Resolutions...

Just a quick note, because it's 2:27AM EST. I had a lovely evening out with some of Cul's friends from work. I got to experience all that heavy metal had to offer, even got a steak and cheese sandwich out of it. Mind you, I'm not a heavy drinker, far from it. And tonight was no different. Two beers, neither of which I finished because I still don't really like beer. But both of which were ordered because they were Hunter Thompson beers (Flying Dogs, if you're interested...and really great labels, which is my favorite part).

So yes, I'm getting home late, and yes I have to work with loads of children at 9AM. But that I can deal with. Then the Saab starts acting up. I gave the blessed thing ten minutes to warm up, but still it insists on stalling all the way down 290. So I flip on the warning lights and pray for the best. Clearly, I got home fine.

But all I could think about was having to pull over and wait in the -10 degree weather for AAA to come. Then the world (in my paranoia) pulls a Bill-Cosby's-kid on me, and sends a "good samaritan" who pulls up behind me and proceeds to slaughter me. Now from all the Law & Order I've watched, the ME would have a hard time identifying my time of death because of the cold weather, but on the plus side it would also take me longer to bleed out because the unbelievably cruel New England weather would also slow blood loss.

New Year's resolution: Less Law & Order (sorry Stabler, I love you), and more car maintenence.

A man, a plan, a canal, panama

Keeping it short today because I had my Non-Fiction writing class tonight and I'm in hyper-editing mode-which is a nasty monkey on my back-right now. I will tell you a quick story though. Because it's absurd and I believe it's important to remember the absurdities on particularly mundane days.

Last semester there was a woman named Karen in my class. Karen, in another life, must have been a manicurist or held a world records title for longest fingernails because she would obsessively clip and file her nails, then proceed to trim her cuticles. No exaggeration. Not push them back, TRIM them. With the salon style clippers and everything. Personally, I don't think those things should be allowed on public transportation...see something, say something.

Ten or so minutes into class, after she'd finished her sandwich, out came the clippers. Somehow we always ended up sitting next to each other. No matter where I moved, there was Karen. The first time I witnessed this, I was curious. The following week I was disgusted. Fingernail clipping flew onto my papers and she just kept going at it. The amazing stunt came when she was able to offer feedback on my paper...while filing.

I've had the break to cool off, and now I find myself missing Karen. If we had class together this semester, I might even have asked her to buff and shine my nails. I think it was the lack of self-awareness I admire. I'm a fidget by nature. Hair twirling, toe tapping, knuckle cracking, the works. So maybe this semester I'll pick up a hobby to work on during class. I've given up on doodling and I usually like to stay focused. But maybe I could try my hand at some scrap booking mid-lecture.

Any ideas?

(It's actually making me very nervous to solicit ideas into the blogosphere, but I figure I'll have to get over it eventually, so I might as well face the beast now)

Baby, you can drive my car

There are many things I've learned as a commuter:

1. Always have a roll of quarters handy
2. Always carry a wad of ones, even at the risk of looking like you earned said cash in a solicitous manner
3. The lyrics to every Chaka Khan song...ever
4. The proper technique for creepily spying on the car stuck in traffic next to you (I recommend wrap around sunglasses)
5. As you approach any cop with a radar gun...start singing (this theory is still in the testing stages, so don't try it quite yet)
6. That blinkers are optional

Today though, all my hard earned knowledge was rendered useless in the way many things are rendered useless...my mother's voice in my head. Granted, the rains were torrential and my poor Saab gets knocked off course when I sneeze, but still...it shouldn't have taken me and hour and a half to get to school. And I probably didn't need to go 55 the whole way, but I did because my well intentioned mother always leaves me with these parting words:

"Be careful, it's slippery" (that's what she said...can't help it)

Back on track though. Yes, she always says this, or some version at least. The roads are terrible, it's icy even though it doesn't look it, etc... On cloudy days I'm warned about the ice on the road, or a possible storm so be careful of falling branches. On warm days I should look out for the fog. One day last May she was convinced there was black ice.

I believe driving anxiety to be a learned behavior, so it's no surprise that this paranoia has been ingrained in me, although my fears have manifested themselves in other ways. I consider myself pretty easy going, but behind the wheel I am generally a wreck. Weather is a factor I can handle. I will be the idiot you scream "it's only rain!" at as I scoot along highways. Feel free to pass, I will go no faster. Rain, sleet, snow, I can deal with. I'll be white knuckled and shakey, but I can deal with it.

What I can't ignore is the possibility that I will have a brain aneurysm while driving, careen across three lanes of traffic and meet my fiery doom at the guardrail. I know this is not a joke. No one takes this more seriously than I do because I've read the horrible stories of perfectly healthy twenty-somethings having aneurysms behind the wheel. And I'll never see it coming.

Or there's the chance that I'll get pulled over by what I think to be an unmarked cop car, only to find myself mugged and carjacked. This possibility leads to another problem. The cop pulling me over really IS a cop, but because of the paranoia that I've let fester for the past seven years, I ignore the sirens and wait to pull into a public area, only to be an unwitting participant in a high speed chase.

Fear breeds fear.

So while I've learned a lot driving around this fair state and holding my own against so many lovely Massholes, there are obviously problems I have yet to solve. Besides the practical/obsessive/insane/absurd ones I've listed above, I should probably spend my commuting time figuring out/quelling above paranoia, or quieting my mom's voice in my head.

Until then, I will patiently wait for the day when I will hire a driver,whose background I will have thoroughly investigated. We will have a relationship like in Driving Miss Daisy, I will teach him to read and he will teach me how to trust and reunite with the real world.

Until then...

I never read Kite Runner...and other confessions

Last week I finally got my hair cut...the woman found a bobby pin in the mass. I'm fairly certain there was more booty in there too, maybe a cork or a lost earring, luckily she had the tact to withold that from me.

The next day I discovered a parking ticket...in my sock drawer.

Then there was the ink stain on my boots because I dropped an old cartidge in my boot bucket (a post for another day, when I will finally admit and analyze how/why said boot bucket contains seven pairs of boots in various shades of brown)

Oh, and the popcicles that I forgot were in my trunk...when I went grocery shopping before Christmas.

Clearly, I've let myself go. Lucky for me my culinary companion had the good sense to draw my lacksidaisicality (real word?) to my attention, in his painfully blunt and annoyingly right way. So here's the sob story: I've found myself on this bleak Sunday in the middle of a graduate semester that I am totally unprepared, and unequipped for. I happen to (occasionally) write a blog about food, but the most exciting thing in my pantry is a box of sesame Wasa crackers and a vial of terribly expensive espresso powder...that I dropped all over the floor yesterday then carefully scooped back up after picking out the dog hairs.

Throw into the mix a looming (sort of) audition with an aerial dance company whose current members have bodies...well they fly around and balance on their heads all day, so you can only imagine. Panic + hunger + writers block = a very nasty me.

BUT...I've decided to make a conscious effort to post...ideally daily, realistically every-other-daily. Not writing for a professor, a boss, or more recently, a member of the Boston Transportation Authority. Just for me, or for you.