Road Rage

I freaking love road trips. I think I tend to like the trip even more than the destination (but it's a nice bonus when the place is awesome too). I love seeing the other places people live, wondering what they do for a living, where they for a vacation, etc. Usually all we need for a good road trip is good music, plenty of things to look at, and a nice ratio of talking to silence. And actually, sometimes a good fight makes the time go by fast.

I hadn't been on a road trip in a while, so when we found out we had an excuse I was pretty excited. When the day (or night I should say) came we packed up the car and stopped at our usual gas station for fuel and our road-trip necessity snacks- pizza-pretzel Combos, something chocolatey, something fruity, energy drinks for Joe and water for me. Finally, we were off.

When we started, we were good: music was as easy-going as the conversation as we passed all our landmarks. Road trips for us operate very much like any other mission- Joe is the driver, responsible for getting us there, knowing when to get gas, take break, and what music is played. My role as co-pilot is to simply keep him comfortable and awake (and occasionally pass him food or drink). We both take our jobs seriously and I have gotten remarkably good at being able to gauge when to start a conversation and when things ought to be quiet. Since we got such a late start, and Joe already mentioned he was tired before we even left the gas station, I knew that I'd have to do some talking every once in a while just to keep him from nodding off.

So when we came upon an especially boring view, I found myself bringing up simple topics to talk about (you know, the kind that require some thinking but have a small answer). But since he was showing signs of grumpitude, I figured I'd answer my own question...merely to keep the car from being silent, and therefore, easy to fall asleep.

We passed a large back-up of cars and when they were out of view I remembered a similar time when Joe and I were driving back somewhere and on the other side of the highway was such a terrible accident that the back-up damage extended for miles and miles. And then I wondered something aloud...

"I wonder what people do when their cars are all backed up like that."

"What do you mean?," Joe said abruptly.

"Well," I continued, "what do you suppose people do when they are stuck in such a terrible traffic jam for hours and hours?"

"They stay in their car," Joe said defiantly.

"No way," I said. "People can't stay in their cars for hours upon hours. What if it's cold and they know there's no chance they are gonna get their car out for a while? They can't just stay there."

"What are you talking about, hun, it's ILLEGAL to abandon your car," he said.

I should have dropped it then and there. But for some reason, I felt like he was baiting me, and honestly, I felt like taking him on. I knew it was going to be a pointless debate (or as I call it when Joe gets like that, "Mental Chess") since he wasn't going to relent his point without taking me around first.
I held my own, I think. I came up with some valid points, even trying to knock his theories out with scenarios of my own. But in the end, as we were practically yelling our sides over the other, I realized I was getting more annoyed than passionate about my point. I suddenly fell silent.

"You're just being a grouch," he said, again trying to bait me, but this time trying to make me forget what we were arguing about. Still I was silent.

"You're not allowed to be a grouch"

Silent.

"That's it, I'm dropping you off at that scary Bates' Motel looking thing in Frackville."

Silent some more. He waited a few minutes and then spoke back up.

"I just don't understand what the people trying to get by would do if you left your car," he said, trying to flush out the last of my arguments.

"You're just trying to have the last word, so I'm gonna be the adult and let you have it," I said simply. This actually led to us both trying to let the other have the last word, until we were both silent for a little while. Finally, as I continued to play my alphabet car game (something Joe hates) and spotted a letter I had been waiting for, Joe joined in helping me find other letters. Then we knew the fight was over.

Happily, as I looked at the clock, the fight had altogether eaten up almost an hour. We drove the rest of the way, with no incident. I later told Joe I think he purposely picked that fight.

"How could I have? YOU asked the question," he said. But I knew that he was glad for it. Not only did it help pass the time, but it helped chase away any fatigue he was feeling. Plus, I'm a big believer in fighting helping a relationship (not so much that you are screaming at the person everyday). Every now and then people need to sharpen their claws and doing it on each other not only opens communication, it really helps to de-stress.

As I'm typing this I am lounging on a bed at Joe's parents house in upstate NY. Sadly, we are already going to have to leave tomorrow, but it's been a nice visit. His mom and dad are awesome, and it's such a different atmosphere up here. But I am actually looking forward to the drive back. At least we'll be leaving a bit earlier, so we can see more sights, we'll be less tired...and JOE won't be such a grouch. Guess that's the nice thing about having a blog...I ALWAYS get the last word, lol.

