The Commute

Welcome to Friday. The day all is supposed to go well. And, for the most part, people are just relieved the weekend is so close. The work day sort of dribbles by, but as soon as the last minute is over, the pupils dilate, the pulse quickens, the senses tingle. It's either the heroin kicking in or the weekend beginning (for some, it may be both).

But, if you live in Connecticut like me, you know that the minute your car is out of the parking garage and onto public streets, the feeling dissipates. Gone are the ideas that were flooding you moments earlier with plans to start the weekend. Instead, brake lights are slapped in front of your eyes, as if to say, "Oh, silly you. You know this happens every Friday, yet you still anticipate me, whether you know it or not."

If you know back roads, you're at least moving along...but nine times out of 10 you're stuck behind someone who could care less about your need to feel the wind whipping through your hair, driving 45 in a 25 mph cop-less road. The car in front of you doesn't even has its brake lights on, yet you're still pumping your brake because sheer momentum seems to pull your car faster than the one in front of you. When they turn off you have a whole 23 seconds of freedom! You go for the gas pedal, you know these roads well enough, there are no brakes involved! And then, damn. Another one. These are YOUR back roads! How dare someone try to claim them for themselves and their slow vehicles.

The luck is no better on the highway. In fact, as you're inching along, plans for the weekend begin to be replaced by listing things you'd rather be doing than sitting in traffic. None of which are even remotely close to giving you the same misery going 11 exits in an hour and a half does. (This is Connecticut we're talking about; I realize that in some states where 11 exits in an hour and a half is a miracle and should be praised--I'm looking at you, upstate New York!) Somehow, you would trade your right hand to be on the floor of your bathroom using whitening toothpaste on grout instead of stuck in traffic.

An hour into your commute home, you go through the same weekly questions in your head: Should I move closer to my job? Should I find a job closer to me? If I went back to work at Carvel, could I somehow still pay my mortgage? (OK, the last one may just be me...)

You make a pact to look into your options when you get home, if you get home. This is, of course, in vain because once you get home, you're so happy to be there, the thought of looking for another job just seems ridiculous. You enjoy your job (or at least tolerate it). The commute only gets to you one day out of the week. How hard is that? You survived it before you'll survive it again.

Then you see the clock. It's two and a half hours later than you actually left. Your Friday night had such hope, such promise. But, now it seems wasted. Your energy level is shot. You don't even have the energy to think about trying heroine, just to see if you can bring back that fresh 5 o'clock feeling instead of the sloth-like 7 o'clock slump.

You wait for your third wind to hit. 7:30. Nothing. 8 p.m. Nothing. The phone is starting to ring with offers for the night, but nothing really gets you up and going. You'd rather sulk about your commute just ruining everything.

Three hours since work and what have you accomplished? Getting yourself home. In one piece. Without causing a lawsuit because you threw your water bottle at an old woman going one mile below the speed limit. (I know, I know, she totally deserved it. Especially when she stopped right before the light ahead turned yellow when she could have easily run it, with you on her tail.) Without even being that guy who decides he can't wait any more and drives five miles on the shoulder, almost careening into a Jersey barrier when the shoulder unexpectedly ends.

Well, when you put it that way, you've accomplished a lot! You deserve a reward for your hard work and effort! You didn't have to let people merge onto the highway from the on ramps. You could have been the four out of five asshats on 95 who don't let anyone get in front of them, thinking they're saving themselves seconds off their rides home. Yeah! You have good karma coming to you! It's time to celebrate! It's time to get up and change out of your work clothes, which you realize was one of the things holding you back...slave clothes, more like it.

OK! You're ready! You're in the car! You pull out of your driveway and get onto the highway to visit some friends and...oh shit...Of course. No longer is the highway full of commuter traffic, it's now full of former-commuters like yourself who went through the same after-work slump you did and are now ready to go downtown and enjoy themselves.

