Tuesday, November 23, 2010

another thing i just don't get

So there’s something I just don’t understand. Okay, well, there are a lot of things I just don’t understand, like: where all of my paycheck disappears to over the weekend, how Bristol beat out Brandy in DWTS, and the entire subject of trigonometry. But those things aside, there’s something else that has been bugging me for ages

WHY do people feel the need the slow down to below the posted speed limit when passing a state trooper who has already pulled someone else over? Is it the magnetism of the swirling lights and like moths to a flame we are lulled into letting off the gas? Is it the spectacle of Joe Schmoe driver of said vehicle in violation trying to appear unscathed? Whatever it is, let it not be because they think they’re at risk of getting pulled over as well. The officer has already taken the bait, folks. We’ve sacrificed one for the sake of the pack. If a migrating goose is injured another goose stays behind with him, rather than traveling on.

DON’T BE A GOOSE. They poop on everything and quite frankly, they’re kind of mean.


Anyway, what I’m trying to say is…maintain your speed. If you were going 75 mph before dude got plucked off, then there’s a good chance that they saw you…but wanted him more. Don’t give them an opportunity to question their decision. Keep going 75.

Monday, October 18, 2010

mad cow

Road construction is the government's way of cattle-shooting us into submission.

Next thing you know, they're gonna be trying to milk us. Oh, wait...

Friday, October 1, 2010

an important message

We now interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this important message regarding Commuters Against Rain (CAR):

CAR is an activist organization that has been gaining popularity in rapid numbers along the Atlantic seaboard in response to a week’s worth of unrelenting inclement weather and the increasingly infuriating ineptitude of other drivers ill-equipped to navigate what some refer to as “a wet road.”

While “wet roads” may be new to some drivers, particularly those with learner’s permits or international permits issued by countries such as Saudi Arabia, Libya, and the Sudan, the average driver in the northeastern United States should expect to encounter “wet roads” with enough regularity to provide them with the experiential education necessary to maintain speed and avoid unnecessary congestion. However, according to research sponsored and conducted by CAR, lack of education seems to be precisely the issue as drivers venture out onto the “wet roads.”

Dr. Priti Ann Oyed, a scientist actively involved in CAR’s ongoing research, discusses her findings: “All studies both within and outside of the lab setting have pointed to the basic fact that people are really retarded. It’s not the conclusion that we set out to find, but it’s simply undeniable. Wet road-induced retardation is a rampant issue in this country and one that CAR plans to address immediately.”

And with the aid of crabby commuters everywhere, this issue is beginning to come to the forefront. In a recent press conference, a conservative Senator (and noted CAR constituent) also discussed his plans to tackle the issue: “Washington cannot and will not ignore this issue! Rain and retardation clearly go hand-and-hand with the growing Socialist movement in this country. We will not let big government and its various ‘agents of change’ rain on our parade. As commuters – the movers and shakers that form the very foundation of our capitalist ideals, we all have an individual right to not face retardation on our roads. The Republican Party, myself included, will join CAR in its fight to end the neo-socialist tyranny that has aggravated these driving conditions.”

While the leadership of CAR failed to return our calls to decipher the Senator’s remarks and further discuss these alleged political ties, one active member did have this to say: “Listen, I’m just an average gal with an average job, just trying to get to work on a rainy day. Sure, I would rather sit at home eating Tastykakes and watching reruns of Jersey Shore and Teen Mom. But the fact of the matter is, I have to be on the road. I have to go out there and work to support my family just like everyone else. I would just appreciate it if some steps were taken to keep either the rain or the retards off the roads. That’s CAR’s main goal and that’s why I’m a member.”

Thursday, September 30, 2010

rope's end

Well this morning really topped the charts: three hours and fifteen minutes to go 94 miles (and take one small detour off the parkway to a quaint little Dunkin Donuts with a public restroom…I MUST remember to not drink coffee on my way to work if it is raining).

Defeat has never really been my forte, so I’m not inclined to accept it now; however, this simply cannot continue. I mean, consider what I could have done with that time had I not been sitting in my car adjusting and readjusting the tension of my seat belt on my bladder. For example:

  • I could have finally witnessed the conclusion to my semi-lucid recurring dream about getting chased by dinosaurs and construction equipment through a furniture store. But now I may never know if T-Rex will crush me with his backhoe or if I will ever get that beautiful green sectional I’ve been eyeing up as I repeatedly deathsprint by…



  • I could have watched three hours and fifteen minutes of Sham-Wow, Bender Ball, Slap Chop, and Proactiv infomercials and finally been able to get those sap smudges off my windshield, tighten my obliques, make egg salad in a snap, and tackle that adult acne situation. But now I may just have to accept that a good section of my windshield is as useful for seeing the road as beer goggles are for scouting models and my eggs may never be evenly chopped in milliseconds. I am truly missing out on the little things in life…




  • I could have even received three hours worth of useful therapy to help me process that bottled up, commute-induced rage that is soooo ready to erupt on some unsuspecting soul. But for now I will have to douse the flames with my trusty coffee, a good chuckle at the unrelenting misery that is my commute, and the kind of patience that can only be built up through years of ignoring the clock on the dashboard, turning up my tunes and pretending that I’m headed towards better things.


