whose husbands/boyfriends cheated on them. But overall, I can most relate to feeling homicidal when someone is popping gum.

Where am I going with this? Bet you can't guess!!

For those of you who read this blog frequently, surely you have figured out by now that I rely HEAVILY upon my iPod for escape from the various disturbances that occur during my daily commute. And, of course, today I managed to leave my beloved iPod sitting in my home office where it was comforting me this weekend while trying to set up my new Macbook.

So, there I was, sitting in the front seat (robbed of the backseat luxury once again), hoping for a nice quiet nap during my early morning commute. Things were going smoothly. I was relaxing as much as I could on the cold, clammy leather seats of the luxury vehicle carrying me to work this morning. My eyes were closed, and traffic was moving smoothly enough that I wasn't jolted back awake every 10 seconds by abrupt braking. Then it happened.

POP! pause pause POP! POP!

Oh my God! Why? POP! I held my breath hoping that it would stop after the initial surge of gum chewing wore off. POP! POP! No such luck. POP! She was going to town on that poor, unsuspecting piece of wintergreen gum. POP! I knew it was wintergreen because I could smell it. POP POP POP! There was absolutely nothing that could be done at this point. POP! I didn't have my iPod, and trying to do deep breath meditation wasn't drowning out the incessant explosions in my head that coincided with every chomp. POP! SMACK! POP POP! It's that kind of popping that is really high-pitched and LOUD. POP!

I tried to find my mental happy place. POP! But, whenever I tried to mentally focus on that beautiful view in Connemara that I love so much, POP! It was no use. POP! Chinese water torture has NOTHING on gum popping! POP POP POP! The Senate was so concerned with having Michael Mukasey declare that waterboarding is torture and shouldn't be used, but where were their outcries for banning gum popping? POP! I'll take simulated drowing ANY DAY! POP! SMACK! After 35 minutes of gum popping in the car this morning, I would have confessed to building gay-seeking WMDs for Iran in my basement. POP chomp chomp POP POP!

When the car rolled to a stop at the agreed upon location, POP, I practically catapulted myself out of the car and started to run. POP! When I noticed that she was following me, no hunting me, I actually turned and walked in the opposite direction. POP! I knew if I didn't, I'd have to listen to that sound the entire walk to my office building. POP! It was too much, so I hung back long enough to get out of popping range. POP! However, even as the popping shrill faded, POP POP, it continued to play in my head. POP POP POP! I'm hearing it even now as I sit at my desk. It's become my Tell-Tale Heart. POP! "It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage." POP POP!

All I can say is, if there had been a shotgun available, she'd have had it coming. And, if you'd have been there, if you'd have heard it, I betcha you would have done the same!

POP!! Happy Slugging! POP!!

NOT in the Mood for Love!!!

2007-11-13T09:04:00.000-05:00

We've all been there. Some days you wake up and you just aren't in the mood for happy people. That's not to say that I woke up in a bad mood today. I'm in a somewhat neutral mood. But I'm not in the mood for happy people, especially happy people who are in love.

It should make me happy to see two well-adjusted, professional people who aren't afraid to openly show affection toward each other and who can have a pleasant conversation about irrelevant minutia. After some pretty serious soul-searching post-commute this morning, I discovered that being around the two people I rode in with this morning simply pissed me off.

I eagerly, and unwittingly, jumped into their car this morning unprepared for the chirping birds and bubbling hearts that were circling these two obvious lovers. I gave my normal "good morning!" in the best "cheery" tone I could channel, but I was greeted with a tsunami of cheerfulness that almost made me jump out of the car as it pulled away.

