I can't drive 55!

So once again I find myself driving along I-55 from The STL to Chicago. Let me just stop right here and talk about the fact that St. Louis is called The STL or The Lou. Seriously? Is that the best you can come up with St. Louis? The STL? The Lou? And what's with all this "the" business? Lame, I'd like you to meet my friend, St. Louis. St. Louis, Lame. Talk amongst yourselves. I'm just kidding. I actually find that I like St. Louis very much. Except for all those effing Cards fans. Go Cubs! Next year is our year! /tangent.

I've now driven I-55 between STL and Chicago about 7 times in the last few months and it is not an exciting drive. Most interstate drives are pretty boring (you don't here many songs about getting your kicks on the interstate do you?) but this one is especially dull. There's just nothing to see, except all the signs teasing me Route 66 signs. Yeah, yeah, I could drive R66, but as Lightening McQueen discovered, things move rather slowly on the mother road and my time is surprisingly valuable, so it's the interstate for me. Since there's nothing to really look at on I-55, I find myself critiquing (read: bitching about) the way other people drive. Why is driver's ed not mandatory in all states? And not just the one dinky little semester that the states who do require it offer, but like a full freaking year. In Germany, drivers ed is mandatory and is 1-2 years in length (and available only to those over 18). It is also done through private companies and costs a small fortune (seriously, thousands of dollars). Maybe that's why so many Germans use public transport. It's too expensive and too time consuming to get a license. Note to self: if you want to make lots of money, open a driving school in Germany. Everyone else, forget you read that. It was a note to self. Don't go stealing my ideas!

Anyway, I've compiled a list of complaints I have and how they can be remedied:



1. The left lane is for passing! Say it with me: The left lane is for passing. The left lane is for passing. The left lane is for passing. Got that? If you're in the left lane and there is a line of cars behind you that can't get around because you are doing the exact same speed as the car next to you in the right lane, get the fuck over! The left lane is not a driving lane, unless you're going faster than everyone else on the road. The left lane is for passing! Learn it, love it, live it!



2. The speed limit tells you how fast you can go! Imagine that! Now I admit, there are a few people *cough*me*cough* who might like to go a smidge over the posted limit (isn't it really just a suggestion?), but going consitently 20 mph under the speed limit (and in the left lane) should get you pokey ass drivers a ticket. If the limit is 65, do us all a favor and do at least 55 (in the right lane).



3. There's a little piece of magic built into every car that lets all the other cars around you know what you're going to do. What? What? I know, it sounds crazy, but it's totally true. No, it's not some government conspiracy to keep you on the grid, so settle down. It's this magical little lever, conveniently located near the 9:30ish position on the steering wheel, called the turn signals! You didn't know your car came with turn signals? Well, now you are enlightened! The lever goes up with a small flick of the finger to let people know you're going to be moving to the right ad goes down (again with a small flick of the finger) to let people know that you're going to be moving left! Also, there are little lights inside the car that let you know the signal is on, so you can turn it off if you need to. Contain yourself. Don't run out to your car just yet to see this magical little lever. I've got more to say, so file it away for later.



4. If you have to talk on your phone, get an ear piece. If your phone doesn't support bluetooth (anyone know why it's called that?), get a wired headset! They're cheap and you can keep at least one hand on the wheel. Which, believe it or not, is important.



5. Finally (for now anyway), trucks (meaning 18 wheelers, tow truck, dump trucks, any kind of truck really) should not be allowed in the left lane. Never. Not ever. You are not going to get around that other pokey ass truck in less than a mile or two (you're hauling a ton, let's be real here), so stay out of the left fucking lane. It's a passing lane for cars, not the Always Low Prices. Always. long-as-a-football-field-hauling-crap-nobody-really-needs-but-will-be-rushing-out-to-buy anyway, trucks. In Europe, lorries (big trucks) are not allowed in the left lane ever. And also can't drive on Sunday's unless they carry perishables. I think we should institute those laws in America. Writers note: I have great respect for truck drivers, because they do a good job at getting me all the crap I don't need to the store I don't really like. Just stay out of the left lane already!



Okay, I'm done. I'm sure there's more, but I'm tired. It was a long (boring) drive from The STL to Chicago (note no "the") so I'm off to my big comfy king size bed, where I will repeat my mantra over and over: The left lane is for passing. The left lane is for passing. The left lane is for passing...

