Fears

I hate driving next to trucks on the highway. My friend's mom was in an accident when she was in college caused by a truck moving into her lane without noticing her there. I think that story really scarred me. Even though she told it to me 20 years ago. I always find myself scooting alllll the way over to the side of the lane whenever a truck passes me.

I'm terrified of heights. I have no idea where this came from because I used to love roller coasters, trust falls and zip lines. A few years ago Michael and I were hiking in New Hampshire and came across an old fire tower that you could climb for a great view. We got half-way up and I started to shake. I couldn't move. It took all I had to get to the top, where I basically huddled in a corner and held on for dear life. Getting down was even worse. Ever since then I avoid being up high at all costs. Except for flying. I have no fear of flying. Weird.

I'm afraid of something happening to my parents. Especially my mom, a breast cancer survivor. I refuse to watch "Step Mom" or any other movie where the mother dies. We made the mistake of watching "The Family Stone" at Christmas. I had already seen it, but forgot how it ended. I was bawling at the end and hugging my mom like there was no tomorrow.

I'm scared of wasps.

Especially big ones.

With stingers.

Route 1: Revisited

Dear Route 1,

It's been awhile since we've last spoken. I know I made myself clear when I told you it was over between us. I've driven over you since our parting without so much of a Hello tossed your way. But today, the silence must be broken. Because today, Route 1, today you pissed me off. Big time.

Please explain to me the reasoning behind the road work at 8:30 a.m. I was driving along, enjoying the sunshine, singing aloud to Christmas carols when I saw the orange cones in the distance. "Merge Left" the sign instructed. OK. I merged left. But what is that big sign up ahead? A stop sign? Are you serious?

So I stop. And the man behind me in the truck stops. And lights a cigarette which means I have to switch my air intake to internal instead of external because I do not want to smell the smoke. And we sit. And sit. And sit. And....oh, wait! No, just kidding. We're still sitting.

Five minutes go by. Ten minutes. Twelve minutes and ARE YOU SERIOUS? And now, Route 1, I'm starting to get a little nervous. Because the man behind me? He's Freaking. The. Hell. Out. As in screaming obscenities and slamming his steering wheel so hard that the truck is shaking. And in your genius, Route 1, you have left no escape route. There's a median to my left, cones to my right and vehicles in front and behind me. If the guy goes postal, I'm going down.

So I eat my granola bar and try not to look in my rear view mirror (even though I want to watch the freak out) because I'm afraid if we make eye contact I'll become a victim of some serious road rage. I blame you for instilling this fear in me, Route 1.

And then, a highway worker starts flipping out at the cops up ahead because they're not paying attention and they've been letting cars go in the opposite directing for nearly 15 minutes now and there is a line for miles backed up in my direction. I know this because he was throwing his hands in the air and yelling. He was doing this next to my car, Route 1. Also your fault.

And finally, when we start moving, I get leered at. A gross snarl from a scruffy man in a hard hat who topped it off with a wink. And the road work? You mean that piece of plywood we bounced over? I didn't find that so amusing, Route 1. I really didn't. After all that there should have at least been a big hole.

I feel secure in my earlier decision to end our relationship. Tomorrow I will once again drive over you and give you the cold shoulder.

Just remember, you brought this upon yourself.

I Don't Even Want To Look At Turkey

This long weekend was so nice. I spent time with my family, ate lots and lots and lots of food, visited with Dani California and almost completed all my Christmas shopping. It was great.

Getting to NY, however, was not so nice. A trip that should have taken me two hours from work took FOUR. I even left early to prevent getting stuck. But no. I should have known. I-84 is pure hell. I sat in stand-still traffic for almost two hours until I couldn't take it anymore. After getting alternate directions from my mom I got off the highway, drove 10 minutes...and got stuck behind an accident. At this point my blood was boiling. I was tired, I was hungry and my butt hurt from sitting so long. I said, the hell with it, I was two exits away from where I needed to be. I'd just get back on the highway and deal with it.

So that's what I did. And wouldn't you know that not five minutes later the traffic broke and I was on my way. The cause of the traffic? NOTHING!!!! No accident, no exit, no merge. Nothing. I hate I-84.

As for shopping, I got gifts for Michael's mother, the children she's fostering, my aunt and gifts for Michael to give to people. I even got something for me. I've wanted a reed diffuser forever but couldn't find one. I thought it would be so nice for my desk at work. And this weekend Pier 1 was having a big sale and had them! Yay! And I bought new pillows for the couch because I am oh so domestic.

All and all a great weekend. And it was so nice to come home to Michael and the big dog yesterday. Kodiak nearly knocked me over with kisses when I came in the door. So cute! And Michael was full of I love you's and hugs and kisses and I know he missed me.

And now that Thanksgiving is over it is officially time for Christmas music, candles in the windows and a wreath on the door.