Thank You for Being a Friend, Blanche

And then there was one...As I was sadly informed by my sister a few mere moments ago, Rue McClanahan died suddenly of a stroke today. I know, I'm distraught too. But in times like these it is important to remember what made the people we loved so special.

Like many of you, I was/am/shall forever be a die hard Golden Girls fan (or a GGF as we like to say in the community). I can say with little exaggeration that I have seen every episode at least 6 or 7 times (probably more in the earlier seasons, which I found to be the best quality).

All of the girls were wonderfully unique, but Blanche practically began a revolution. No, not in her bed-hopping (though she certainly opened the doors for our Grandmas to become Samanthas), it was with her huge printed tops, candy-colored jewelry, and ever-changing do. Yes, Blanche, you brought us kicking and screaming into 80s and 90s fashion. And we loved it.

So, in honor of this icon, I bring you some of the best/worst/awesome fashions from the one, the only, the incomparable...Blanche Elizabeth Devereaux.

Ok, so this is obviously from the opening credits, and is our first introduction to Mrs. Devereaux (also this is the pilot episode where Blanche agrees to marry a man who ends up being arrested for polygamy- don't worry girlfriend, you still got a beautiful brown fur and light pink nightie that looks like it came off of the Barbie for Big Girls collection to keep you warm.) Also note this unfortunate duck ass hairstyle, which Blanche thankfully only dons the first season.

This look may have been recycled (oh who am I kidding, Blanche doesn't wear sloppy seconds) but I'm fairly certain this is from the episode where Blanche goes on a date with Ted, Dorothy's ex-husband Stan's brother, but who casts her off for Dorothy. Shocked? So was Blanche, and so were we. I mean, who can resist the wiles of a woman wearing a patchwork blouse and thick dangly blue earrings that could choke a farm animal? It was totally Ted's loss.

I can't right off pinpoint which episode this one is from, but I can tell that it was during the Mullet Incident of '89, '90. She is just barely forgivable but since she's wearing a lovely shade of purple with a black undershirt, and accented chunky earrings, we'll let the hair slide. (FYI: Blanche can actually wear any color, and at times, tries to do so in one outfit...of course occasionally she'll opt for the complete one color head-to-toe option. Depends on if Mel Bushman is in town.)

Don't look so disappointed, Blanche. So you missed the chance to meet Burt Reynolds and Loni Anderson (while they were relevant) because you booked a room at a hotel where they use prostitutes and you and the girls were caught up in a bust. At least you have your health...and the chance to look like a male Flamenco-dancing drag queen. And don't mind Dorothy and Rose, they are just jealous (as always).

We have lost more than a television show character. We have lost a woman who defined a trend, so much so that whenever we see something heavily sequined, elaborately flowy, or blindingly colorful, we shall always think of the woman. But besides the obvious fashion, we had a woman showing us that just because the engine's old, doesn't mean it stops running. She showed us how to be active, in more ways than one, and that as long as you have good people by your side, you'll never end up at Shady Pines alone. Blanche, thank YOU for being a friend.

p.s. Betty White, congrats! You have won "The Golden Girls Death Pact Survivor Extravaganza". You can pick up your $100 cash and gift certificate to Golden Corral at your local JCPenney's.

For Memorial Purposes

Since Memorial Day just passed (and I was too lazy to write anything yesterday) I'm going to use that as my theme for tonight. Although instead of just writing my thoughts on veterans or America, I thought I'd do something a little bit more personal mixed in with the basic principles associated with the military: teamwork, bravery, responsibility, and compassion.

I realized I am slowly entering that age where names and faces of my past are becoming fuzzy. The lines between what ACTUALLY happened and what I think are starting to disintegrate, and so in an effort to help my problem I am going to utilize this web-diary thing to jot down some memories so that they are forever documented (and hopefully if I can pin down these thoughts it will help to always anchor additional ones).

So, in the vein of remembering what our heroic soldiers stand for, here are the things I hope to always remember...

1. Coach/Mr. Ullmeyer- My cross-country coach. He might actually be the reason I started to think about this as a good topic. I was jogging the other day and still trying to remember the breathing techniques he taught me. Granted, I lasted for just the season, and was consistently bringing up the rear, it still felt awesome to be part of something (especially since my high school years mostly consisted of trying to evaporate into the background).