They were all smiles and Starbucks, and they were holding hands like a couple of teenagers. Again, this should give me hope that there is, indeed, a such thing as "true love" but you as you might guess it does not. The smiley discussion about the coffee and the preparation and "care" (direct quote) that went into making it this morning was enough to make my iPod go close to maximum volume. I tried listening to my favorite playlist that includes quite a few "love songs," but seeing how happy these two were made me opt for something slightly less warm and fuzzy. As Steven Tyler was belting out "My Fist Your Face," I titled my head back in the hopes of catching a few precious moments of half-sleep. Unfortunately, even at near-maximum volume, my iPod was no match for that deafening love-giggle that came flooding out of Doris Day in the front seat. I tried with all my love-hating strength to tune her out and focus on Tyler's scratchy screams. Unfortunately, even Tyler betrayed me this morning, and without warning went into "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing". Ahh, yes, here comes more romance to cheer me up! Seriously, I love this song under normal circumstances. But today, it's like listening to fingernails on a chalkboard. My only comfort at that moment is that Bruce Willis got killed at the end of the movie (still wish the writers would have opted for Ben Affleck).

So, to cheer myself up, I imagined what this relationship is REALLY like behind closed doors. I guessed they've only been married for a year or two, still feeling all newlywedish. They probably dated for two years before getting engaged, and she probably spent a year obsessing over colors and flowers and seating charts. I imagined that he likes his Internet porn, enjoys flirting with any woman who will flirt back, chooses a bad football game over a good afternoon with his perky wife, secretly hates the way his wife giggles at him, and he goes to bed every night satisfied with himself for managing to keep his mistress a secret once again. I imagine her to be basically clueless and sexually flat lining.

Evil, I know. But the possibility that these two love birds are ACTUALLY in love was just too much for me to handle this morning.

I know. There are some of you who are analyzing this and asking yourself "What the hell has happened to this poor woman that she can't stand to be around love?" Perhaps there is an element of general love cynicism in me that rears its ugly head regularly, but today, it's just about timing. Maybe tomorrow I will wake up believing that love stories have happy endings and that relationships really can be healthy and long-lasting. We'll see how my mood goes.

As for Mr. and Mrs. Cootchy-Coo up front, they maintained their cutesy conversation about what they are going to cook for Thanksgiving dinner for most of the trip. Finally, we reached my destination, and I desperately imagined an ejection seat that would get me out before I saw the inevitable farewell kiss. I felt like I was the dumb girl in a horror movie that stuck around to see if the killer was still there. I saw it coming in slow-motion, and there was no way to protect my ears in time to avoid the piercing echo of the adorable little peck that they gave each other.

They kissed. I vomited a little in my throat and exited the vehicle comforting myself with a little angst-ridden Alanis Morissette. I knew she would understand.

Riddle Me This...

2007-10-30T18:29:00.000-04:00

So, for all you heavy-thinkers out there, I have a little riddle for you. You have one car with three people in it. All three people are sleeping. Who's driving the car?

Think about this....it's a real brain twister!

Give up?

That's RIGHT! You win the prize! NOBODY IS DRIVING THE CAR!!!!!!!!

Yes, you read me right slug-lovers. I won the "try to kill me" driver lotto today and got the guy who can't stay awake. But just when I thought the sleeping wasn't bad enough, it turns out he's the ONE driver who does the opposite of the natural "falling asleep at the wheel" reaction. Most people, when they fall asleep at the wheel, decelerate. No, not my driver. He went faster....and faster...and faster....

Here I was...in the backseat (finally the luxury seat is mine!)...minding my own business (in other words, sleeping with my ipod on). It was a long, draining day at work, and I needed a few minutes of unrestful sleep in the backseat of a stranger's car. Besides the pungent smell of body odor and what might have been the faintest smell of urine, the ride was relatively uneventful. The weather was perfect. The sun was beating down on me in just the right way. I was having a nice little nap. Until........brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrap. You know that sound.....your car just QUICKLY drove over the rumble strips on the side of the road. I instinctively opened my eyes to see us heading STRAIGHT FOR THE JERSEY WALL doing about 85 miles per hour (at least that's what the speedometer said when I say him decelerate after waking). We were literally an INCH from smashing head-first into the wall when I screamed SO LOUD I'm pretty sure I woke up this guy's great great great great great grandfather (who probably died falling asleep at the reins of his horse).

I screamed. His head flew up (yes, you pictured that right...his head was ALL THE WAY back...mouth open). My fellow passenger on death row woke up at the same time as Mr. Snoozy McDeathdriver, and we collectively yelled a really bad word. He swerved. We all survived. While I'm all about sacrificing for my art, I'm not too thrilled about ghost writing my blog for Halloween this year.