And, once again, that old lady is in front of you. However, now she is, clearly, high as a kite on medical marijuana (not legal in Connecticut, by the way, but it's not like anyone would suspect her for possession). And you know this because she throws your water bottle back at you, only she has used some Popsicle sticks and a glue gun to turn it into a bong. Sassy bitch.

One more little rant

In my Google searches for "Becoming a Stepford Wife", "Learn to love cooking and cleaning", "Housework for Dummies", "Working wife cooking and cleaning tips" and "Donna Reed First Season DVD Cheap", I've reached the end of my rope (see previous post on why). Not even because I'm not finding what I need (other than the Donna Reed DVDs, but I realized I only wanted to watch the show, not learn from it), but because I keep seeing blogs and articles written by women who start off by saying, "I am a loving stay-at-home wife by choice."

This is uncharacteristic of me to say this, but what the hell are they trying to prove? Are they so threatened by their counter-equals, who send their kids to day care and want to earn their own money? Have career women completely moved ahead in time, leaving housewives to think they have to defend their choices at every turn? By choice. Phft!

If I had the choice, I would love to quit my job. I would write that book I always say I will. ... or at least start a new one every week, figuring that one will be better than the one I previously started. I probably wouldn't do anymore housework than I do already, in all honesty.

Sure, if I had kids, I would love to stay home with them. But I know it's not in my nature to do so; I need to be out. I need to have a purpose. I need a job. I need somewhere to go for eight hours a day, outside of the house. If not just for the appreciation I have for my house and my husband when I get home.

So, what I'm saying is, stop this "by choice" thing. I'm not judging you for staying home. That's fine with me, if that's what you want to do. I doubt your husband is telling you to stay home, although you're kicking and screaming to get out. But your "choice" of words is a way of putting a defense against those who aren't fighting with you. I'm not going to put down the fact you're home all day. In fact, I am looking at your articles because I don't have time to the trials and errors in cleaning and cooking you've probably already learned and are, therefore, qualified to be writing about!

That is all.

My First Angry Letter

I never wanted to write an angry letter to a corporation...until today. So, just so I can wake up tomorrow and make sure I actually did it, here's the evidence:

To whom it may concern: I recently heard a radio commercial for your upcoming show "United States of Tara". At first, I thought the idea was in bad taste, but I knew it would capture an audience and make money for you. I'm sure you've already gotten e-mails from those with DID and/or their family members. I don't have any first-hand knowledge of DID to form an opinion based on that. However, when I heard the line "Why can't she be manic depressive like other moms?" come out of what I can only assume to be the main character's stereotypical teenage daughter, I nearly slammed on the brakes on the highway. I understand it's something an uninformed, immature teenager would say. I also believe in the freedom of creative expression. But, I am also a daughter of a manic depressive, and I believe that the hurtfulness of that ignorant statement should be known. It's not easy growing up with a parent with any mental disorder. Making light of it may seem like a good idea, and maybe you were under the impression that if Steven Spielberg put his name on it, it's OK. I've been living for 25 years with a mother who, when I was younger would get so manic, she didn't even know who I was because of the disorder, and as someone who will never have the freedom to fully live my own life because of the obligation to always put my mother first, and as someone who had to grow up mighty fast so I could effectively take care of myself because I didn't have a full-time mother, ever. And, according to her family, I will always be a failure because I just can't give up my life and take care of her the way she needs to be taken care of. Needless to say, I didn't find the line funny, ironic, cute or even written with anyone else in mind except those who stand to profit from this show. As much as I would like to find the humor in the show's premise, I can't after hearing that line. At this time, I will let you know I do not have Showtime. If I do ever think about getting it, that one line will unfortunately stick in my mind as the No. 1 reason not to. Thank you for your time and consideration to this matter. I don't expect a response; in fact I would be somewhat surprised to receive a response written by an actual person, as I know how big your corporation is and how busy you must be. If anything is to come from this e-mail, I hope it's a little more sensitivity to the topic your dealing with (and, as a guilty pleasure for myself, a slap delivered to the teenage daughter with the audacity to say such a stupid comment). Thank you again.