Gotta keep on keepin’ on.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

and can i get an amen? AMEN!

It’s been awhile since I’ve written, and that’s unfortunate…but it also seems as though I’ve let a lot of things go lately.

Probably because I’ve been too busy driving and sleeping and working and paying someone’s wages at the Shell station and keeping a Columbian farming community in business with my coffee consumption lately.

That’s a lot of responsibility for one person you see. There’s a heck of a lot more than dandruff and dog hair riding on these shoulders, folks.

Now the reason I know I’ve been less than attentive lately is because about a half hour into my commute this morning my check engine light went on.


I’ve seen this once before. I was driving across the country, moving back to the northeast from Phoenix, and was somewhere between my last coffee pee and that mile marker where Officer Jingle, policeman in the great state of Texas pulled me and my gal pal (who was simply helping me move) over under the suspicion that two women in one car meant we were up to some god-hatin’ lesbian fornication. (Anyway, we were up to no such thing – NOT that it was ANY of his business legally, criminally, or otherwise.)

But that time, you see, I just pulled over and gave my gas cap that extra twist and we were good to go! I put that engine in check! Showed it who was boss!

Something about the light this morning made me a little bit less confident, however. I’ve been driving about 200 miles a day for four months now and that’s gotta take its toll. So I pulled off at the rest stop and proceeded to try and look expert about what I was doing. I tightened the cap (just for good measure) and popped my hood. And then I hummed and sighed over the damn thing for about 5 seconds trying to remember how to check my oil. I knew I needed to check my oil, because other than tightening the gas cap that would be the only other thing I could do at the rest area besides give up and phone home. I just couldn’t remember where that little pull tabby thing was. I guess I looked hopeless enough because I was quickly approached by several gas station attendants who promptly discovered that I had ZERO oil in my car.

None. Zip. The pull tabby thing was spotless. I could have flossed with it.

Yeah, so that’s bad.

They filled it up and relayed their prayers for health and riches to me - seeing as how only a very religious woman could have made it to the rest stop with no oil in her car. Apparently it was their professional opinion that I’ve been running on the power of prayer alone.

Oh, how very ironically metaphorical commuting can be.


UPDATE: I am beginning to feel like a real dipstick for not knowing what that tabby thing was called. Thanks, Jackie!

Thursday, September 16, 2010

let's flip the track, bring the old school back

So there were two things that made me quite happy this morning and sufficiently distracted me from at least the first 20 minutes of my morning misery:

  • It's pumpkin spice season! Much to my excitement, I discovered this morning that Wawa has replaced my usual delightfully bowel-churning chai tea with a much moreso delightfully bowel-churning pumpkin spice cappuccino! I contend that the best thing about fall is not the changing color of the leaves, nor the anticipation of the upcoming holiday season...it's pumpkin spice flavored beverages. And one accompanied me all the way up the parkway this morning. So happy pumpkin spice season, everyone!


  • Montell Jordan's This Is How We Do It was on the radio. And really, who isn't in a good mood after hearing that song? So I leave you with this...and my apologies for not being very active on here for the past two weeks...hopefully Montell will make up for it...


Tuesday, September 14, 2010

it depends

So it took me three hours to get to work yesterday.

THREE HOURS. To go just under 100 miles.

I was hovering in this void between infuriation and defeat for the rest of the day, and was both overcaffienated and over-air-conditioned…which all-in-all, led to me spending my day huddled in the corner shivering, whimpering, and probably looking a bit like a rabid raccoon. I couldn’t even bring myself to blog about it – even my coping mechanism of cynicism failed me.

Accidents, Car-B-Qs, and the inability of our transportation-planning forefathers to anticipate urban sprawl, overpopulation, and rice-burner proliferation are all beyond my control. And overall, I consider myself a patient person when it comes to dealing with situations that are beyond my control. I turn up the radio, munch on my bagel, phone-a-friend, and resign myself to the fact that I’m probably going to get the worst parking space at work.

But three hours?!

If this keeps up, I’m going to have to consider following suit with that crazy stalker astronaut lady who wore adult diapers on her cross-country marathon drive. Holding 24 ounces worth of coffee pee for three hours is uncomfortable! No one should have to stop at a rest stop along their way to work “just in case.” No one should even be passing rest stops along their way to work. And certainly, no one should have to endure three hours in a car just to sit for another 8 or so hours in front of a computer just to sit for another two hours in a car just to lie down and go to sleep just to wake up and do it all over again the next day.



I’m on the edge, my friends, on the edge.

Friday, September 10, 2010

jersey driving etiquette 101

Okay, I've driven enough miles in Jersey over the past few months to now feel fully qualified to educate all of the other out-of-staters on Jersey driving etiquette. So I thought I'd cap off this week with a few key pointers that I've learned that could help you too. Especially if you're headed down the shore for this post-Labor day weekend.

