I thought about breaking out the vacuum cleaner earlier today to, well, assist with some much-needed household cleaning.
Handy as the vacuum is for scooping up dust and dirt particles, I am actually far better off without the vacuum.
Here's why: vacuums are heavy. Also, I am a klutz. Together, these two facets form a series of scenarios in which a fair degree of destruction might easily ensue, including, but not limited to, 1) five hundred things falling out of my closet during my attempt to remove the vacuum; 2) black marks in the hallway as a result of me losing control of the vacuum and banging it into the walls; and 3) certain lower body injuries caused by my inability to notice the very visible cord attached to the vacuum and avoid tripping over it.
Oh, and aside from all of that, the vacuum cleaner makes my dog go nuts. Not that I can blame him...if I were jolted from my sleep by the grinding sounds of a vacuum cleaner, coupled with a series of foul-mouthed shrieks from my owner as a result of incident #3 above, I'd also feel a little unsettled and probably act out accordingly.
So really, instead of using the vacuum, I think I'll do things the old fashioned way: get down on my hands and knees, and dust and scrub the dirt away. Either that, or hire a maid.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Alignment
Can somebody explain to me why every six to eight months or so, my car requires yet another alignment?
I got my car 2 years ago. It was brand new, and while not the fanciest kind out there, it's certainly a respectable model. Over the past year, I have, on 2 occasions, been faced with the following dilemma: either pay for an alignment or run the risk of accidentally becoming one with the adjacent lane of traffic the next time I'm out driving.
Now I realize that potholes and the like can cause your car to become misaligned, and since Central New Jersey sports its share of poorly-paved roads, it's no wonder that I'm slowly becoming a Pep Boys regular.
Still, I can't help but think that the whole concept of making drivers pay to maintain their respective car alignments is completely unacceptable. Shouldn't cars be designed in such a way that they can withstand a fair amount of road wear and tear?
Let's say you bought a car 6 months ago, fresh off the lot. If you were driving along in that car and all of a sudden, your engine failed, you'd find yourself sitting in the lounge area of the dealership, sipping coffee and snacking on crullers while your car got repaired, free of charge. But if you suddenly noticed your car pulling to the left, well, sorry buddy, that's all you.
I paid over a hundred dollars for my last alignment, and as I signed the paperwork, I asked the guy "So, do I at least get some sort of guarantee on this alignment that it'll last at least x number of months, weeks, days?"
"Oh, we never guarantee alignments," the guy answered. "You could drive on out of here, run over a pothole, and find yourself needing an alignment all over again. We can't run that risk."
Oh, you can't run that risk.
What about us, the car-dependant New Jersey residents who are nothing but slaves to the crappy roads provided for our driving displeasure?
Within a five-mile radius of my house, there are about 10 separate roads that I'd easily classify as "poorly-maintained." (Ironically, one of those roads happens to be called Line Road, but anyone in or around the Holmdel area can tell you that "Kidney-Jarring Lane" would be far more appropriate.) I have no choice but to drive on these roads in all of their post snow plow destruction glory, yet I am also expected to shell out one hundred bucks for an alignment every six months because my disgustingly high property taxes aren't enough to warrant the occasional local road fixer upper.
Oh, and I love those warning ads that state that maintaining proper car alignment is the consumer's responsibility, and that "warning signs" should never be neglected or ignored no matter how recent your last alignment was.
I mean, if I wanted to get really technical (and go broke at the same time), then based on the conditions of the roads that I tend to drive on and their subsequent effects on my car, I probably need a new alignment every time I drive my car. That's approximately 345 alignments a year, taking into account snow days and bouts of laziness during which I tend to simply stay home. At one hundred dollars a pop, that's $34,500 a year in alignment costs just to retain the ability to travel throughout the great state of New Jersey.
People ask me why I became a freelance writer, and I usually answer by going on and on about my love of the written word and the wonders of being my own boss. In reality, I did it to avoid having to pay for alignments. It's just cheaper this way, now that I can mostly work from home.