Boycott Hugging

I've decided to give up hugging in 2009. Resolution No. 11. The only person I want to hug unconditionally is my husband. And maybe family, however my dad's side doesn't hug and I like it that way. Lately, every time my husband and I go to the bar, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach because I know I'll be in for a lot of hugging. Maybe it's the theater crowd who usually go, and their inclinations to hug because "none of us got enough love in our childhoods". But I, on the other hand, "could never be a [hugging] person!" This will be a crusade, maybe even a T-shirt I'll make, that will go on all year long.

Reasons:

1. Just because fat people give good hugs doesn't mean we like doing it.

Hugging a fat person is like eating comfort food: we're warm, we're soft, we're squishy, we're full of carbs and cheese. But that doesn't mean we like doing it.

2. A smile and maybe a wave will suffice.

I saw you come in, don't worry. I'm aware of your presence. I will greet you accordingly.

3. A hug is just a cheap thrill for people in need of being touched.

Get a significant other. Or a puppy.

4. A line usually forms. No one likes lines.

What are you, the DMV? I have to wait in line to hug you? Forgive me for not rushing to do so right away.

5. Some people take it a little too far.

A hug, I can tolerate. What next? We'll become European and kiss on both cheeks? Hell, why don't we put together little beds and have sex as a way of greeting!

6. Maybe I don't like you that much.

OK, this is on the cruel side, I know. But, let's face it, in everybody's circle of friends, there are the people that are inevitable that you can't really get rid of completely. And, in order to keep the sanctity of the group, all must hug or else the drama will start.

7. "Didn't I just see you yesterday?"

Honestly, I can understand hugging if you haven't seen the person in a while. But, every time? I see most of these people on a semi-regular basis. Must the hugging insanity continue?

8. Spot the fake hug.

What's the point of giving hugs at all when there are so many so-called huggers who phone it in? There are the huggers who stick their asses out for all to see, as if they needed another excuse to do so. There are the one handed huggers who could care less (they should be the first to jump on my bandwagon). There are the bros with the handshake/backslap hug. Just admit it: you're not hugging people either!

9. Dress appropriately.

Don't come to me in the middle of January, wearing some Forever 21 skanky shirt and think you deserve a hug. I could show off the goods too, you know--although, Forever 21 hasn't made a shirt that accents my "sparkling personality" yet. But layers should be appreciated and implemented.

10. Ask yourself: "Do I really need a hug?"

Your dog died. Hug. You got into a car accident. Hug. You're just in a bit of a funk. Hug. Sometimes, you just need a hug. And that's FINE. When that happens, give me a call and I'll be the first in line to smother you with my carbs-and-cheesey goodness. There are reasons for hugs, but the overuse of hugs is just getting a little too redundant for me, thank you.

I am looking into the prospect of making this a national campaign, don't worry. boycotthugging.org is not a taken domain, just in case anyone would like to take this to the web, hint, hint. For now, however, I'll just wait for the facebook groups to start...

Free? I Love Free!

After my husband and I paid our mortgage for the month and I paid for my car to be fixed (hmph!), we realized that for the next two weeks, we are broke. Oh, so broke. So anything we can get for free, we will.

Thank goodness for Gun N' Roses (stupid band, doesn't know how to use an apostrophe correctly). Dr Pepper (another punctuationally-inept company) promised everyone in the United States a free can of the carbonated deliciousness, but only if you register today.

Register for a free can of Dr Pepper.

Of course, everyone wants a free Dr Pepper, hense the site is extremely slow to load today. I'm still waiting for the coupon page to load.

So, WHY is Dr Pepper giving away a free can? (And why are so many people excited about this when they can go to Wal-Mart and get a can of Dr. Thunder for 35 cents?)

