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