2. My sister calling me brave- I doubt she would remember this, but for some reason I never forgot (and hopefully now I really never will). On one of our many little family road trips, we went to a water park (most likely Dorney Park and Wildwater Kingdom). Anyway, as usual I put up a fight to go on any of the slides. I was (and still to this day) terrified of heights AND losing control so choosing to toss my slippery body down an even MORE slippery chute didn't really rank high on my To-Do list. However, being with my sisters I definitely wanted to keep up. And after a few I started to gain some confidence (once I figured that the bolts holding the tube in place weren't going to pop-out suddenly and send me 3 stories to the ground), I actually started to have fun. So much so that I VOLUNTEERED to go on the next big slide. Without hesitation I climbed to the top of the stairs and before I knew it I was careening back all the way to the pool below. Truthfully, I was a little scared when I felt myself lifting up due to some unexpected drops, but the fact that my big sister Hillary told me she was proud was well worth it.

3. Marshmallow- my pet bunny. There was a time when we were kids that we all decided we wanted our own pets. We loved our dog, Abby, but I guess her novelty began to wain (especially since she wasn't allowed upstairs, in the living room, OR family room). I can't remember who got theirs first, but Hillary had her pet bird, Iago, while Lindsay had Bernard the Hamster (and yes they are both characters from Disney movies--does that prove we were brainwashed or the fact that Hillary had over 20 Disney figurines in her room...or maybe that I used to watch the promotional video they sent us like an actual movie...yeah, you got us you evil evil corporation). Anyway, since they had their feathered and furry friends (and I was sick of flushing two-day old dead goldfish) my mother finally promised me a rabbit for my birthday. Before that time, however, we had some tragedies: Iago was found dead at the bottom of his cage one morning, while Bernard made a truly miraculous escape (only to be found alive in our neighbors garbage can while they were taking out the trash) but died a few days later--there's something very poignant about that, or maybe I'm still hung up on the Lost ending. Anyway, to soothe their pains (or just to butt in on MY thing) they got rabbits as well: Hillary's was a grey and white one she named Thumper (stick your royalties up your ass Disney). Lindsay's, a chocolate brown one, had a Prince/The Artist Formerly Known as Prince thing going on since she changed the name from Brownie to Fuzzhead every other week. Mine was simple- Marshmallow- named so b/c of her all white fur. When I first spotted her she looked one of those magician rabbits, yet she was so soft and fluffy she just reminded me of the white candy. Also, she had these crazy hot-pink eyes (which I guess means she was albino), which def sold me. I used to love to put her on my chest and stroke her while I was reading on our back porch during the summer. But as tends to happen, the reality of actually caring for an animal began to set in. We neglected them a bit and then one day my mom told me Marshmallow was sick. I was upset but didn't know what to do. I went out to stroke her from time to time, but to see her look so skittish and yellow (no longer the vibrant white) broke my heart so much I couldn't bear going out to see her. Finally, my mom came to pick me up from school one bright afternoon, and turned around in the driver's seat.


"Honey, Marshmallow died."

Of course I cried a bit, feeling not just the loss but a huge amount of guilt. I felt responsible for her death (ironically due to my irresponsibility). Lately I've been really pushing for us to get a dog, which makes me think alot about ol' Marshmallow. Hopefully the mistakes I made with her won't be repeated, but I'm sure the love will be.