  • First, see the two pictures below:





    Now in most states, these lines indicate whether it is legal to pass or illegal to pass; however, in New Jersey, the lines on the road are strictly used for sobriety tests, so feel free to pass at will regardless of the lines...cuz everyone else does.


  • Secondly, when you see this:



    It actually means this:



  • Here's another one that I was already familiar with before I moved to Jersey. If you can see these:



    (Tail lights of the car in front of you) then you are probably going too slow. Creep up a bit. Ride their tail. You're bound to get there faster.


  • And finally, get familiar with this very important technical component of your vehicle:



    You'll find it in the center of your steering wheel. Push it often. Especially if you are pissed off or if you're passing Lisa. TOOT, TOOT! What a hottie!


Have a good weekend!

Thursday, September 9, 2010

formalities

For the car who obviously needed to be merging in front of me on the parkway this morning, but who for some reason seemed to be waiting for some personalized invitation to get with the program:

Friday, September 3, 2010

untitled



I made it to work today with unprecedented speed. YAY!

Apparently this is because I missed the memo explaining that normal people take vacation on the Friday before Labor Day weekend and LeBron it out of town. DANG IT! “CC” me next time!

So the northbound lanes were cruising like NASCAR Sunday while the southbound lanes were beachbound and landlocked. Sorry, folks. Guess you guys missed that memo.

quandary of the day

Why does the Raritan River occasionally smell like hot broccoli farts?


I don't like it.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

you make me sick

So there I was this morning sitting still on the parkway…as usual…caught in what the radio called a “traffic pocket,” which reminded me of hot pockets and how I’ve not yet tried the breakfast kind but I totally love the ham and cheese ones because the ham is cooked like I like it and how I wasn’t sure if I was really willing to risk microwaved eggs but how McDonald’s probably microwaves their eggs and I’ve eaten them without getting sick and so on and so forth (my stream of consciousness is devoid of punctuation)…

WHEN SUDDENLY…I saw the most beautifully manicured hand (complete with French manicure and strand of pearls) emerge from the window of a fancy schmancy car and…

FLICK A CIGARETTE in my direction!!! Gross! Cigarettes are disgusting. Smoking totally negates the mani and the pearls. This chic would have been better off just skipping the young Jackie O. façade and going with the wicked witch look instead, cuz that’s what she’s going to look like in a few short years anyway when she peers into the mirror, mirror on the wall and sees how those pouty lips have shriveled up into a permanent little suck pucker.


Now should I care this much about a complete stranger’s well-being and appearance? Probably not. But she flicked the damn thing basically at me. All lady-like too like she was effin Miss America tossing tootsie rolls from a parade float. I just happen to think that if you’re gonna be nasty, why not go all the way? Jam the stub into your ash tray, trash up your own car like you’re trashing up your lungs, and don’t bother trying to keep up appearances…cuz you are DISGUSTING.

And that’s how I really feel.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

lmao

What is Google AdSense trying to tell me here? Maybe I shouldn't be on the road at all...


And I'm not even going to address the body odor, acne, or DWI ads...

another commuter affliction

Following the popularity of Tuesday’s revealing adult acne post, I’m going to continue today with another affliction that I deem inextricably tied to extreme commuting. And that is…the eye twitch.

If you are unfamiliar with the eye twitch, see this creepy video:



Causes of the eye twitch as they relate to commuting:
  • Staring hopelessly at the dented rear bumper of the car in front of you, knowing that if you take your eyes off the back of this perpetual speed braker for even a moment you’re certain to make that dent a lot deeper. Even if he does kinda deserve it.
  • Trying not to sneeze. Because everyone knows that the scariest involuntary thing you can do while driving is to sneeze. Your heart stops. Your eyes close. It’s a snot-spattered wreck waiting to happen.
  • Nervously lying to a state trooper: Officer, I had NO ideeeeeea TWITCH that I was going TWITCH 80 in a 55. TWITCH
  • and finally, holding back the inevitable anger that wells up when, yet again, someone with New York plates gets all up in your rear thinking that they own the road and will somehow magically make the line of all of the other cars in front of you disappear like Moses on the parkway.

TWITCH, TWITCH, TWITCH

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

groundbreaking study

New research conducted by Polish dermatologists, Drs. Hugh Gzitski and Poppa Pimpsky, has revealed that commuting is a definite cause of adult acne in patients who drive more than an hour a day.

See pictorial evidence from a selection of their study subjects:



Here is the data from their study:



Suggested causes for this positive correlation:

  • Dehydration from excessive caffeine intake and regular coffee peeing
  • Excessive cell phone usage and related build-up of acne-causing bacteria
  • Elevated levels of stress hormones caused by buttheads who should have their licenses revoked
  • Increased mindless picking during traffic jams
  • and finally, lack of sufficient time at home between commutes to maintain regular hygiene habits.


