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.

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!

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:

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?

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.

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

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!