Perhaps one day they'll engineer a car that can manage to stay aligned despite the ragged road conditions it will undoubtedly face. Till then, it's back to the local Pep Boys. Good times.
I got my car 2 years ago. It was brand new, and while not the fanciest kind out there, it's certainly a respectable model. Over the past year, I have, on 2 occasions, been faced with the following dilemma: either pay for an alignment or run the risk of accidentally becoming one with the adjacent lane of traffic the next time I'm out driving.
Now I realize that potholes and the like can cause your car to become misaligned, and since Central New Jersey sports its share of poorly-paved roads, it's no wonder that I'm slowly becoming a Pep Boys regular.
Still, I can't help but think that the whole concept of making drivers pay to maintain their respective car alignments is completely unacceptable. Shouldn't cars be designed in such a way that they can withstand a fair amount of road wear and tear?
Let's say you bought a car 6 months ago, fresh off the lot. If you were driving along in that car and all of a sudden, your engine failed, you'd find yourself sitting in the lounge area of the dealership, sipping coffee and snacking on crullers while your car got repaired, free of charge. But if you suddenly noticed your car pulling to the left, well, sorry buddy, that's all you.
I paid over a hundred dollars for my last alignment, and as I signed the paperwork, I asked the guy "So, do I at least get some sort of guarantee on this alignment that it'll last at least x number of months, weeks, days?"
"Oh, we never guarantee alignments," the guy answered. "You could drive on out of here, run over a pothole, and find yourself needing an alignment all over again. We can't run that risk."
Oh, you can't run that risk.
What about us, the car-dependant New Jersey residents who are nothing but slaves to the crappy roads provided for our driving displeasure?
Within a five-mile radius of my house, there are about 10 separate roads that I'd easily classify as "poorly-maintained." (Ironically, one of those roads happens to be called Line Road, but anyone in or around the Holmdel area can tell you that "Kidney-Jarring Lane" would be far more appropriate.) I have no choice but to drive on these roads in all of their post snow plow destruction glory, yet I am also expected to shell out one hundred bucks for an alignment every six months because my disgustingly high property taxes aren't enough to warrant the occasional local road fixer upper.
Oh, and I love those warning ads that state that maintaining proper car alignment is the consumer's responsibility, and that "warning signs" should never be neglected or ignored no matter how recent your last alignment was.
I mean, if I wanted to get really technical (and go broke at the same time), then based on the conditions of the roads that I tend to drive on and their subsequent effects on my car, I probably need a new alignment every time I drive my car. That's approximately 345 alignments a year, taking into account snow days and bouts of laziness during which I tend to simply stay home. At one hundred dollars a pop, that's $34,500 a year in alignment costs just to retain the ability to travel throughout the great state of New Jersey.
People ask me why I became a freelance writer, and I usually answer by going on and on about my love of the written word and the wonders of being my own boss. In reality, I did it to avoid having to pay for alignments. It's just cheaper this way, now that I can mostly work from home.
Perhaps one day they'll engineer a car that can manage to stay aligned despite the ragged road conditions it will undoubtedly face. Till then, it's back to the local Pep Boys. Good times.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Ruckus
There was quite the ruckus happening last night outside my bedroom window.
I'm not sure exactly what was going on, but I think it involved a law enforcement officer, a defiant local citizen, and a large pile of dirt that had been illegally dumped onto the street earlier that day.
Call it apathy combined with laziness, but I was not about to change out of my comfy pajamas and into some socially-acceptable attire in order to go outside and get some details on the situation. All I know is that whatever the actual source of the ruckus was, it was enough to cause my dog to start barking up a storm, thereby inducing a fair degree of internal household ruckus. When it became evident that the little guy wasn't about to stop, I started coaxing and eventually (yes, I'll admit it) yelling at him to please give the barking a rest, thereby contributing to the ruckus myself.
