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.

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.

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!

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.

undecided

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"?

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!

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

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.

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:

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!

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.

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?

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

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.

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.