What's so funny about peace love and harmony?

If you're not watching "Aliens in America" you are missing out. What? What is this show? you ask. What channel is it on? It's a sitcom about a midwestern family who get a foreign exchange student so their lonely, geeky teenage son will have a built in friend and be popular. This of course is fed to them by the guidance counselor/town's best car salesman (I kid you not), who shows a brochure of a good looking blond boy next to a nerdy kid who is now class president or something, to prove his point. The Tolchock's are expecting a boy from London and instead end up with a Pakistani boy who changed planes in London. They want to send him back immediately (he might blow up their small Wisconsin town! They pose as students. Bill O'Reilly said so!), but this being the world of the sitcom where the laughter cannot ensue without the foreign kid, they decide to keep him. That's right, they're keeping the quirky, dish washing, floor swiffering, sandal wearing, praying to Mecca boy in Wisconsin. Freaking comedy gold people. Gold. This show has it all. Adorable outsider? Check. Insane mom? Check. Racism? Check. Uneducated American teenagers? Misunderstandings about the world in general? Awkwardness? Check, check and check again. Gold, people, G-old (not to be confused with Go'ould, those evil symbiotes on Stargate SG-1). What channel is it on? you ask again with baited breath. Well that would be the CW. Uh-huh, that's right CW. What lazy writer? you ask. What are these letters you are saying? C? and W? Is that a channel? Why, I've never heard of it! Are you speaking in some foreign language to confuse me? No, gentle reader, I am not. The CW is a real channel, difficult though it may be to believe. Check your local listings and either watch or Tivo this show. You will not be sorry. Think of me as you guffaw over the awkwardness and idiocy of America.

How I amuse myself or a look into the mind of someone with too much free time

My job affords me a lot of free time. Don't tell my boss. I work hard, don't get me wrong, but there is lots of down time, which I have to fill to keep my brain from melting and leaking out my ears. I spend some of my spare time working on my book (but I'm so lazy about it-I know the ending, so I'm in no hurry to get there), reading other people's blogs, reading books (written by non-lazy writers), and watching TV. I watch a lot of TV. A lot. A. Lot. Leave it alone. September and October are of course the best months for TV, because that's when the fall lineup starts and everything is new and exciting and the networks hope no one notices that the stars of the show have gained or lost weight, gotten a tan/haircut/partial lobotomy during the hiatus when the show picks up a week or so after the last episode in May. Whatever. Network shows also have commercials. Lots and lots of commercials. If I can't fast forward because I've Tivo'd it, I have to watch them. Wheeee! I use part of my free time to re-write commercials in my head to make them more amusing. I know what you're thinking: What an amazing talent that is! You must be a genius. Yes, and yes. Thanks for noticing.
One of my favorite series of commercials are the local news commercials. My local NBC affilliate runs these seriously cheesy commercials where all the anchors talk about how wonderful the other anchors are. They go something like this (re: the sports caster)

Main Anchor Man: Here's the thing about [sports caster]: he loves his job. He's always out there. He's at every game, meeting the players, getting the true story. (cut to shot of sports caster at various ball games)

Main Anchor Woman: [Sport's caster] is just a great guy. Everybody loves [sports caster]. He's always laughing. (cut to shot of sports caster laughing)

Weather Chick: I love working with [sports caster]. He's a genuinely nice guy. He's passionate about sports. (cut to shot of sports caster doing what looks like very serious work).

Montage of sports caster doing sports caster-y things and then standing in front of the anchor desk smiling at the camera. End of commercial.


One word: Boring. I know these are supposed to make you feel like you know your local news people and that it's good that you invite them into your living room every evening, but they are so dull it boarders on ridiculous. I like to rewrite them in my head. The sports caster commercial goes a little something like this:

Main Anchor Man: Here's the thing about [sports caster]: he's a jerk. He gets tickets to every game. Every effing game. Good seats too. And do you think he ever asks me if I'd like to go? No. No he doesn't. I'm the effing anchor! What do I have to do to get tickets? Who do I have to slep with to meet the players? Anchor, people! I'm the anchor! (cut to shot of sports caster at various games)

Main Anchor Woman: [Sports caster] is an ass. A complete ass. Nobody likes that guy. He's always playing some kind of practical joke. Let me tell you, urinating in the coffee is not funny. Stop laughing [Sports Caster]! It's not effing funny! Somebody's going to get sick. (cut to shot of sports caster laughing)