The silence was deafening after that. My ipod was safely clutched in my trembling hands for the rest of the trip (probably broken now), and my heart was definitively pounding just behind my left eye. I wasn't complaining about the skull-crushing headache that ensued post life-flashing. Afterall, I was in one piece and still breathing. I got lucky. I really DID win the lottery today.

I'm pretty sure that was urine I smelled. I'm sure this isn't the first time Mr. High-speed Sleeper has done this, and his other unsuspecting passengers probably didn't have the bladder fortitude of someone like me.

So, as we all do when we arrive at our destination, me and my +1 gathered our belongings and exited the car. Nothing unusual. I was left for a second with the dilemma of how to "thank" the Grim Reaper for almost driving his death chariot into an unforgiving wall, and I decided on the only fitting exit I could muster.

FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Keep the Slimy Paws Off My Settings

2007-10-29T10:48:00.000-04:00

In the world of DC hitchiking, there are some basic human needs that must be met.

1. A safe, clean ride.
2. Drop off at the agreed upon location.
3. Preferably, temperature is adjusted to match the weather.

There are some "creature comforts" that are somewhat in question.

1. The volume level, and choice of music, of the radio.
2. The actual temperature of the interior.
3. The cleanliness and space available for your actual seat.

Having said all of this, I'm here to say that there is ONE thing that is not required to be provided, nor is it in question as to whether or not it should be provided. That one thing is.....

THE POSITION OF MY SEATS!!!!!!!!

When I decide to drive, I'm the INCREDIBLY friendly driver that opens the door to my passengers to comment on the temperature. I make sure they know that it's OK to adjust the vetns if they need to, and I invite temperature adjustment suggestions. NEVER ONCE do you hear me say, "oh please, come on in and readjust all of my seat settings to meet your needs!" If someone gets in and my seat is too far forward (or backward), I will make it clear that they can move the seat up or back. That's only the kind thing to do. But, when you get in and start settling yourself in as if this is your own personal limo suited specifically to your needs, we have a PROBLEM. No, you are not allowed to recline my seats back. No, you are not allowed to move my headrests around. This is not American Airlines. It's not OK to get in and make yourself at home. You aren't going to be in my car for that long (yes, if it actually were American Airlines, you'd be there for a WHILE). It's not like I have my seats adjusted into a backbreaking posture!

Anyway, it's supposed to be a somewhat comfortable ride for you, although God knows I've had my share of sketchy ones. It is not a custom-tailored situation for you. Get in, put your seatbelt on, GO TO SLEEP. Hell, if you ask, I might consent to the changes as long as you agree to put them back where you found them. (Please return trays and seatbacks to their upright position) Otherwise, leave my car's settings alone. That's all I ask.

So, a new rule to throw out there: sluggers, keep your slimy hands off my seats!

Happy slugging!

I Hate Leather Seats

2007-10-17T08:42:00.001-04:00

Yes, I know what you are thinking. Why on earth would I dedicate an entire posting to my hatred of leather seats? Besides the fact that this is my blog and I can bitch about anything I want, I think my complaint about leather seats could serve as a public service announcement to all current and future leather seat optioners and their unsuspecting passengers.

To clarify, I am NOT a PETA member and this has NOTHING to do with saving the animals. If it was up to me, I'd have more leather and less cows. I'll take the skin, you take the tenderloin.

Why do I hate leather seats? Let me count the ways...

1. If you move the wrong way, it sounds like you just farted in the car. If you are among friends and family, this could be a good source of laughter. If you are in the car with strangers, not so funny. Personally, I wouldn't use this as a reason to not buy leather seats.

2. If you sit too long on leather seats, your butt sweats. Not something anyone but you would notice (unless you leave a wet spot, God forbid!), but unpleasant to get out of a car and do the subtle butt sweep to see just how bad the damage is. I know nobody wants to admit this, but like I said....public service announcement.

3. People who own cars with leather seats feel inclined to polish their precious leather with some obnoxious leather treatment oils. See where I am going with this? I went to work smelling "Lovely" and I am now spending my day smelling Bovine.