Once the ruckus chain was in full-swing, there was really no turning back. I had two choices: wait out the initial ruckus, or approach the original ruckus-causers and ask them to please minimize the ruckus so that my crazy dog could possibly calm down.
Since a key player in the outdoor ruckus was, as I mentioned, a member of the local police force, I decided not to mess with the situation. (Besides, I was really, really comfortable in those jammies.) So instead, I sat there patiently, just hoping that the ruckus would eventually subside.
Then suddenly I realized something: despite the annoyance, the whole situation was rather cool. I had a ruckus happening right outside my window! Here in Central New Jersey! Where nothing exciting happens! There it was - my very own dose of ruckus.
Eventually, it was over. The officer left, my dog calmed down, and things went back to normal.
Looking back on it now (you know, less than 24 hours later, when detached contemplation truly sets in), I think I'm going to miss the ruckus just a little bit. Sure, it was loud and disruptive, but it made me feel like I was part of something a whole lot greater - and noisier - than myself.
I never said I didn't have issues.
I'm not sure exactly what was going on, but I think it involved a law enforcement officer, a defiant local citizen, and a large pile of dirt that had been illegally dumped onto the street earlier that day.
Call it apathy combined with laziness, but I was not about to change out of my comfy pajamas and into some socially-acceptable attire in order to go outside and get some details on the situation. All I know is that whatever the actual source of the ruckus was, it was enough to cause my dog to start barking up a storm, thereby inducing a fair degree of internal household ruckus. When it became evident that the little guy wasn't about to stop, I started coaxing and eventually (yes, I'll admit it) yelling at him to please give the barking a rest, thereby contributing to the ruckus myself.
Once the ruckus chain was in full-swing, there was really no turning back. I had two choices: wait out the initial ruckus, or approach the original ruckus-causers and ask them to please minimize the ruckus so that my crazy dog could possibly calm down.
Since a key player in the outdoor ruckus was, as I mentioned, a member of the local police force, I decided not to mess with the situation. (Besides, I was really, really comfortable in those jammies.) So instead, I sat there patiently, just hoping that the ruckus would eventually subside.
Then suddenly I realized something: despite the annoyance, the whole situation was rather cool. I had a ruckus happening right outside my window! Here in Central New Jersey! Where nothing exciting happens! There it was - my very own dose of ruckus.
Eventually, it was over. The officer left, my dog calmed down, and things went back to normal.
Looking back on it now (you know, less than 24 hours later, when detached contemplation truly sets in), I think I'm going to miss the ruckus just a little bit. Sure, it was loud and disruptive, but it made me feel like I was part of something a whole lot greater - and noisier - than myself.
I never said I didn't have issues.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Shrubbery
I know what you're thinking...
What's wrong with shrubbery? It makes the neighborhood look nice, so why is she about to complain about it?
It's not the idea of shrubbery that bothers me, it's the fact that nobody in my neighborhood is able to control his shrubbery. Remember the plant from Little Shop of Horrors that just kept growing? My entire neighborhood is one giant Audrey II.
Most of the people around here probably aren't bothered by the overgrown shrubbery because they, like many New Jersey residents, rarely use these things called sidewalks. And for the record, they're called sidewalks because you're supposed to be able to walk on them without getting smacked in the face by unkempt bushes and rogue vegetation.
I was walking my dog the other day - a little 16 pound cockapoo, for those who don't know or remember - and as a pair, we could barely fit down the block without getting tangled in protruding thickets of unkempt greenish crap. I mean, I'm all for aesthetically-pleasing lawns, as long as they're properly maintained - but when I come home from a walk and have to spend the next 20 minutes pulling hydrangea particles out of my dog's paws, that's a problem.
I don't understand how people are allowed to do this. On snowy days, residents are responsible for clearing the sidewalks in front of their respective homes.