4. Remembering to never judge a book...- There was a girl in high school named Julie Hoffmann that sat near me in French class. She had honey blond hair and always wore thick black eyeliner. She was new, so since there was an open seat near me Ms. Ennis assigned her there. We never spoke too much, only occasionally when she had to pass something to me or borrow a pencil. But when we did lightly chat I figured she was nice enough. As it turned out, she was also in my English class, though we sat further away. I noticed some kids chuckling and realized they were doing so at Julie. I felt awful, but being that I was pretty low on the social totum pole myself, I said nothing (I probably even joined in, knowing my cowardice). And when we found out that she had died suddenly in an awful car accident, I felt I could never really forgive myself. I tried to assuage my guilt thinking I never really knew her, so what was I supposed to do? I had that same laissez-faire attitude with another student at school. It was right after the Columbine tragedies and one student was accused of planning to harm the school. Wanting to appear under control while at the same time preventing any law suits we were unofficially given liberal leave, which many of us took advantage of--only to go to the nearest hang out and talk about who it was. I joined in, like a lemming off a cliff, into the badmouthing and criticizing. I thought I wouldn't think about it again until I actually met the guy, and realized how foolish I had been. We ended up having mutual friends and began to hang out once in a while. He is not only one of the most laid back yet passionate people I have ever met, he is also the bravest. He enlisted into the army and went overseas for long extended periods of time, often in frightening areas. It makes me sick to think how I could have been so close-minded and judgmental when I didn't even know what a tremendous guy he is. I have sadly lost touch with him since I moved to Baltimore, but I always think of him whenever I see the posters or commercials for the army...and wonder what lucky person is getting a lesson on acting or horror movie trivia from him.

There are tons of memories that I would like to lock up somewhere safe, but I figured this is a good start- and it goes along with the Memorial Day theme, don't you think?

If this one was a little on the depressing side, fear not. I had to get this one off my pathetically small chest, but I got a whole bag of crazy for youall. Until tomorrow then fan-a-reenos!

Urine Trouble

Yes yes I know, this may be the most tasteless blog I've written. But I figure, who am I kidding? I'm not writing The Grapes of Wrath here, and I have the rest of my life to be buttoned-up and old. I promise, I'll try to use as much innuendo and as many puns as possible. And if you still don't like it, well, I'm allowed to have a miss every now and then. And if you are REALLY offended, well...you prob don't get me.

So you with me? Let's begin.

Despite the fact that I'm not a fan of camping, bugs, or not showering every day, I still don't consider myself a girly-girl. I'm clueless with fashion, I don't have to get my nails and hair done every month, and with a few exceptions I have a small tolerance for chick flicks. However, when I've had to go, I'm not above doing it in the woods, behind a dumpster, or even off a building (yes, a building). And any of these times were done so out of absolute necessity. Allow me to explain...

One time my sister, cousin, and a few others I think were tailgating at PNC Bank Arts Center in Jersey for a concert. We ended up parking WAY beyond the center, pulled out some beers and chairs and began getting hyped for the show. After a few we realized we had to go desperately. Of course, the nearest Port-O-Potty was a good distance away; the woods however was only a few yards. So there we were, armed with a red cup and a person standing keeping watch. Not my classiest moment, but I can tell you I felt a helluvalot better. It was also the first time I really felt a break in the chain of being a "girl". Usually guys have the upper-hand (pun intended?) in peeing outside, but we proved it can be done.

The next time was on a return trip from dancing at the gay bar in D.C. My friends Lauren, Erica, Mike, and I huddled back into the car and began trying to figure out our way back. As luck would have it we realized we were getting lost. Meanwhile, I felt nature calling and it was not leaving a message. We pulled off into a gas station to gain our bearings, and I hopped out looking for the bathroom. We seemed to have found the only NON 24 hour gas station that exists, and after spending as many seconds I could finding the bathroom I ended up crouching behind the dumpster. Did I feel like total white-trash? Certainly. Did I feel better? Hell YEAH!

Finally, my proudest/most shameful experience was on the Fourth of July last year. Joe's friends were hosting a little barbecue on the roof of a building downtown. It was kind of a pain in the ass getting up there, but it was well worth it. We had a gorgeous view of the city, burgers on the grill, and of course, beer. After only a couple I started feeling the urge and began looking around for a solution. I could try getting down and going all the way through to the nearest bathroom (but if getting up there was scary, trying to get back down--with a small buzz going--seemed a little too treacherous). His friend suggested I just go ahead and pee over the side of the building since it overlooked an alley. At first I refused. But as the minutes, and urine, mounted I started getting desperate. To make a gross story short, I did what I had to do. And even though I might have lost a little self-respect, I saved myself from a dangerous climb down, as well as further damage to my kidneys.

It's not really fair that guys can go anywhere at anytime. Girls have just as many urges and we sometimes need to go wherever is most convenient too. Hopefully these tales will allow we girls to urinate united. And for anyone that wants to judge, let she who has not peed in a place other than a cushy bathroom cast the first roll of t.p.