4. When you sit on leather seats, your clothes become a dust rag (the accumulation of dust is magnified by the leather oil). Good for the owner, bad for the passenger. It's really bad enough that I have to smell like your leather, but now I am walking around with your stripper girlfriend's glitter debris!

5. Finally, this one is SERIOUS. When you are not paying attention and you find yourself making a violent and sudden stop to avoid hitting the car in front of you, my ass continues to slide forward even though my seatbelt has harnessed the rest of me. Ladies and gentleman of the leather-seat owning community, do you really want a lawsuit for ass-lash?

Happy slugging!

So many things, so little time....

2007-10-15T09:05:00.000-04:00

It's been a while since I posted, and I know most of you are wondering what has happened. Well, between some relatively uneventful commutes and a glorious week off from work, I haven't had much to say. But let me assure you, I have PLENTY to say right now. As before, I'll try to break it down a little so I can cover everything relatively quickly.

#1. SHUT UP! Seriously! Shut up!

We all get to know each other relatively quickly. You ride at the same times with roughly the same people every morning. Knowing this should, SHOULD, make you hesitant about sharing your lurid personal details with semi-strangers! Granted, I don't necessarily know your name, but with the level of detail you provide me, I could certainly track you down. (granted, I don't want to, but what if I was a psycho? Let's stop and think people.) I understand the urge to be chatty when you are in a car full of people for a long time. I also understand the urge to get your problems off your chest. God knows I have a Mack Truck load I could dump on you. But I don't say anything. Why is that? Because it's NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. Just like it's NONE OF MY BUSINESS who your daughter is sleeping with, was sleeping with, or how many weapons your boyfriend keeps around just in case.

Yes, I leave room for the possibility that there are indeed people in the car who want you to share all of your bizarre personal details. Hell, if it's the afternoon commute, I'm all for listening to your latests soap opera moment. But, as I have stated previously, before 9AM, I am NOT interested.

So, here's a little cheatsheet for "how to know if the people in this car care about my ______": if the people to whom you are blabbing keep dozing off, THEY AREN'T LISTENING. If their response to your questions consist of a few grunts and a sigh, THEY AREN'T LISTENING. If they snore, THEY AREN'T LISTENING!

Do yourself, and your fellow commuters a favor, when you see these signs, save your breath for the ride home (provided these signs are not present again).

As for me, ALWAYS assume that I want to sleep. :) I love sleep.

#2. This is a quick review of a previous complaint, so it will be short.

If your car's inspection sticker has expired, and I don't just mean a few days ago, you should NOT endanger other people's lives. I can only assume that there are mechanical issues preventing your vehicle from passing inspection. If you want to take that chance, that's up to you. But do me a favor, DON'T LET ME RIDE IN YOUR DEATH MACHINE. Good Lord people! Let's use some common sense.

It could be, and I could be wrong, but it could be that the reason the car won't pass inspection is because it's so FULL of trash that the inspector couldn't get in to do his checklist. That's right, I sat on top of trash that was on top of trash. And, despite my fortunately short stature, I was so crammed into your backseat that my short little knees were up to my chest. Try, TRY to think of what you are putting your riders through!

#3. This is just funny, so I'm going to share.

Referring back to #1, but it has nothing to do with me.....

If you get into a car and greet the driver and their response is to turn up the radio louder without responding, there's a GOOD chance that person does not want to talk to you.

Just a thought...I could be wrong.

Happy slugging!

That Ride was Mine! MINE MINE MINE MINE!!!!!!

2007-09-26T09:00:00.000-04:00

I'm not a morning person. I'm normally a very easygoing, sociable person, but if it's before 9AM, it's in everyone's best interest to keep a safe distance. I imagine most of my slugging compadres feel the same, judging from their tired, frustrated, Starbucks-craving faces.

When the line and the wait is particularly long, we all get a little agitated. After about 5 or 6 cars go through and you don't get any closer to getting a ride, you can lose your patience. I understand this. But the bottom line is, when it's that early, and I'm that cranky, and those around me feel the same, I simply can't be held responsible for the can of whoop-ass that I might pull out when someone KNOWINGLY breaks one of the basic rules of mankind.