I love the holidays.

Have I Mentioned I Hate Bad Drivers?

I was still in my post-adolescent funk last night when I started the drive home from work. It was dark. It was raining, but not that hard. Not hard enough to justify the driving that I encountered the whole way home.

First there was the Creepy Crawly.

The driver that inches their way along the road at least five miles under the speed limit. Their wipers are on top speed (even though it's just a step above drizzling) and if you're close enough, you might be able to make out the top of clear plastic bonnet covering white hair.

Next came Big Truck You Cannot See Around. (BTYCSA)

BTYCSA drives in the left lane. He usually has some large equipment in his cab or things tied down under a tarp. He's going a mile or two under the speed limit but remains in the left lane. He also stays right next to the person in the right lane so there is no chance of getting around either of them. His massive size will not allow you too see around him or through his wind shied, so you have no idea what's going on in front of him. And he kicks up so much dirt and water that you have to use your wipers even though it's not raining that hard.

Then there was He Who Does Not Know Blinker Is On.

Blinker Boy will put on his blinker and get in the lane next to you. He will then continue to drive for miles with it on...blink, blink, blink. Is he turning? Is he going to cut me off unexpectedly? Does he hear the incessant BLINK, BLINK, BLINK?

And finally, my least favorite encounter of the evening: Mrs. Mini Van.

I HATE MINI VANS. I have never come across a person driving a mini van that was a good driver. They usually fall into one of two extremes:

One: They are so slow. There is a gaggle of children inside, toys are being thrown, stickers are all over the windows and they are just basically in your way.

Two: They are maniacs. They have a soccer ball decal on their back window, a "My Child Is A (insert school here) Honor Roll Student!" bumper sticker, they're talking on their cell phone and they are FLYING. I cannot tell you how many times I've been tailgated by a mini van only to have them soar by me going 80.

Put this all together over the course of a 40 minute commute and you have me gripping the steering wheel and taking deep breaths.

I better not encounter this again tonight. I spent an hour in the gym releasing my road rage last night and I'm too sore to go back today.

How To Annoy Me

This past weekend was spent in Vermont with Michael and the dog. It was so nice to nap on the couch, walk in the crisp mountain air and not answer the phone. I even got to indulge in maple sugar candies which are soooo good.

But four hours in the car each way did not make me happy. Don't get me wrong, I loved the time with Michael. Actually, driving with him is something I really enjoy. But when faced with a four hour trip, there is bound to be some mishaps along the way.

On the way to VT we hit traffic in Massachusetts. Some type of bridge work that really should have been done in the middle of the night, not on a Saturday afternoon. Really.

The main reason for the holdup was that two lanes had to merge into one. There was a big orange sign that said "RIGHT LANE ENDS ONE MILE" that most people took to mean the right lane was ending.

But not all people.

No. Not Ms. Mini-van. (Have I ever written about how much I hate mini-vans? No? Remind me to.) Ms. Mini-van was so concerned about getting ahead just a few more feet that she would speed up in the right lane and try to pass all of those (specifically us) who had followed the sign and gotten in the left lane. Luckily for us, the guy in front of us wasn't having it either. He straddled the middle line just enough so she couldn't pass him and we stayed right behind him so she couldn't get in front of us.

But she wouldn't let up. There she was, right next to me rolling her eyes and getting agitated. And I had enough. My window was down. I turned around. I may have thrown my hands in the air. And said "you're going to get in an accident! Get over it and get behind us!"

Another eye roll, but she got behind us. Michael was surprised at my passenger-seat road rage. But HONESTLY. Some people.

On the way home we hit traffic again. This time it appeared to be for no reason, until....Oh. I-84. How I loathe you 84. The worst leg of the trip when I head home to NY and here it is again, dumping traffic onto 90 when all I want to do is get home!

We decided this would be a good time for a pee and snack break so we pulled off into a rest area. You know, a fancy one, with a McDonalds and a Papa Johns. And an Auntie Anne's Pretzels. Like I said, fancy.

We parted towards our respective bathrooms. I waited for a stall and when one of the doors opened, the girl coming out looked and me and kept on going. So I went in. And saw that she hadn't flushed. What? Ew. What is wrong with people?

I wasn't about to wait again so I flushed it for her as I pressed myself against the door willing her excrements to stay in the bowl and away from me. When I was done I went out to wash my hands.

Sink #1, no soap. Sink #2, no soap. Sinks 3, 4, AND 5....NO SOAP! Sink #6 finally had soap and it was the icky rest stop smelling soap. You know, the pink kind.

Michael was waiting for me when I came out and we were hungry so we decided to get a pretzel. Well apparently they don't make the parmesan anymore (the best kind) so I settled for a regular and he chose a cinnamon sugar.