Weather Chick: I hate working with [sports caster]. He's an asshole. Oh, he's passionate all right. Passionate about groping the new girl in the break room and then acting like he can't remember her name. I mean, I'm not just a pretty face you know. I studied journalism at my local community college. I am a serious journalist. One day I'm hoping to be on E! and am just here for the market exposure, but that does not give him the right to grab my ass as every opportunity. And he's always asking me to go to those stupid sports games with him. Like I even care about sports. He should ask the anchor man. He's always dropping hints about how he wants to go to the games but can't ever get tickets. I think he might play for the other team if you know what I mean. God, the men here are so worthless. (cut to shot of sports caster doing what looks like very serious work).

Montage of sports caster doing sports caster-y things and then standing in front of the anchor desk smiling at the camera. End of commercial.

Now, I ask, which of these would you find more entertaining? The local affiliate also has commercials for the 2 main anchors, the morning anchors and the weather girl and I find them all hilarious now that I have my own versions. Try this at home. It will give you something to think about while you're waiting for Chuck to come back on.

Adventures in acquisitions: goats and cats and hearts. Oh my!

I have an unusual job. I’m an acquisitions agent, which sounds kind of cool and glamorous, but really isn’t. I’d like to say I acquire jewels or antiques or even companies, but I don’t. What I acquire is land. Fifty foot strips of land to be specific, across people’s property for an oil pipeline that is coming down from Canada in a year or so. We pay them really well, so don’t think I’m out gun slinging. Cue dangerous music: And that’s all you need to know. Doesn’t that sound cool and glamorous? No? Well, okay, it’s not. My job does bring me in contact with a lot of, um, interesting people though. Let me preface all of this by saying that I am an urban sort of girl. I like cities. I like condos, townhouses, public transportation and being able to walk places. The oil pipeline is obviously not going through any major cities (though I live near one), so I mostly drive out to the county and meet with landowners to negotiate a purchase price. Some are fine with it, because they like the money (and it frequently is a lot of money) and others are not fine with it. To the point of threatening to have me arrested should they ever see me again on their property. Good luck with that. These landowners are generally country people. Not rednecks, but solid, salt of the earth mid-western farmers who grow the food that you put on your table. Some of them are doing very well, some are making a decent profit and others are just barely eking out a living. I recently had to meet with one of those who is just barely making it, though I did not know it when I set up the appointment. I got their address, did a quick Yahoo! map (I prefer it to Mapquest, which I think is snooty) and hopped in my car. I tried programming the address into Elsa von Nordland’s nav system (the Yahoo! map is my back up), but she just blinked at me and told me I was on my own. She had no such address in her data base. I mapped out the town (she did know where that was, at least) and off we went. An hour and a half later I was on a road that Elsa didn’t even recognize as existing. I couldn’t find the farm so I called the phone number to confirm the address. Mrs. Farmer told me I was indeed on the right road, to keep going about 5 more miles and turn down the gravel road. I knew right then it wasn’t going to be good. Gravel roads never lead to good. Trust me on this. Five miles down the road, I saw an old silo set way back off the road and guided Elsa up the worn gravel. As I got closer to the silo, I saw what I assumed was an abandoned old farm house (you know what they say about assuming). There were broken shutters dangling precariously from old hinges (some had lost their struggle and lay broken in the debris that surrounded the house), the front door was overgrown with weeds and what appeared to be a small tree, and the glass in several of the attic windows was fragmented and covered with wood. Surely this was not where I was to have my meeting. When I was almost at the end of the drive, I realized there were several cars parked behind the house, most of them looking like they could run. There was also a barn that I couldn’t see from the drive and animals. Lots and lots of animals. Ooookaay. I sat in Elsa for a moment, trying to figure out where to go when the back door to the house opened and out came a man dressed in faded jeans and a torn t-shirt. He walked up to my car and I opened the door and held out my hand. We exchanged pleasantries and walked to the house. A brown goat wandered over, along with a pack of dogs, followed by another slightly more aggressive black goat. Mr. Farmer smacked the black goat on the head right between the horns (you read that right) and told him to go away. Surprisingly the goat listened, but I could feel his eyes boring into me as we walked away. When we got closer to the back stoop I realized there were about 30 feral cats milling around. Ack! As I carefully picked my way through what must have been pounds of poop in my 4 inch black patent heels I saw 3 of them eating what looked like a heart. I swallowed audibly (think Shaggy and Scooby gulping) hoped it was a pig heart (we’d past a pig pen) and not human, and fought the urge to call my office once again and remind them where I was (they knew, but still, the sight of the heart spooked me). This is where the danger part of the job comes into play. What’s down that gravel road? Friendly farmer or homicidal maniac who will feed your heart to his cats? Who knows? Let’s drive down and find out shall we?
