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

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

it's not my imagination

I’ve been thinking, folks, now that I am a solid 15 posts into this little blogging trek, that I may just be a little b*tchy in the morning. It struck me that maybe it’s not the commute after all, but rather a serious case of under-caffeinated, evening-showered, bagel-deprived stinky morning attitude. (I hang my head in shame.)

But then again, maybe not.

Apparently, it’s a scientifically-verifiable completely-objective fact that in addition to being extreme by mileage and duration standards, my commute is shared with folks from THE TWO STATES WITH THE WORST DRIVERS IN THE COUNTRY! (see this Huffington Post link)

I take absolutely no ownership in this problem – I learned to drive in the 39th worst state and learned to text while driving in the 17th worst. So CLEARLY it’s not ME.


So reassuredly it’s not just the fact that my overgrown layers won’t fit into my uber-professional ponytail without enough bobbypins to alert the entire TSA, nor is it the fact that I’m down a coffee machine and am slurping powdered chai out of my Bubba Keg rather than the silky French Vanilla Green Mountain Coffee that I so desire, nor is it that Super Yummy Boyfriend is still in bed looking so warm n’ cozy when I have to leave…and is still there…where I want to still be…for most of my drive.

Nope, it’s none of these personal problems keeping me from enjoying life’s daily little journeys. It’s that for 1/8th of my day, I’m in the company of people who want to kill me. And that’s bound to make a gal feel a little bit crabby.

doughy inside with a crisp outer crust

Perhaps it’s because it is Friday, or perhaps it’s because I had an incredible apple cinnamon bagel with my coffee this morning, but I’m in a good mood. I even managed to maintain my good mood for the entirety of my 94 mile morning commute. I know that you must be incredibly disappointed that my pH is so balanced, but have no fear – I’m sure that next week’s entries will be acidic enough for a Pepcid.

In the meantime, I thought I’d update you on the status of my tolling: I haven’t yet procured that EZpass. Besides my tendency to procrastinate on all things that require research, I actually enjoy the sound of the clink, clink, clink of exact change hitting the basin. It’s strangely gratifying, not unlike those fabulous Wheel of Fortune quarter slot machines. SPIN! “BIG MONEY, BIG MONEY, BIG MONEY!” I know I’m spending money. I know I’m not really gonna get anything back for it in the long run (though the parkway feigns improvements). But it’s something to occupy my time; and just like gambling, queuing up to pay a toll can be just entertaining enough to throw a few quarters at it.

This morning, for example, as I sympathetically decelerated by those waiting in the “I-don’t-have-EZpass-or-exact-change-and-I-am-basically-completely-unprepared-to-be-commuting” Cash lane, I witnessed a driver neglecting to maintain the customary toll lane distance of 1 foot from the car in front of him as he dug up his bills. Meanwhile, no less than FIVE cars pulled in to the lane in front of him. Now, had he been the last car in the lane, I wouldn’t have found this as entertaining; however, this guy:


was behind him, waving his New York turning signal with pride. I feel for you, buddy, I do. Have a bagel.

in the beginning

And on the eighth day, God created New Yorkers. They had a great many restaurants, shops, and the Madison Square Garden of Eden, but they were all alone on their island; and they were bored. So God gave them the vehicle so they could go forth and travel. It had a horn and an accelerator pedal; and it was good.

On the ninth day, God - after an alarming game of Need For Speed - perfected his vision and created everyone else. He gave them cars as well, adding sideview mirrors, turning signals, and brakes.

But, because the New Yorkers had already succumbed to the temptations of speeding and reckless lane changing, their cars could not be retrofitted with these amenities. So God took pity upon his creation and invented the middle finger. He intended it to be used to signal lane changes.

Apparently New Yorkers had other plans.