I don't know about you, but I find this to be truly eye-opening.

And I published it on the internet, so it must be true.

Monday, August 30, 2010

i kinda hate driving, actually

You know what’s ironic about my extreme commuting? I kinda really hate driving.

Any chance I get, I toss the keys to the Honda to SYB and make him cart my lazy butt around. I didn’t even get my license until I was 17 (almost 18), when everyone else was getting theirs at 16. I wasn’t anxious to drive. I had two friends with cars - one with a hand-me-down Corolla and the other with a swwwwweet Volvo DL manufactured well before my conception – and they didn’t seem to mind my ride-mooching. Plus, there really wasn’t a chance in hell that I was gonna pass the driver’s exam if my choices were limited to parallel parking either my dad’s Explorer or the beached-whale of a road-yacht that my mom drove around back then.


I probably would have never even bought my own car had it not been for the fact that I was living in Pittsburgh and SYB lived in Jersey, and Greyhound smelled like dirty, calloused, hippie feet mixed with mildew and liverwurst. (Clearly, I had no choice but to purchase my independence.)

Oh, the power of young love and large doses of Sportscenter and snuggling down the shore…

Anyway, I would give just about anything to not have to drive so much now. Walking to work would be swell, but that would limit me to a less than lucrative bakery or liquor store career. While an employee discount would be AWESOME…I just dunno if that’s for me…

So I guess driving it is…for now…unless the pastry bizz really takes off. And if that ever happens, then EZPass should prepare itself for a strong downturn in revenue. Cuz when it’s time to make the donuts, I’ll be there. Not on the parkway. And you can count on that.

Friday, August 27, 2010

showdown

So...there I was going 80 up the parkway. (That's about 25 over...I hang my head in feigned shame.) I was in the left lane passing people (cuz that's what you're supposed to do when you're in the left lane) who were going about 75.

Anyway, this d-bag is some fancy new glorified station wagon decides to crawl up my butt and be pissed that I'm only going 80. There's not really any space for me to pull into the center lane and I'm not going to risk 85 just to appease him, so I hang with the traffic and feel like I'm doing the world a justice by giving him his well-deserved time-out.

Apparently, he disagreed. As soon as he found a break in the center lane, he pulled in and raced around me. Laying on his horn the whole time.

Now I can respect that this dude was in a hurry. I don't even mind that he cut me off. But there is nothing more infuriating than a guy who uses his horn to telegraph the Morse code for eff you. Seriously, what does that achieve?

Isn't the horn supposed to be used to alert and warn? Like, "hey, I'm here, probably shouldn't merge into my front bumper" TOOT, TOOT! Or maybe dude was warning me. Maybe he wanted to take it out to the rest area parking lot and have a good ol' fashioned showdown.

I'm not scared: I'll O.K.-Corral his ass back to drivers ed where he can learn about proper horn usage.


That is, if his speeding off at 90 in front of me didn't land him there anyway!

Thursday, August 26, 2010

couldn't have said it better myself

Thought I should help her get the message out. Here is a note from Lisa, over at A Pear Tree on Mossop Street:

Dear Mr. Pimped-Out Honda Civic,

Thanks, oh so much, for the objectifying honk while I was running. However, I'm going to pass; it takes more than that to pique my interest. Unless you were honking at the old lady behind me, in which case I apologize for my sassy comment.

Sincerely,

Lisa

You tell 'em, sista! You're just out there makin' sure that THIS stays a 10...I get you.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

an order of beef and backup

And I thought three accident-riddled hours on the parkway yesterday evening was brutal...

"CHINA'S NINE-DAY TRAFFIC JAM STRETCHES 100KM"



You'd think some fortune cookie out there would have warned them:

Confucius say no drive today.






UPDATE: According to this Wall Street Journal article, the traffic jam could last until September 17th. Yikes. What's the Chinese word for "telecommute"?

Monday, August 23, 2010

gtl


So this weekend I had the pleasure of visiting Seaside Heights for the first time. I had high hopes for achieving famousity a la Snooki or J-WOWW, but as I got ready for the evening, the real situation became quite clear:

  • I’m not Italian.

  • Tan, for me, means that my freckles have connected, and I probably need to go to the derm and have at least an eighth of them removed and tested.

  • My hair is blonde and sports the volume of overcooked capelli d’angelo. Yeah, that’s right…the Irish/German girl speaks pasta (a.k.a. the international language of carbs), so you can go shove your self-righteous gnocchi you know where.

  • I stopped going to the gym in 2005.

  • I don’t do my own laundry. (BIG BIG LOVE and shout-outs to SYB for keeping my whites Clorox-white! I heart you.)

  • And I really don’t “get” what’s so great about Seaside??? Seemed like a bunch of New Yorkers and scantily clad teenagers eating over-priced frozen custard and trying to puke it up on pier rides. I don’t trust any ride that could land me headfirst on wooden planks. Nor do I trust any shirt that doesn’t have a back. Apparently I just don't fit in. On the upside though, I almost paid to have my cards read which would have been super entertaining and my company provided truly enlightening commentary throughout the evening.