The Water Waiter

You know how they say that need is the mother of invention (at least I think that's the way that saying goes). Well, it really is true. On several occasions I will be doing something and right as I'm getting frustrated at it not working well or properly, I really want to look up into a camera and say, "There's got to be another way!"

Except what I actually need isn't around...at least, not yet. I've come up with some invention-ideas that, I think at least, are brilliant. Here are a few of my favorites...(oh yeah, and if anyone out there gets a hold of these ideas and actually CREATES them, I want a cut...I've got all 5 of these readers as witnesses)

1. The Water Waiter- This was prob the first idea I ever had. I remember it came me to while visiting my Nana and Pop's pool. They had all kinds of water toys like inner tubes and rafts, and usually my sisters and I would race for who would get what. And then we would proceed to float around for hours...except when we were hungry or thirsty. I always used to wish we had a floating cooler. But I didn't stop there. I thought about attaching small cup-holder things that would detach and had a small fan on each. They'd be powered much like a remote control car. A person could maneuver their drink right to them! Think about it...you're relaxing but really want a soda? Well, a person puts one in the cup holder and then it comes right to you! It's a water waiter! Yeah i know what the cons are: you need someone to actually put your drink in the holder, you need to remotely control a cup holder, and you need to put the control somewhere...and I'm sure there are scores of other things I'm not thinking of.

2. The Carpet Stick- Unlike the Water Waiter, this one Joe and I actually tried to make a prototype. I thought of this when I'd be vacuuming and noticed that our vacuum wasn't sucking up the smallest pieces of lint and hair. It was so annoying, all I kept thinking about was how I needed a lint brush. And then it hit me...I needed a giant lint stick roller that I could use on the carpet to pick up what the vacuum left behind. It seemed like such an obvious solution, yet I had never seen one. I told Joe and after he agreed at its ingeniousness, we went out to the Home Depot to buy a paint roller stick, a smaller hand-held paint roller, and alot of duct tape. I was all set to make an appointment with Black and Decker when we made a quick stop at Target...and then my hopes came crashing down. Right there in the sponge and broom aisle was EXACTLY what I had in mind. So with a heavy heart, and a speedy return of my supplies, I bought my own invention. And even though it satisfies the need I had, I can't help the pangs of bitterness I feel with each roll on the carpet.

3. The Hug Pillow (a.k.a. "The Huggie")- I thought of this one last night actually (and what sparked this blog). This may sound like Too Much Information, but I have the tendency to put pillows, blankets, or whatever between my knees when I'm trying to sleep. It's something about the pressure points there that makes it uncomfortable for me to sleep without some kind of support. However, I also like sleeping with my arms wrapped around something. I noticed that the shape of the pillows around me were almost a half circle. So what I needed was a circular-shaped pillow! I've tried "body pillows" before but they tend to be just longer pillows. I really want something that kinda cradles your whole body--kinda like a big Hug! (I can't imagine the Snuggie people passing this bad-boy up--be a great addition to bolster their faddish idea).

I doubt any of these get-rich-quick ideas will actually let me get rich or quickly. Besides the fact that I'm lazy, I have no clue on how to actually produce the mechanical aspects of them. Maybe I could just get a job at a think tank that pays me for my ideas. Oh well. Black and Decker, look me up...

Highway Crossing Bott

"Come on! Before they close!" Joe yelled to me from across York Road earlier tonight. At least, that's what I think he was shouting, as it was difficult to tell because of the constant whooshing of cars that separated us. I stood stranded by the car wash on the other side of the road, waiting for a break in the traffic. He finally came closer to the edge and yelled that there was nothing coming for miles. And with a quick glance to confirm (and a big breath of courage), I booked it like Flo Jo, for all 4 secs it took to cross the street. To further solidify that my fears were baseless, Joe proceeded to count the seconds before the next car came along (11 secs if you are wondering).

But it doesn't matter. People have all kinds of fears: heights, spiders, snakes...peaches (yeah, if you ever watched that episode of Maury- pretty sure it was Maury- you would know what I'm talking about. Apparently the girl was freaked out by the skin or something). So is it really so unreasonable that I have a small problem crossing streets? And since I have known a few people who have actually BEEN hit by a car, I'm gonna go ahead and continue to be absurdly cautious.