Even my toddler knows that you wait your turn.

So, out of the kindness of my only recently awakened heart, I will give you some friendly advice. If you take my ride one more time, you will suffer catastrophic, too-early-in-the-damn-morning-to-play-games consequences! I WILL start a riot, and Rodney King will not be there to appeal to my inner peacenik.

Here's the deal: when the lines are long and the cars start to stack up, line proximity does not give you the right to take the ride of another person IN FRONT OF YOU. It's quite an orderly process, and if you follow the rules, you'll continue to have use of both your legs.

I stood waiting at the FRONT OF THE LINE for my destination to be called. A car came and called and 4 people stepped out at once. Me, being the mannered person that I am, acknowledged that the 2 in front of me had the ride, and you and I stepped back in line. YOU, Mr. Back of the Line, tried again to step out from the BACK because the car was stopped close to you. Unfortunately for me, because I was now at the FRONT of the line, I did not hear this kind driver offer to take a third rider for our destination. But you, in your proximity to the vehicle, took advantage of a good opportunity and TOOK MY RIDE. Some would chalk this situation up to "he didn't see you." Oh, but you did! We both stepped out for the ride at the same time and made EYE CONTACT. Yes, sir, I saw you looking into my eyes. I know YOU KNOW that was MY ride.

I hope you are sitting at your desk right now remembering that look in my eyes. Because if you see it again, you might want to RUN AND HIDE!

Do a little review of your most basic rules of orderly social behavior and keep your ass out of my seat next time.

If you have that much gas, drive yourself to work!

2007-09-25T07:59:00.000-04:00

It's getting cold outside in the mornings, and the lines are pretty long at the sluglot these days. That means, more than likely, the heat is going to be on in the car that picks you up. This is a GOOD thing. Let's not ruin it.

If you are the type of person who feels the need to pass a lot of gas, you should consider riding into work alone. Just a suggestion. Here's why: first, none of us want to be intimately familiar with the inside of your colon, and second, when it stinks in a car running heat, it's unbelievably worse.

Lucky me, in my usual pattern of bad seating, I got stuck in the backseat with a man who thinks passing gas is a sport and he's trying to win a medal. Apparently, he doesn't realize that leather seats make this sort of thing OBVIOUS (as if the smell didn't already)! After about the third time, I looked over at him and made an audible gagging sound. It didn't seem to affect him, because he did it at least 3 more times!

The smell of his ass mixed with the cheap drugstore perfume on the woman in the front seat was becoming too lethal, and luckily the driver decided to take action. I thought he was going to go for the windows, but he lowered the temperature in the car to 65 degrees (yes, he had a digital temp gauge on his AC, so I know this for a fact)!!!!!!!!!! I was still cold from standing outside with no jacket on, but I was grateful for the lifting of the ass cloud hanging in the car. So I huddled up to my purse and prayed for light traffic.

The lesson I learned today is to keep a spare bottle of my favorite perfume in my desk so I can hopefully get the smells of my fellow commuters off of me once I get to work.

As for Mr. Exxon Valdez, do us all a favor and propel yourself to work solo from now on!!!

Leave Me Out of Your Mid-Life Crisis!!

2007-09-20T08:40:00.000-04:00

Growing up at the beach, I, like most of my friends, dreamed of owning a cute, sporty convertible to drive down to the strip and be seen in. It was a fleeting fantasy that most of us grew out of, and for good reason. Convertibles just aren't economical, efficient, or safe. Unfortunately, some men hit middle-age and decide that they want a sporty convertible to drive around and be seen in. Perhaps they want to pick up women or just appear to be "cool" to those around them. I don't know the justification. Whatever it is, I would just like to offer some advice and suggestions from a slugging perspective.

First let me say, reverse shotgun rules do NOT apply when approaching a convertible. Being the savvy convertible connoisseur that I am, I knew better than to get into the backseat of this convertible. Anyone who's ever been in one knows that the air stream is brutal in the backseat. There was only one problem. The other passenger was taller than me and needed to ride up front. So, as is always my luck, I got the worst possible positioning. Lucky me!