But anyway, so I know you come to this page tingling with anticipation, ready to read about my next driving escapade, and I’m sorry to disappoint you with a post that has nothing to do with my commute…or even driving. But I just had to point out that on a parkway full of exits (a.k.a. limitless possibilities)…the exit for Seaside is one that I might just not need to take again.

And as for my well-deserved famousity? Well…if I’m not going to be discovered in my favorite green tank top and my dungarees (I kinda love that word), then this blog is just gonna have to do it.

Plan of attack:

  • Commute more often. With summer ending, so too have the days of Fridays off come to a close.

  • Be more crabby. I don’t own a coffee machine. Enough said. Donations will be accepted.

  • Write even awesomer fantasticalness that just cannot be ignored. See examples: The Sassy Curmudgeon and Red Means Go!

  • Get more followers! See Tailgate Me! on righthand side.

And always make sure that the party’s HERE, b*tches!

Thursday, August 19, 2010

shake and bake

Dear speed racer in the black BMW,

This isn’t Talladega, it’s the Garden State Parkway.

I get that it has a lot of lanes, fun curves, and that my car is probably awesome enough to professionally race (sorry if that’s what threw you off), but you just can’t be bee-bopping in and out of lanes at 90 mph and not expect to get pulled over. Duh.

I really tried to be sympathetic when the cop took you out right in front me. Maybe you just finished off a Big Gulp and were headed towards some relief. I can empathize!


Or maybe you were so sick of your seemingly endless daily commute that you just snapped. I’ve been there!


But then I noticed your New York plates. Clearly you were just drivin’ like an a-hole. My sympathy ends here.

Sincerely,

me

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

ugh

So just when I thought I was in a hopelessly good mood long-lasting enough to thoroughly and perhaps permanently constipate my sarcasm and disdain, the clouds quite literally descended upon me.


Now, we have already discussed my amazement and frustration with regards to how folks who live in a state with regular precipitation experience selective driving amnesia when the first big drops splatter across the windshield; however, not one of these folks can begin to top the driver I had the pleasure of steering clear from yesterday evening.

I shall refer to him as “The Tread-less Wonder.”

The Tread-less Wonder had Florida plates. Doesn’t it rain almost daily in Florida? Aren’t there hurricanes in Florida? Doesn’t driver education in Florida (like everywhere else) address driving in poor conditions?

Perhaps not. Perhaps I’ve been misinformed. Surely I missed my opportunity to ask The Tread-less Wonder these very important questions on one of the THREE occasions he pulled off into the shoulder, and then proceeded to veer back into the lane cutting me off each time. There I was trying to brace myself for the repeated onslaught of tsunamis splashed up by my neighboring SUVs and Gutless here couldn’t decide whether or not to even stay on the road.

Nothing makes me crabbier than people who can’t maintain their speed and who hesitate.

I shake my head in disgust.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

t g i thursday

Long summer weekend commences in 3.25 hours. Sigh of relief.

After an exhausting week of commuting...what makes it all worth it? Knowing I get to spend the weekend at home with Super Yummy Boyfriend and my little TinkyBear:

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

and I don't wanna miss a thing

I remember my last trip to Disney World. It was a high school concert choir trip; and my fellow chorus nerds and I waited to get on the Rock N’ Roller Aerosmith coaster at MGM for about an hour. If you’ve ever been to Disney, you know that this type of endeavor involves considerable sweat, intermittent downpours, and a seemingly unending maze of stanchions.


I endured these indignities, envying the nonchalant nature of my adrenaline junkie travel companions while secretly plotting an escape to the Tiki Room. Alas, I made it to the front of the line, chest puffed in exaggerated bravado…just to be escorted to the emergency exit by coaster attendants who witnessed my hyperventilation and struggle to withhold from anxiety-puking all over the cars. I waited outside the building for my friends, my resolve to avoid roller coasters (...and also oral surgeons, celery, and that Kingman, AZ gas station bathroom on the way to Vegas...) stronger than ever.

Fast forward over ten years later to this morning, and I’m in my car waiting over 40 minutes to travel only 8 miles. I am reminded of that Disney trip, hoping and praying that unlike the panic-induced trauma of that day there is at least something interesting at the end of this wait.

But no. Traffic was backed-up and I was late because people were checking out road workers busy looking busy. Seriously?! No fender-bender, no high-speed police chase, no freakin’ rock n roller coaster…just men trying to pull off the orange and yellow-striped look?

The letdown was worse for me than not being able to muster the strength to get on the coaster.

It’s not that I want for there to be ambulances or body bags or anything morbid like that…but if I’m going to be sitting in my car for 40 minutes I want it to be worth something. That’s all I’m sayin’. Is that so wrong? Or could I at least get a chipper Disney intern to escort me personally off the parkway through a secret passageway to funnel cake, fresh-squeezed lemonade, and corn dogs?