In fact, this past winter, every time it so much as flurried, I was out there, freezing my tail off as I shoveled the snow away from the sidewalk in what I would call a very timely fashion. Granted, my primary motivation for doing this was my desire to avoid a ticket from the township, but still, I did my part, shoveling till my lips turned blue so that the two people in the surrounding one-mile radius who actually utilize the sidewalks could walk in front of my house without slipping.
So why aren't these shrub-happy people obligated to keep their bushes in check?
I suppose it's just one of New Jersey's many inherent injustices...more on those later.
What's wrong with shrubbery? It makes the neighborhood look nice, so why is she about to complain about it?
It's not the idea of shrubbery that bothers me, it's the fact that nobody in my neighborhood is able to control his shrubbery. Remember the plant from Little Shop of Horrors that just kept growing? My entire neighborhood is one giant Audrey II.
Most of the people around here probably aren't bothered by the overgrown shrubbery because they, like many New Jersey residents, rarely use these things called sidewalks. And for the record, they're called sidewalks because you're supposed to be able to walk on them without getting smacked in the face by unkempt bushes and rogue vegetation.
I was walking my dog the other day - a little 16 pound cockapoo, for those who don't know or remember - and as a pair, we could barely fit down the block without getting tangled in protruding thickets of unkempt greenish crap. I mean, I'm all for aesthetically-pleasing lawns, as long as they're properly maintained - but when I come home from a walk and have to spend the next 20 minutes pulling hydrangea particles out of my dog's paws, that's a problem.
I don't understand how people are allowed to do this. On snowy days, residents are responsible for clearing the sidewalks in front of their respective homes.
In fact, this past winter, every time it so much as flurried, I was out there, freezing my tail off as I shoveled the snow away from the sidewalk in what I would call a very timely fashion. Granted, my primary motivation for doing this was my desire to avoid a ticket from the township, but still, I did my part, shoveling till my lips turned blue so that the two people in the surrounding one-mile radius who actually utilize the sidewalks could walk in front of my house without slipping.
So why aren't these shrub-happy people obligated to keep their bushes in check?
I suppose it's just one of New Jersey's many inherent injustices...more on those later.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Laundry Day
It's official. Today is going to have to be Laundry Day.
I made this decision earlier when I observed not one, not two, but six, yes, six different piles of dirty clothing lying around in various corners of my house.
When it comes to laundry, I tend to procrastinate. It's not the act of placing clothes in a washer and then transferring them to an adjacent dryer that overwhelms me. Rather, it's the act of locating the various dirty clothing around my house, followed by the inevitable act of folding said clothing and putting it all away that makes me want to dig up every excuse in the book to save the laundry for another day.
There are also certain items that I especially dislike washing, including:
Fitted sheets. Tell me, how the heck is one supposed to go about folding a fitted sheet? The flat sheets are easy - they virtually collapse into perfect little rectangles for easy linen closet storage. The fitted sheets, on the other hand, are impossible to maneuver into any semblance of neatness. Every time I attempt to fold a fitted sheet , I end up with a wrinkled ball of 300-thread count cotton in the shape of a mangled rhombus.
Bathroom Hand Towels. It's not that hand towels are at all difficult to wash, dry, or fold; it's that I never seem to remember to replace the hand towels in my bathrooms once I've removed them from their usual locations. The result is that I tend to spend the next several hours uttering "oh, crap" every time I use the bathroom, wash my hands, and then realize that I don't have a towel to aid with the hand-drying process. The simple solution would be to remember to replace the dirty towels with fresh ones while the washer is doing its thing, but that would require me to retain that particular thought long enough to act upon it before feeling the urge to use the bathroom and inevitably getting swept into the wet hand cycle all over again.