Next, to Mr. Mid-Life Crisis, owning this cute, sporty convertible did NOT make you any sexier or appealing. I just needed to get that out!

Finally, from a slugging perspective, when car manufacturers made the convertible, I believe it was meant for the leisurely drive at speeds of 55 or less. If you are on I95 going 80 miles an hour surrounded by 18-wheelers, road debris, and discarded cigarettes from the car in front of you, DO NOT DRIVE WITH THE TOP DOWN. Yes, it's beautiful weather in DC right now. Yes, the sun is shining and the air is the perfect temperature. NONE of this can be truly enjoyed with the top down on the INTERSTATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, and yes, you DO have to turn up your radio to hear it better with the top down, but you do NOT have to broadcast your "oldies but goodies" to the fucking MOON! I'm fairly certain that I've lost another 20% of my hearing from riding in that convertible.

While driving a convertible may make you feel young and valid again, your fellow commuters feel beaten and bloodied by the end of the ride and find it terribly difficult to gain any benefit from it. So, in the spirit of the other "unwritten" rules of slugging designed to make the ride comfortable for all, let me suggest that we add "Leave us out of your Mid-Life Crisis and Leave the Top UP!"

What is Slugging?

2007-09-19T11:54:00.000-04:00

For those not familiar with "slugging" here is some basic information. I borrowed this from slug-lines.com, so feel free to go to that site for more information. This should help you put my rantings into perspective!

"
What is Slugging?
Slugging is a term used to describe a unique form of commuting found in the Washington, DC area sometimes referred to as "Instant Carpooling" or "Casual Carpooling". It's unique because people commuting into the city stop to pickup other passengers even though they are total strangers! However, slugging is a very organized system with its own set of rules, proper etiquette, and specific pickup and drop-off
locations. It has thousands of vehicles at its disposal, moves thousands of commuters daily, and the best part, it’s FREE! Not only is it free, but it gets people to and from work faster than the typical bus, metro, or train. I think you'll find that it is the most efficient, cost-effective form of commuting in the nation.
How the Slugging Works
The system of slugging is quite simple. A car needing additional passengers to meet the required 3- person high occupancy vehicle (HOV) minimum pulls up to one of the known slug lines. The driver usually positions the car so that the slugs are on the passenger side. The driver either displays a sign with the destination or simply lowers the passenger window, to call out the destination, such as "Pentagon," "L’Enfant Plaza," or "14th & New York." The slugs first in line for that particular destination then hop into the car, normally confirming the destination, and off they go.
No money is exchanged because of the mutual benefit: the car driver needs riders just as much as the slugs need a ride. Each party needs the other in order to survive. Normally, there is no conversation unless initiated by the driver; usually the only words exchanged are "Thank you" as the driver drops off the slugs at the destination.
There doesn’t need to be any discussion about the destination , such as giving directions, because the drop-off points are generally understood. "Rosslyn" means the Metro station in Rosslyn, not at some other point along the way. The "Pentagon" means the curb along Fern Street, not the North Parking Lot. However, there are a few places where the destination drop-off point is not understood; in these cases, the slug must state where he or she wishes to be dropped off. For example, at "Tackett’s Mill," the driver usually asks "New or Old Lot?" because the driver will take you to either. And there is Crystal City, where drivers drop off slugs anywhere between 12th Street and 23rd streets. Later in the book these exceptions are explained in greater detail.

IF YOU WANT MORE INFO ON THE HISTORY OF "SLUGGING", GO TO WWW.SLUG-LINES.COM !!

BOTH Hands on the Wheel!!

2007-09-19T11:26:00.000-04:00

A special message for drivers: please, do everyone on the road and in your car a favor. Keep both hands on the wheel, especially if one of your hands is rubbing your penis.

When I got into the car, I knew the driver was a little "off," but I didn't really imagine what would happen next!

The man who jumped in with me immediately grabbed the backseat, as any good slugger wants to do, a bit of a reversed "shotgun." Well, that left me up front with creepy, hairy, pervy guy who decided to give me a bit of a show.