8/12/2010 UPDATE: This morning's 15 minute backup was rewarded with a brake-worthy car-b-q in the southbound lanes. No one was hurt. The car was trashed. Someone "up there" is really listenin!

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

crabbypants needs a nap

I only got two hours of sleep last night. That’s about fifteen minutes longer sleep than the duration of my morning drive. Betcha can’t guess what my first thought was when the alarm went off this morning.

Sleep deprivation can be a very tricky thing. First of all, it can fool you (much like PMS, hallucinogenics, and the evening news) into believing that people are truly out to get you. It also impairs reaction time, mood and ability refocus your eyes on the road between texts. It’s evil. But combine sleep deprivation with an extreme commute and you’ve got a monster on your hands.

It’s no wonder that by the time I got to the office this morning, I was absolutely convinced that road crews were out last night repainting the lines in a tighter wave than Tyra’s weave. And they did it just to screw with me and my ability to stay in a lane.

That alone would have been enough, but no, those damn gang-banger hamsters were up my arse in their Kia Soul. Lucky for them I was too sleep-stoned to tango or else I would have had to get all ninja up in the place and send them back to the plastic run-about balls they came from. No joke, there really was a tailgating, no-good, Kia Soul: it was as green as exorcized vomit. Just like this one, in fact:


Anyhoo, so I somehow made it to work on the wings of my guardian angel and fueled by some seriously sludgey Wawa coffee that I’ve since really come to regret.

Here’s to hoping that my eyeballs don’t roll back into my head on the way home and that that Soul is off the road. Cuz after a day like this one, the fur is bound to fly.

Monday, August 9, 2010

back to bed


The alarm goes off at 5:45 a.m. It’s the latest possible time I can wake up and still manage to pre-coffee pee, wash my face, get dressed, apply spackle, let the dog out, pack for the day, get gas and be on the parkway in time to get into the office by 8 a.m. I get ready fast…as evidenced by my regularly disheveled ponytail.

Occasionally, I’ll wake up before the alarm, but oftentimes it startles me out of the best moments of my sleep. I find it quite interesting how those first thoughts of the morning– the ones that run through my mind as I’m mashing buttons trying to “dismiss” my alarm – are the ones that really set the tone for the rest of the day.

This morning, for example, I thought of how cozy I was all wrapped up in the comforter and snuggled in next to Super Yummy Boyfriend. But this morning was a good morning.

Other mornings? Not so much.

Here are the top five thoughts that go through my mind on those other mornings:

5. “Should I go with migraine, dead battery, or diarrhea? What is my supervisor’s number again?”

4. “What was it that just hit me? Was that my arm? Why can’t I feel my arm? It must be dead. What is my supervisor’s number again?”

3. “Is it that time already? What is my supervisor’s number again?”

2. “Is this really my life? What is my supervisor’s number again?”


And the thought that goes through my mind most often when my alarm goes off is…

1. “Sh*t.”

I am, like, so deep in the morning, right?

Thursday, August 5, 2010

hugs and kisses


My Dearest EZPass,

I know that this relationship is new to both of us and we're both still very excited, but I am concerned that perhaps we're moving too fast.

I know this may hurt you, but I'm trying to be the responsible one here and pump my brakes a little bit. It's just so hard to slow it down when you encourage me to continue on full speed ahead.

You and the extra fifteen minutes of my day that you've given back to me really do mean the world. I don't want to ever have to let you go because of this foolishness. Please, if you can, try to understand.

XOXOXO,

me

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

garden state girl scout

When you work so far away from where you live, prepping to leave the house in the morning requires effort far beyond the average thermos-filling and PB & J packing. You must be prepared for just about any scenario that could happen in the 8 work hours plus 4 driving hours that you’ll be away from the house.

First and foremost, the cell phone must be charged.

You must assemble a small arsenal of pharmacy essentials: Advil, Tampax (not just for personal emergencies, but also for use in bartering future favors from desperate colleagues), Chapstick, backup Chapstick (cuz those suckers disappear faster than socks in a dryer), contact rewetting solution, and my favorite little vice – cherry flavored Halls.

Then, of course, there’s the buffet of snacks and beverages that someone maintaining a metabolism like mine requires on a bi-hourly basis. (It’s been suggested that I eat more before noon than Super Yummy Boyfriend eats all day.)


And then there is the sweater for ridiculously cold air conditioning. The flip-flops to wear between the parking lot and the office. The umbrella in case the weather is different “up north”. It’s not like I can just run home during lunch to grab something I’ve forgotten.

Clearly, considerable foresight is essential…or else my normal workday could turn into one of those first day of school nightmares. You know the kind? Where a lucid dream leads you through half a morning without a bookbag and pants, and none of your dream buddies alert you until lunchtime? AWKWARD. And I know, because I’ve actually been there.