Anything Made Out Of Denim. I think jeans today must be coated with some sort of anti-dry formula, because for some reason, it takes twice to three times as long to dry a pair of jeans than it does to dry a regular old pair of pants. When it comes to my jeans, there's a fine line between drying and shrinking, so by the time I've reached dry-cycle #3, I actually have to stand there and do a touch-test every three minutes to see if the jeans in question are actually dry. I then have to make sure to remove them as quickly as possible to avoid the shrinkage. Of course, what bothers me even more than the tedious process of watching a dryer is the feeling of freshly-washed jeans. Yes, it's nice to put on clean pants, but I absolutely detest the sensation of having stiff as a board jeans scrape their way up my legs, only to then refuse to button as I desperately suck in my midsection in attempt to aid in the process.
So you see, there are a number of good reasons to put off doing laundry, but I'm not going to fall for any of them. Today is Laundry Day. I must be strong. I must power through - 'cause if I don't, then the underwear that I'm wearing today will become the underwear that I wear tomorrow, and there's something hygenically unpoetic about that particular song and dance.
I made this decision earlier when I observed not one, not two, but six, yes, six different piles of dirty clothing lying around in various corners of my house.
When it comes to laundry, I tend to procrastinate. It's not the act of placing clothes in a washer and then transferring them to an adjacent dryer that overwhelms me. Rather, it's the act of locating the various dirty clothing around my house, followed by the inevitable act of folding said clothing and putting it all away that makes me want to dig up every excuse in the book to save the laundry for another day.
There are also certain items that I especially dislike washing, including:
Fitted sheets. Tell me, how the heck is one supposed to go about folding a fitted sheet? The flat sheets are easy - they virtually collapse into perfect little rectangles for easy linen closet storage. The fitted sheets, on the other hand, are impossible to maneuver into any semblance of neatness. Every time I attempt to fold a fitted sheet , I end up with a wrinkled ball of 300-thread count cotton in the shape of a mangled rhombus.
Bathroom Hand Towels. It's not that hand towels are at all difficult to wash, dry, or fold; it's that I never seem to remember to replace the hand towels in my bathrooms once I've removed them from their usual locations. The result is that I tend to spend the next several hours uttering "oh, crap" every time I use the bathroom, wash my hands, and then realize that I don't have a towel to aid with the hand-drying process. The simple solution would be to remember to replace the dirty towels with fresh ones while the washer is doing its thing, but that would require me to retain that particular thought long enough to act upon it before feeling the urge to use the bathroom and inevitably getting swept into the wet hand cycle all over again.
Anything Made Out Of Denim. I think jeans today must be coated with some sort of anti-dry formula, because for some reason, it takes twice to three times as long to dry a pair of jeans than it does to dry a regular old pair of pants. When it comes to my jeans, there's a fine line between drying and shrinking, so by the time I've reached dry-cycle #3, I actually have to stand there and do a touch-test every three minutes to see if the jeans in question are actually dry. I then have to make sure to remove them as quickly as possible to avoid the shrinkage. Of course, what bothers me even more than the tedious process of watching a dryer is the feeling of freshly-washed jeans. Yes, it's nice to put on clean pants, but I absolutely detest the sensation of having stiff as a board jeans scrape their way up my legs, only to then refuse to button as I desperately suck in my midsection in attempt to aid in the process.
So you see, there are a number of good reasons to put off doing laundry, but I'm not going to fall for any of them. Today is Laundry Day. I must be strong. I must power through - 'cause if I don't, then the underwear that I'm wearing today will become the underwear that I wear tomorrow, and there's something hygenically unpoetic about that particular song and dance.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Brr
Why is it so cold in the middle of April?
Actually, let me start over for a second.
I realize that I tend to complain about a lot of things, from weather to leaf blowers to overly-enthusiastic trash collectors. However, when I find myself reaching for gloves and my full-length coat in the middle of April because my multiple t-shirt and fleece sweatshirt layers are ineffective at keeping me warm, I think I'm justified in giving that a mention.