"We only have one regular right now, but we have an almond one," said the cashier.

"That's it?" Michael asked.

"We're making more now," she replied. "They'll be ready in about seven minutes."

I'd be damned if we were going to stay in that rest stop for another seven minutes.

"We'll take the regular," Michael said.

Can I just tell you that the regular was dinky and unsatisfying. What ever happened to big, doughy pretzels?

The rest of the trip was uneventful. The dog made up for lost time in his yard by running around and barking at the sky. I made dinner and we settled in for some Sunday night TV.

A great weekend. Minus the traffic.

And the pretzel.

Morning Thoughts

*Every day on my way to work I pass the same car. A white Intrepid with four bumper stickers: 94 HJY, B101 and two Sushi Go stickers.

He's usually driving about five miles slower than me and we usually glance at each other as I pass him. One co-commuter to the next.

Today, however, things were a little different. As I merged onto Rt. 1 I saw a car quickly approaching in my rear view mirror. Suddenly, Mr. Bumper Sticker flew by me, looking directly at me as he did. I was so surprised! Was he late? Did he see it was me and decided today would be the day he was the faster car? Was this an invitation to rumble?

Ten minutes later I strolled on by him, as he had slowed down to his usual speed. I don't get it.

*I also passed a school bus with tinted windows. Tinted Windows! When did school buses get pimped out?

I heard that Snoop Dog coaches some youth football league and pimped out their bus like no other. Speakers in the seats, flat screen TVs. Maybe the Westerly School District is taking cues from the Dog himself. What's next? Gin and juice boxes?

Thoughts on the way to work

Lady in the SUV who nearly killed me: please don't throw your hands up in agitation when I honk my horn at you. You started coming into my lane while you were NEXT TO ME. Not in front, not behind. Next to. If I had been smashed into the guard rail, it would have been your fault.

Man on cell phone: You look funny talking into your head set. You know they make little ear pieces now? You don't need that telemarketer looking head set with the microphone wrapped around your face. Also, please talk in the right lane. Talking on your phone makes you drive slow.

Person in silver Accord: This is one of those things I will never understand. You were driving in the left lane. You were going slow. Myself and my fellow commuters passed you. On the RIGHT. That means you were driving really slow. After a couple miles I see this silver blur come flying up behind me and sail past me down the road. It was you! What the hell? 45 to 80 mph for no reason?

Man merging onto 95: You probably couldn't see me behind you with all that junk in your car, but dude, you're merging onto a highway. That implies that you must move a tad faster than you would if you were merging onto, oh I don't know, a dirt road. Oh yeah, and your bumper sticker, "My other car is my Berkinstocks" doesn't make sense. I understand your crunchy joke, but really.

Lastly, what is with these lyrics? Your arms are my castle/your heart is my sky/they wipe away tears that I cry.

So is it the arms or the heart that's wiping away the tears? Wouldn't you use hands to wipe away tears? I guess I can understand that the arms are like coming home (to your castle), but your heart is my sky? What?

I just love being a commuter.

So there.

Dear Route 1,

This has been a long time coming. Don't act surprised. While in the scheme of things our relationship hasn't been very long, I'm going to be the adult here and tell you: It's just not working.

I have decided to end our relationship. Since I do have to use you every day to get to work we will still see each other. But I will pass over you without so much as a smile. Don't worry about making awkward small talk. You are dead to me. Here's why:

1. All the on and off ramps, cross-overs and turn-arounds. I just don't get it. Who thought it would be a good idea to have someone get on you from the right, then have to shoot across two lanes of traffic to reach the turn-around to head the opposite direction? I don't appreciate that. If I'm in the right lane and see someone merging it is instinct for me to get in the left lane. How annoyed I am everytime that person cuts me off to turn around! Oh, and having them come to a halting stop in the left lane while people are coming up behind them going at least 60? Bad.

2. No lights. Not one lamppost to be found. You could at least have reflective paint or those plastic reflectors in the dotted line. You are a main road! Get with the times. Do you know how difficult it is to see at night, especially when it's raining

3. Which brings me to....improper drainage system! This is New England. We get rain....which has to go somewhere. Letting it pool into the right lane is not the best option. I really don't like hydroplaning.

4. Cops. They're everywhere. They don't even hide anymore. Have they given up on you too?

5. The blood stain. It's still there. I was sitting in that traffic jam the day the motorcyclist got hurt. That was weeks ago. Please, please, please clean it up. I cringe every time I drive by it.

I hope you understand why we can't be together anymore. Just remember, it's not me. It's you.

Randomness

Seen driving home from work:

A red Chevy 4x4 with a beat up cap. "Just Married" written all over the windows. White ballooons filling up the cab.

This truck's got big balls" bumper sticker on the tailgate.

Sounds like quite the catch.