For some people work is just work. For me...it's a serious excursion. Gotta be prepared.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

many apologies

So I probably should have alerted you all to this prior to my 5 day blogging hiatus, but my Giveashit Gauge is running on about as empty a tank as my Honda and apparently my ability to provide snarky commentary on my harrowing daily commute has been severely impacted.

Bear with me, folks, this isn't bridge repair...just a little pothole patching. I'll be back on the road in no time.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

dear john

Dear Toll Guy Who Takes My Dollar Every Morning in Asbury Park,

I realized this morning that you recognize me.

I thought our brief, but cordial exchanges were fairly standard in the toll-taking world. There’s the “Good morning,” the “Thanks for costing me that bag of Cheetos that – had I not just given you one of my last dollar bills - I would have purchased from the vending machine when the 3 p.m. munchies strike,” and of course the parting “Have a nice day.”

I drive a nondescript car, sip coffee from a nondescript thermos, listen to nondescript radio programs (other than the Mexican-Polka of course), and am generally, nondescript. You probably see hundreds of me a week, maybe even in a day; so how could it be that you recognize me specifically? Why is it that your “How are you this morning” emphasizes the you in just a way that it seems you really know me? Do you gaze longingly at my strange still-out-of-state plates and slightly dented bumper long after I’ve been digitally thanked for forking up and pull away from your lane? Are you eyeing up the junk in my trunk?

Alas, Toll Guy, it will never work out for us in this crazy, crazy world. I…I have Super Yummy Boyfriend…and you…well, you’d never understand my fear of small spaces and anxiety over making change under pressure. Clearly, I’ve let this go on for too long. It’s time for me to be moving on. It may hurt for a while…when I speed past through the EZPass lanes; but this is our future, Toll Guy, we’re both just going to have to accept it.

I'm sorry if I've misled you. I only meant to pay my way.

I’ll keep the shiny dollar coin you gave me (cuz the vending machine won't take it). And we’ll always have that day when the backup made me linger.

Sincerely,

me

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

issue of national security



BACKGROUND: from approximately Asbury Park to the bridge that crosses over the Raritan River, the Garden State Parkway has EXPRESS LANES with only limited access to limited exits and LOCAL LANES with a lot of access to a lot of exits.

At least that’s the official story.

What they don’t tell ya’ is that there is yet another lane. When times get hard – and most often during traffic jams and the occasional sinkhole repair - I see the more adventurous travelers venture in this direction.

It’s the grass median between the express and local lanes, and here’s a news alert for Napolitano: folks are crossin’ over it faster and with more frequency than landscapers over the Rio Grande.

Now perhaps I just don’t understand - because I don’t have 4WD and therefore, this snap decision is not a wise option for me - but when I see grass I don’t automatically think of it as an exit strategy. I’m not risking my life, limb, and alignment for the chance of going 5 mph faster.

And here’s a little related insight from an experienced crabby commuter: most of the time that 5 mph is just an illusion – cuz the backup in the express lanes is 2 miles down the road and it’s going to hold you up 10 minutes longer than the one in the locals, and once you’ve cut me off to cross over…I’m not letting you or your grass stains back in my lane.

overactive bladder

Apparently the software that scans my blog for particular words/phrases/content to select and display advertisements relevant to my readers has noticed that I make considerable reference to coffee pee.
Well Google AdSense, how about you try holding in 24 ounces for 94 miles and maybe you'll be doing the potty dance too!

Monday, July 26, 2010

pass the burt's bees


Inspired by The Sassy Curmudgeon’s recent post - Scene From A Marriage: Blinkers Really Pump My ‘Nads, I thought I would treat you all on this Monday afternoon to a couple of things that really chap my ass.


CHAPPED past participle, past tense of CHAP (verb)
1. (of the skin) Become cracked, rough, or sore, typically through exposure to cold weather, jerkoffs with truck balls, and extreme commutes
2. (of the wind or cold) Cause (skin) to crack in this way: "chapped ass"


First, it really chaps my ass when…there is a two mile backup at the next exit and Prince Cannotbebotheredtowaithisturn in front of me in the right lane slows down about one mile in and suddenly realizes that he wants to be in that exit lane. Because he didn’t just pass the first mile worth of cars sitting entirely still on the highway. Then he comes to a complete stop just before the exit, and while waiting for some unsuspecting patsy to let him in, forces me to sit still as well. Thanks, Prince, for being such a self-centered douchebag. I’m glad that the world revolves around you.

It also really chaps my ass when…construction cones block whole lanes for weeks before any construction actually starts. It’s like the least they could do is have some bulldozers parked at regular intervals and some dudes in orange vests standing around scratching and pointing at stuff – you know, like the same props they have up “during the construction.” At least the illusion of my tax and toll money going to improve something that might possibly positively impact my daily life could ease the pain of having to sit still for a half hour while people learn to merge and the urge to spring a coffee pee leak mounts. Thanks, Missing Construction Dudes, because having to pee when the traffic is moving isn't bad enough…

And finally, it really chaps my ass when…I’m getting gas for the third time in a week (must be getting close to Friday!) and - because you can pump your own fist in NJ, but not your own gas – I gotta sit and wait for Johnny Summerjob to finally stop sexting before he notices that my tank’s been full and I’ve been waiting for the past ten minutes. Thanks, Johnny, I really wanted to put another ten minutes between me and my dinner. I appreciate that.