It's not that I find the act of placing a coat on my body so burdensome that it succeeds in ruining my day; it's just that at this point, I would've expected spring (remember spring? it's that period that used to come between winter and summer before we all got careless and wrecked the planet and essentially sacrificed an entire season in favor of extra emissions) to have fully kicked in, and I guess I'm more than a tad disappointed that clearly, it hasn't.
But at the risk of coming off as overly negative, I will say the following: at least my multiple t-shirt/fleece/coat combo finally managed to do the trick, and for the entire twelve seconds during which I found myself outdoors late this afternoon, I was reasonably warm for most of them. Of course, it also poured on me out of nowhere, despite the fact that "drizzle" barely made the forecast. But I'm not complaining about that...just giving it a mention.
Actually, let me start over for a second.
I realize that I tend to complain about a lot of things, from weather to leaf blowers to overly-enthusiastic trash collectors. However, when I find myself reaching for gloves and my full-length coat in the middle of April because my multiple t-shirt and fleece sweatshirt layers are ineffective at keeping me warm, I think I'm justified in giving that a mention.
It's not that I find the act of placing a coat on my body so burdensome that it succeeds in ruining my day; it's just that at this point, I would've expected spring (remember spring? it's that period that used to come between winter and summer before we all got careless and wrecked the planet and essentially sacrificed an entire season in favor of extra emissions) to have fully kicked in, and I guess I'm more than a tad disappointed that clearly, it hasn't.
But at the risk of coming off as overly negative, I will say the following: at least my multiple t-shirt/fleece/coat combo finally managed to do the trick, and for the entire twelve seconds during which I found myself outdoors late this afternoon, I was reasonably warm for most of them. Of course, it also poured on me out of nowhere, despite the fact that "drizzle" barely made the forecast. But I'm not complaining about that...just giving it a mention.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Beep
I just discovered something: smoke alarms and my dog don't mix.
There I was, heating up food in my kitchen. I must have gotten overzealous with the stove top flame, 'cause all of a sudden, the smoke detector started going off, and my dog, in turn, started going crazy.
With every loud, piercing beep of the alarm, my dog let out an equally loud, piercing yelp. The aftermath was really fun, as I attempted to adequately fan out the stove area, disable the alarm, and comfort my dog, all the while battling the ultrasonic beep/squeal combo pounding against my brain in surround sound.
That settles it: next time, I'm using the microwave.
There I was, heating up food in my kitchen. I must have gotten overzealous with the stove top flame, 'cause all of a sudden, the smoke detector started going off, and my dog, in turn, started going crazy.
With every loud, piercing beep of the alarm, my dog let out an equally loud, piercing yelp. The aftermath was really fun, as I attempted to adequately fan out the stove area, disable the alarm, and comfort my dog, all the while battling the ultrasonic beep/squeal combo pounding against my brain in surround sound.
That settles it: next time, I'm using the microwave.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Nonstop...
Seriously, it rained nonstop yesterday.
Why do I care?
Because yesterday was the one day when instead of sitting in my house curled up in bed with a laptop and a puppy, I had to run a series of errands, all of which involved being outdoors.
The thing is, I tried to strategically time each departure from the house to coincide with a lighter period of rain. I'd sit there at the window observing the splash-streak patterns, and the second I'd notice a slight break in the action, I'd grab my coat, sneakers, umbrella, and purse, and bust out of the house as quickly as possible - and each time that happened, the rain, in turn, decided to barrel down upon me in extra-rapid, out-of-nowhere force.
By the end of the day, I had gotten rained on fourteen separate times. My hair looked like something out of a horror film, and my hands were chapped and wrinkly from the cumulative beating they had taken.
I don't expect any sympathy for simply getting wet. Rain happens to everyone...but I think heavy rain specifically waits for me.
Why do I care?
Because yesterday was the one day when instead of sitting in my house curled up in bed with a laptop and a puppy, I had to run a series of errands, all of which involved being outdoors.