Well, I don't really care about the reason, but it has something to do with the release of Guns N' Roses CD that's been 10 years in the making. And some corporate guy at Dr Pepper said something to the effect of "Well, if it's done in 2008, I'll be shocked. I'll give away a can of Dr Pepper to everyone in the United States." And Guns N' Roses must like it when they can stick it to the man...or something like that. I don't know how anti-establishment GNR are.

But, let's examine this apostophe catastrophe in Guns N' Roses name for a bit. Now, when you use an apostrophe in shortening a word, the apostrophe stands in place of letters missing. If Guns N' Roses wanted to really be short for Guns And Roses, the apostrophes would be on EITHER SIDE of the "N".

e.g. Guns 'N' Roses. (which, if we were looking at capitalization, would stand for Guns aNd Roses, I guess)

If the apostrophe we before the "N", the band name would mean Guns iN Roses. Hhhmmm. Glad they didn't go for that, I guess.

However, GNR used just one apostrophe after the "N", but clearly they're trying to make the bands name sound like they're saying "and" with the N'. But, if we bent the grammar rules a bit, the apostrophe could stand for anything. However, there are very few two-letter words that begin with N. I can only think of "No".

So, with that theory, GNR would stand for Guns No Roses. HOWEVER, if that were the case, Guns N' Roses forgot one more peice of important punctuality: a comma! Technically, it should be Guns, No Roses.

So, there you go!

Sorry, it really sucks knowing these rules sometimes. It's like, why did these rules have to stick in my brain, but no one else's? And I understand creative freedom to name a band whatever one wants...but, come on! It's wrong!

And now I'll get off my soapbox and leave ranting about the desecration of the English language for some other post.

...free Dr Pepper! Still waiting for the page to load...

Let's NOT Do The Time Warp Again

Oh, look what MTV's got their filthy little mitts on now.

stoptheremake.com

I will not sign a petition, however. If they pick someone good for Frank N. Furter, I'll put it on my DVR. Someone like Perez Hilton or Patricia Arquette or...Miley Cyrus!

Quick opinion on the status of MTV: It's turned into the grandmother of television. When my generation first got a glimpse of the neon logo flashing in seizure-like fashion, we embraced it for its edge. We watched college kids on their spring break, half of them hot little numbers showing off their bodies, the other half sporting flannel shirts and Birkenstocks to the beach. We watched seven strangers who, holy crap, were actually very different and could get along, for the most part. We watched HOURS of music videos. We had special relationships with our VJs (I still love you, Kennedy!). We were taught and disciplined in the way of a revival of rock. (Yes, I consider the '90s a revival of sorts.) And, every once in a while, we would catch episodes of "Beavis Butt-Head" and, during the beginning of the end, the quick, but powerful, rise and fall of "Daria". And I know I'm not the only one who played along to "Singled Out"...but that was only to kill that half-an-hour before more music videos would introduce me to Pearl Jam, Counting Crows, Aerosmith, Blind Mellon and whatever else I have stored on my iPod and consider "nostalgia".

By the time "seven strangers" turned into "seven of the same people who like to fight", and only five videos were shown each day (TRL), and Carson Daly became a household name, I had already started watching VH1 on a regular basis. Hell, I still try and find new Pop-Up Videos on YouTube now and then. "Behind the Music" had me captivated. And once all the "I Love The..." shows came out, MTV could have fallen off the face of the earth, and I wouldn't have noticed. I call MTV the grandmother of television because I think when kids watch that crap, it's like going to grandma's house, and her letting you stuff your face with whatever shit you decide you want to eat. And grandma knows you'll have a stomach ache later, but by that time, you'll already be home with your parents and they'll have to deal with the whining and moaning. It's sweet revenge.

Yeah, so that was my rant. Oh! And don't tell me "Well, there's MTV Classic" or something like that. NO! When I turn on MTV, I want MY MTV.