I don't really know where this fear first developed. I was never hit by a car, I never witnessed someone getting hit by a car, I never had a dog that got hit by a car. And yet, if you walk along with me outside and we come to a point where we need to cross the street, don't be surprised if it takes me an extra 20 min (and I get out some binoculars to check the horizon for headlights) before I budge.

My fellow study abroad friends found that out first hand when we toured around Europe. I had always heard that driving in foreign countries was a little crazier, so naturally my ability to cross the streets worsened. I'd take even longer checking back and forth for signs of cars, and waited like a sprinter waiting for the second the "Walk" sign lit up. As it turned out, in most of the major cities we visited, the driving tendencies weren't so different than the bustling of New York City. I learned fairly quickly the technique of huddling together within a large crowd (somehow the thought of being surrounded by soft bodies which would protect me from a careless driver comforted me..it's sick I know) and moving with them when they crossed the street was useful. For some reason either Alex or Jay has actual video footage of me trying to cross the street in Paris. I'm not sure which is funnier: the fact that it took me actual minutes to do it, or they felt compelled to film it.

After several years, Joe has become quite accustomed to this particular idiosyncrasy. I think it has gone from being a cute thing, to an oddity, to an annoyance, and finally to a defined characteristic. He even often jokes about how he wants to create a game similar to "Frogger " and call it "Highway Crossing Bott." I guess I should be glad that he has managed to accept this quality, but I really should still try to work on it. After all, it can't exactly be fun for people to want to keep moving while I'm stalling.

I guess that's how I tend to be with all things in my life: overly cautious, fear-ridden, and constantly looking to be mowed down. I need to try and be more bold and take a confident step forward, not be so terrified of what's eventually coming down the road. We'll see. In the meantime, I'll keep looking both ways...

Depth Imperception

I'm not THE clumsiest person in the world, but very often I seem to somehow miss the free space and aim right for the hard surface, be it a table, cabinet...wall.

And you would think since I've had glasses since I was 10 my eyes would have acclimated to my surroundings, but as the years progress I think I'm doomed to constantly dodge destruction.

I thought about that just now as I bent over in the shower and smacked my head on the subway tile. Then I did that automatic head jerk thing, as if the wall somehow just appeared and I really expected to go through it.

Something similar happened to me a week ago too, although this one hurt more. I was outside my car and leaning back in to grab my purse when my big-ass forehead hit the top of the car. Then I did that half-whine/half-laugh thing, and hoping to God no one was really watching.

I remember doing THAT same cry/laugh back in England while playing some soccer with my Englishmen buddies Matt and Dave, and Ashley. I slipped on a mud patch and went flying backwards, landing hard on my ass. I might've even started actually crying from the pain, but I'm pretty sure the tears were from laughing too (at least I hope).

Yet despite my accident-proneness, you may be surprised to know I haven't been in that many accidents in my car (knock on wood). And any I've had were just small bumps and scrapes, again, due to my crappy vision and perception.

One time, speaking of Englishman, was when Ashley, Bethany and I had to go pick Matt up from D.C. for a visit back in Baltimore. We were meeting our other friends at a coffee and S'mores cafe called "X and O's" (or as we mistakenly called it for a while, "Xando's"). I was pulling into a spot next to another car when I made the turn too wide and ended up screeching slowly into it.

"Ohh fuuuuck," I said as I tried to pull back out and redo my park job. We all jumped out of the car to check the damage and suddenly the guy in the other car popped out. I was all ready to dig out my registration and insurance info when the guy took a look around and said, "Oh, I did just do a paint-job...Ah, don't worry about it."

I went cold and stood ready for the onslaught of anger and watch my money float away but this attitude I wasn't prepared for. And then we realized what actually WAS floating through the air was probably the explanation. I couldn't believe this guy wasn't going to at least throw a couple of well-chosen curses my way, but then we smelled the wafting scent of pot emanating from his car. Actually, Matt was the first to notice that.

"Did you smell the weed coming from him? No wonder he didn't want to involve the cops," he said.

He seemed extremely calm and jovial, so I thanked him profusely. I didn't care if the guy was shooting heroin, I was just grateful that I saved myself a raise in my insurance, let alone whatever he would've wanted to repair the scratches.

But as I near my birthday I guess I just have to accept that the number of bumps and scrapes I acquired before will undoubtedly continue to grow...just like the thickness of my lens.