The thing is, I tried to strategically time each departure from the house to coincide with a lighter period of rain. I'd sit there at the window observing the splash-streak patterns, and the second I'd notice a slight break in the action, I'd grab my coat, sneakers, umbrella, and purse, and bust out of the house as quickly as possible - and each time that happened, the rain, in turn, decided to barrel down upon me in extra-rapid, out-of-nowhere force.
By the end of the day, I had gotten rained on fourteen separate times. My hair looked like something out of a horror film, and my hands were chapped and wrinkly from the cumulative beating they had taken.
I don't expect any sympathy for simply getting wet. Rain happens to everyone...but I think heavy rain specifically waits for me.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Afternoon Delight
Here's a question: just how bad is it to start drinking at 12:02 in the afternoon?
Sure, I wouldn't be the first person out there to go the way of the liquid lunch, and I know plenty of people who like to sneak a mid-day beer in with their turkey club...but these people to whom I am referring actually work in offices with stressful situations and annoying people abounding. I, on the other hand, work from home, and while there are certain project-related deadlines to which I must adhere, my stress level, admittedly, is not all that high.
For example, some of the decisions I'm forced to make on a daily basis include:
Bed or desk - where should I type?
Coffee or cocoa - which am I in the mood for?
Shower now or later - to what extent do I currently smell?
And so forth...
So why the desire to start drinking?
Drinking is fun. Drinking loosens the mind, the body, the soul. Drinking takes the edge off of life and replaces reality with artificial contentment. What's not to like about it?
But yes, I'll admit that I woke up today feeling sort of blah, and that with every passing minute, said blahness has continued to plague me despite my greatest efforts to power through.
Thus I consider turning to the drink, to a small ray of Cabernet sunshine in an otherwise dismal day. I'll probably ponder this one for awhile, as decision-making has never really been my strong suit. And yes, I know that it's 5:00 somewhere, but here, in Central New Jersey, it's 12:02, and therefore, a modicum of self-control is probably in order...probably...
Sure, I wouldn't be the first person out there to go the way of the liquid lunch, and I know plenty of people who like to sneak a mid-day beer in with their turkey club...but these people to whom I am referring actually work in offices with stressful situations and annoying people abounding. I, on the other hand, work from home, and while there are certain project-related deadlines to which I must adhere, my stress level, admittedly, is not all that high.
For example, some of the decisions I'm forced to make on a daily basis include:
Bed or desk - where should I type?
Coffee or cocoa - which am I in the mood for?
Shower now or later - to what extent do I currently smell?
And so forth...
So why the desire to start drinking?
Drinking is fun. Drinking loosens the mind, the body, the soul. Drinking takes the edge off of life and replaces reality with artificial contentment. What's not to like about it?
But yes, I'll admit that I woke up today feeling sort of blah, and that with every passing minute, said blahness has continued to plague me despite my greatest efforts to power through.
Thus I consider turning to the drink, to a small ray of Cabernet sunshine in an otherwise dismal day. I'll probably ponder this one for awhile, as decision-making has never really been my strong suit. And yes, I know that it's 5:00 somewhere, but here, in Central New Jersey, it's 12:02, and therefore, a modicum of self-control is probably in order...probably...
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Directions
When I bought my car a couple of years ago, I decided to have a GPS built in because I'm terrible with directions and New Jersey isn't exactly known for its helpful road signs. (Sorry people on the Roads and Transportation Commission, or whatever sorry agency is in charge of that stuff, but putting up a sign that says "Garden State Parkway-Next Right" isn't helpful when that right turn is about 4 feet away and there's a line of bumper to bumper cars all waiting to get off. I'm sure one of them is going to want to let me in.)
For the most part, the GPS gets me where I need to go, but sometimes I find myself yelling "hey, what the hell did I ever do to you?" when I look up and suddenly find myself in the middle of a corn field thanks to my trusted navigator.
I'll admit it. I talk to my GPS on a regular basis. What's even sadder is that I've given her a name (yes, she's a "she"): Helloise. Yep, that's "Helloise" with two Ls.