So those are some things that really chap my ass. What chaps yours?

outta my way already, geez

Dear Sunburnt Bald Guy and Windblown Wife Driving the Convertible This Morning on the Parkway,

6:30 in the morning is a bit too early for the Past Our Prime and Proud Parade. If your narcissism could please pull over to the side of the road, I'll be happy to take a passing glance; but forcing me to tapdance on my brake behind you while you coast along playing out your little Cary Grant/Grace Kelly fantasy is cruel and unusual.


Save it for the silver screen, or the Riviera, or anytime and place other than the Parkway at rush hour.

Au revoir!

Sincerely,
me

Thursday, July 22, 2010

pee-pees and peas please

After a long day of driving and working and driving again, there are really only three things that I think about on my way home: (1) how I knew I should’ve peed before I left the office, because it’s so much more efficient than having to pull off at a rest area; (2) how no reasonable commute should ever pass multiple rest areas; and (3) how I am so hungry that I could be lured into a Whopper I know I’ll regret.

Oh, and how much I can’t wait to get home to see Super Yummy Boyfriend! (And how much I hope he already cooked dinner.)

While the nagging urge to pee starts pretty much as I pull out of the lot, the hunger is less immediate – from initial rumblings to a dull roar to desperate irrational thoughts like “I may even need to eat before I pee.” **

So…I thought I’d get personal with you on this Thursday afternoon and share the three things that I crave THE MOST during my evening commute:

FIRST: peas.


I love them. I even used to eat them as an after school snack when I was a latchkey kid with full reign over the pantry. I’ll eat them frozen straight out of the bag or heat them in the microwave with a scoop of Cheez-Whiz and some salsa. Butter and parmesan works too.

SECOND: sour cream.


So not on its own, but maybe on top of peas? Or chili? Or chips? Or quesadillas? Or baked potatoes? Or French fries? It doesn’t really matter. I love sour cream.

THIRD: tomato soup with scrambled eggs.

THIS is my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE comfort food. Whip up some eggs, plop ‘em in the bottom of a bowl and pour cream of tomato on top. Okay, quit it with the gagging noise; I can hear you through my computer.

Anyways, so now that we’ve bonded on this intimate gastronomic level, the next time you see me headed south on the parkway, please do me the favor of staying out of my way: I’m starving, I gotta pee, and I’m taking no prisoners (leaves more peas for me!).

Now you know.



**NOTE: For those of you with genuine concerns for my health - I am neither diabetic nor pregnant, nor do I have a UTI. I just drink a lot of coffee and like food. But thanks for checking! Love ya!

much anticipated tolling update

For those of you who have been following the vacillation of my decision to EZPass or not to EZPass, I thought I’d provide you with a tolling update so you can relax into your weekend without the anxiousness of not knowing which lane I’ll be taking on Monday. (I know you were starting to sweat it.)

So here it is…

I’m still carrying around enough dollar bills and quarters to be mistaken for a college-town stripper moonlighting at Chuck E. Cheese. And that’s the situation.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

get beach sexy with commuter calisthenics

Something about long hours spent in the driver’s seat makes me kind of feel like Quasimodo. It’s not that I’m actively trying to protect my ponytail from increased disheveldom, but every few miles or so I realize that the upper half of my body is leaning awkwardly forward in a posture no Sketchers athletic moonshoes are ever going to resolve. Add some crows’ feet and this is my inevitable future:


I can’t let that happen. So I’ve come up with a few moves to get my duff back up to snuff. Jane Fonda and Michelle Obama would be proud. (note - clicking on illustrations will enlarge them)

FIRST: the BUTT SQUEEZE. This one is a favorite of kegelers and weekend booty shakers alike. Also useful for holding coffee pee, this move strengthens the glutes while forcing you to sit up straight! I love double-dipping! Especially Ruffles in Hidden Valley Ranch!


Squeeze and release. Repeat until you get involved in whatever's on the radio and forget what you were doing.

SECOND: the CREEPY DATE STRETCH. A patented move that has been around for ages. Not only does this reach over the passenger seat stretch out your arm, shoulder and back, its also perfect for when you're starting to doze. The only drawback is that you can only do it with one arm.


Stretch and hold. NOTE: Going in for second base with your carpool buddy during this exercise is not recommended nor endorsed by Crabby Commuter.

and THIRD: the RAISE THE ROOF. SPECIAL NOTE: best to do this one while stopped at a light or in a traffic jam. Secure steering wheel with knees and put your hands flat on the roof, pushing them back behind you as far as you can reach.


CAUTION: may cause strange stares from neighboring drivers, but forget them cuz they totally pick their noses and belt it out to old school Hanson.