I was nose-deep in my new Blackberry trying to get all my settings to work, and I kept noticing in my peripheral vision that the driver was looking at me every few minutes. I thought maybe he was being nosey or he objected to my technology-focus, but I ignored it until I started to sense that more was happening over there. Traffic was moving relatively quickly, so I expected he was focused on the road. When I turned my head to do the quick cursory glance the next time I sensed him watching me, I noticed he was rubbing his penis. NO guys, not a quick penis adjustment, not a quick scratch and sniff. This was FULL ON RUBBING. How do I know, besides seeing the hand consistently and repeatedly rubbing across his groin? He winked at me. Yes, he fucking winked at me!

From that point forward, roughly another 10 miles, I was so grossed out I could hardly breathe! I kept wondering if the guy in the backseat saw anything and if he did, would he say anything. I debated, internally, whether or not to come straight out and say something or just complete the ride and run. Most of you who know me would assume the former, but for some reason I went with the latter. He gave me about 3 good "yeah, I'm rubbing my penis for you" looks, and I basically felt the need to shower in hot boiling peroxide when I got home.

In retrospect, I can't quite find the reason for NOT speaking out against his self-gratification at my expense. I think it was because I was a little worried, deep down, that he knew the guy in the backseat and this was a setup! Yes, there goes the paranoid mind hard at work. (Note to self: find keychain mace container) I didn't really want to disturb the hornets' nest, so I figured I'd play dead for the rest of the ride home. I hoped that if I didn't react, my chances of just being delivered to my car safely and without his body fluids on me were better than if I raised hell. So, I went against my normal hell-raising, ball-busting (pun intended) instincts, and I chilled.

A note to the Gentlemen riders out there: if a male driver pulls up and you are in line with a woman, give up your shotgun instinct and let her have the backseat. I can't speak for the men, so I won't suggest the opposite be true for the ladies.

All in all, I think I'll take the lunatic speed-racers over the hairy, creepy, penis-touching drivers. Maybe it's just me! If you are a bit on the touchy-feely side, would you guys please hang a sign on your window?

Sluggish Humanity

2007-09-13T09:53:00.000-04:00

In the course of our lives, most of us get burned repeatedly, and we become cynical and untrusting. It's a natural instinct that keeps us going as a species. If you learn from your mistakes, you will hopefully not repeat them. I am one who has undoubtedly encountered some of the worst, most dishonest people in the world, and I am probably the least trusting person you will meet. Why do I bring this up?

Well, slugging is starting to restore my faith in humanity. OK, maybe not "restore" completely, but perhaps it's giving me hope that OTHERS won't become as cynical as me.

I received a ride from a nice 30s-ish woman in a BIG SUV. When I got in the backseat, I noticed her purse was sitting next to me on the seat. Being the cynic that I am, I wanted her to NOT have that purse there. NOT because I had any intention of robbing her, but because I wanted to remove any doubt that anything could happen (there was another passenger in the backseat with me). So the whole ride, I was sitting there thinking about how much trust this woman must have in people.

I understand that you have to have a certain amount of trust to invite someone into your car. And of course, a certain amount of trust to get into a stranger's car. But for me, my view is that you just don't give someone an opportunity to disappoint you. Whenever I've done that, I've gotten burned. Apparently, this nice lady hasn't. She never once checked the status of her purse, (or VERY expensive shoes) and that includes when we all jumped out of the car. WOW, seriously, that's TRUST. I'm amazed and a little envious. I wish I wasn't quite so cynical.

At least I know that, for that day...on that ride, her faith was not shattered in her fellow man. As her cynical, self-appointed guardian, I made sure the other guy didn't slip his hand in to get his lunch money for the day.

All I can say is that I hope that she continues to have such a sunny outlook of her fellow man. For me, it's getting slightly brighter.

Off To a Sluggish Start

2007-09-11T20:02:00.000-04:00

I'm on my 6th day of slugging, and so far, I've met some interesting characters. I knew from Day 1 that I was going to have some interesting stories to tell, but since I'm 6 days behind, I will simply summarize my experiences so far.