Helloise and I have been on the outs lately due to some poor directional tips and snotty attitude on her part. Her general tone is relatively condescending to begin with, what with her not quite American but not quite British accent. (She actually kind of reminds me of Frasier...what do you call that accent? Ass-stickian? As in, I have a stick up my ass and I'm going to speak this way until it's removed. Ass-stickian. I like it.)
So yes, Helloise has an Ass-stickian accent to begin with, but if heaven forbid you do something contrary to what she suggests, then the attitude really starts to kick in.
"Recalculating," she'll tell me in utter disgust, followed by "drive 1.2 miles; then make a u-turn." Sure. What better way to get revenge than by forcing me into one of those cloverleaf/jughandle/whatever stupid-ass name you want to call it Jersey left turns? I just love driving miles out of my way only to wind up in the exact same spot on the other side of the road.
And fine, I'll admit that I don't always listen to Helloise, but it's not out of disrespect, it's out of confusion. Remember how I said that I was bad with directions? Well, sometimes even with a GPS telling me where to go, I still make mistakes. I'm human. It happens. But when Helloise tells me to turn left at what is clearly a brick wall and not an intersection, do you think I get even the slightest apology? No, of course not. There's no "I'm sorry, let me try that again." Instead, I get that same nasty "recalculating," as if it's my fault for not following her rather reckless advice.
I'm trying to do my part to mend my relationship with Helloise, and not because I blame myself (though I have been known to start screaming "screw you, Helloise" in the middle of those corn fields, one of which I really did wind up in the other day), but because I could really use the help in getting around.
Of course, there's another option: get a map and then use my brain to figure out where to go. But then when I find myself driving around in frantic circles looking for my exit, who am I going to blame when it's nowhere to be found?
For the most part, the GPS gets me where I need to go, but sometimes I find myself yelling "hey, what the hell did I ever do to you?" when I look up and suddenly find myself in the middle of a corn field thanks to my trusted navigator.
I'll admit it. I talk to my GPS on a regular basis. What's even sadder is that I've given her a name (yes, she's a "she"): Helloise. Yep, that's "Helloise" with two Ls.
Helloise and I have been on the outs lately due to some poor directional tips and snotty attitude on her part. Her general tone is relatively condescending to begin with, what with her not quite American but not quite British accent. (She actually kind of reminds me of Frasier...what do you call that accent? Ass-stickian? As in, I have a stick up my ass and I'm going to speak this way until it's removed. Ass-stickian. I like it.)
So yes, Helloise has an Ass-stickian accent to begin with, but if heaven forbid you do something contrary to what she suggests, then the attitude really starts to kick in.
"Recalculating," she'll tell me in utter disgust, followed by "drive 1.2 miles; then make a u-turn." Sure. What better way to get revenge than by forcing me into one of those cloverleaf/jughandle/whatever stupid-ass name you want to call it Jersey left turns? I just love driving miles out of my way only to wind up in the exact same spot on the other side of the road.
And fine, I'll admit that I don't always listen to Helloise, but it's not out of disrespect, it's out of confusion. Remember how I said that I was bad with directions? Well, sometimes even with a GPS telling me where to go, I still make mistakes. I'm human. It happens. But when Helloise tells me to turn left at what is clearly a brick wall and not an intersection, do you think I get even the slightest apology? No, of course not. There's no "I'm sorry, let me try that again." Instead, I get that same nasty "recalculating," as if it's my fault for not following her rather reckless advice.
I'm trying to do my part to mend my relationship with Helloise, and not because I blame myself (though I have been known to start screaming "screw you, Helloise" in the middle of those corn fields, one of which I really did wind up in the other day), but because I could really use the help in getting around.
Of course, there's another option: get a map and then use my brain to figure out where to go. But then when I find myself driving around in frantic circles looking for my exit, who am I going to blame when it's nowhere to be found?
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