Slugging with complete strangers twice a day gives you a new perspective on humanity. Certainly, you have to take into account that you are being invited into someone's personal vehicle and receiving a free ride to work. That isn't to say that this is a one-sided relationship by any means. Without slugs, a driver going into downtown DC, or even the Pentagon, could find themselves in traffic on the mainline of I95 three times longer than on the HOV. So understanding that this is a mutually beneficial relationship is key.

There are websites, books, message boards, email lists, and many other media that talk about slugging etiquette and provide resources for drivers and riders. The rules, while "unwritten," appear to be passed down by tradition fairly well. So far, I've experienced that most of those rules are quite easily discarded depending on the driver or rider.

Rule Violation #1: Day 1 of my slugging experience started off with a middle-aged, normal looking woman picking me and another man up to head into DC. All was well until we got to the light at the outside of the sluglot. That's when she knew she had a captive audience, and without batting an eyelash she inserted what I am convinced was an evangelical indoctrination seminar. Despite the fact that my iPod was on, I began to pick up on little things that were coming out of this driver's radio. From the tone and cadence of the speaker, I instantly knew that it was some form of religious sermon. While drivers are obviously allowed to listen to whatever they want in their cars, this seemed to overlap with a cardinal slug rule (and a generally accepted rule of polite behavior). NEVER DISCUSS POLITICS, RELIGION, OR SEX WITH STRANGERS. OK, so she wasn't exactly discussing religion, her brainwashing tapes were far from subtle. The topic of this tape (yes, it was a cassette tape) was standard Baptist religious sermon stuff until the guy on the tape began to talk about how women need to be more submissive to their men and stop blaming the men for their own shortcomings. OK, WHAT THE FUCK??? Seriously?

This particular experience wasn't my only experience with the "no religion" rule in my short 6 days. The next experience was far less offensive, but annoying nonetheless. If I'm going to work, I want a nice, safe, quiet ride to work. I managed to get into a car with two older black men who immediately began discussing their faith and religious experiences. Again, nothing offensive or off the wall, but I simply wanted to get into his nice plush ride and SLEEP. Once again, my iPod was pushed to its capacity in an effort to drown out the Baptist dribblings.

Rule Violation #2: OK, this one should be a given, but I have to say that it's alarmingly not followed. IF YOU ARE A BAD DRIVER, PLEASE DON'T PICK UP STRANGERS AND MAKE THEM FEAR FOR THEIR LIVES. On THREE occasions already, I have been a passenger in what seemed to be a fast ride to Hell (good thing I'd been exposed to all that religion ahead of time!). One lady, clearly a New Yorker, couldn't drive the car and talk at the same time because she was basically pointing the car in the direction of her hand gestures. Not a good idea on a straight road. She wasn't so bad. Today was basically themed "Holy Shit! Watch What You are Doing" day for me on both rides. My morning commute started with a very nice woman, in a very nice car, who talked 100 miles an hour but drive 150. Pretty scary when everyone else is going 75 (still over the speed limit, but an acceptable one). But even her Nascar paced driving didn't compare to kamikaze crazy man this afternoon!

From the SECOND I got into his big ass boat-sized car, I knew I was in trouble. He pulled out in front of oncoming traffic, narrowly escaping being sideswiped (yes, my side). He then ran 2 stop signs on the way TO the interstate. Once on the on-ramp to 95, he began SCREAMING at the drivers around him for no apparent reason. Now,I admit that I feel the need to yell at the occasional reckless asshole on 95, but EVERYONE pissed this guy off! He clearly wanted to get home quickly because he was going so fast, everything around me was a blur. The one thing that WAS clear was the bumper of the cars in front of us that he was only inches away from. You might assume that I'm using hyperbole here, but I promise you, there were literal inches separating us from death. When things quieted down, he stopped screaming, but he decided to comment and cuss at all the surrounding drivers under his breath. At first, I was hoping he was reciting the rosary or something (hey, it's a religious theme!), but when I managed to decipher "mother fuckers just won't get out of my way!" OVER AND OVER AGAIN I freaked out. My normal hour to hour 10 commute took me 45 minutes! If that doesn't give you perspective, I don't know what else will!

Do aggressive drivers not know they are aggressive? Do they just assume that everyone sucks? Only time will tell, if I survive!

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