Anyway, Mr.Farmer opened the door to the scary falling down house and I was faced with a set of 6 steps that sagged in the middle and didn’t look like they could hold my weight. I gingerly put my foot on the step, reminding myself that Mr. Farmer, who weighed considerably more that me, had to have come down these steps, so they would likely hold me, and up I went. Quickly, before he could add his weight to them. I wasn’t going to press my luck. They could be a trap door that led down to some dungeon where I’d have to put lotion on three times a day to keep my skin soft. Creepy. The steps led to a living room at the front of the house and I saw the other side of the front door, which was nailed shut and covered with boards. A dining area was just to the right and held an old Formica table with 5 chairs. The 6th sat at a desk in the corner where Farmer, Jr. sat shirtless at a computer looking at John Deere tractors online. I would not have thought you could get internet out there, but from the multiple pages Farmer, Jr. was flipping through, I guess you can. It’s true, miracles really do happen. A kitchen was to the right of the dining room where Mrs. Farmer stood doing dishes. She greeted me warmly and asked if I wanted anything to drink. I looked past her to the grimy kitchen and declined.
We sat at the old table and talked about the easement, negotiated a few items, they signed, I fended off the pack of indoor dogs eager to sniff my crotch, I wrote a large check (and for once wishing it were more, giving the state of their current standard of living), shook their hands and stood to leave. Normally I stay and chat with my landowners (cause I’m that kind of person), but the smell of the house was overwhelming, and I still had the slight fear in the back of my mind that I would be turned into a winter coat or something. I thanked them for meeting me and headed towards the door. Mrs. Farmer looked at her husband and said words I never in my life imagined I hear: “Walk her to her car to make sure the goat doesn’t attack her.” I blinked for a moment, taking this in, my fear of the goat momentarily overtaking my fear of being turned into a coat. I practically ran down the rickety steps before Mr. Farmer could join me on them and stopped at the door, waiting. He opened it and led me past the cats (still eating on the heart), the pigs, the outside dogs, and towards Elsa who sat waiting for me like a shining like a beacon of cleanliness and hope. We were approximately 50 feet from her when the black goat, who had been standing there watching, made his move. He’d been near the barn but in mere moments came hurtling at us, horns down. I was sure he was going to run right into us (or worse my beautiful Elsa) and took an involuntary step backwards. Mr. Farmer stepped in front of me, took an aggressive stance, put his hand out and waited. I fought the urge to cover my eyes with my hands and squeal, but then I would have missed the utter absurdity of having a goat charge me. The goat ran at Mr. Farmer fast. At least I think it was fast. I have no idea what’s fast for a goat, but when it’s coming at you, it seems like a cheetah. When the goat reached us, Mr. Farmer shifted his hand so that the flat part of him palm came in contact with the top of the goats head (again) and told him to go away (again). The goat stopped, looked at us, shook his head and trotted off in the opposite direction, making some scary sounds. Once I could breath again, I thanked my protector, climbed into Elsa and drove away as quickly as I could, checking my rear view mirror for charging goats and heart eating cats. When I got back into cell range (I was seriously out in the middle of nowhere) I called my office and related my story. Our secretary laughed and said she was waiting for me to call to tell her what had happened. This was not my first adventure. I had come in contact with a man we called Naked Guy, a crazy couple with an all white house, and a tree hugging Marilyn Monroe fanatic, to name a few. Those are stories for another day.

Things I did and learned this weekend

I had an entire long weekend to myself. I knew I would miss my son terribly, but honestly looked forward to an entire weekend without having to cook for or clean up after anyone but myself and where I would not, even once, have to wipe anyone elses ass. Ah, the simple things. What to do? What to do? Lay around the house watching TV for a start and then, road trip! Friday morning I woke up late. Late! I laid on the sofa for an hour or four watching Tivo'd episodes of my favorite shows (I believe I may have mentioned my great love of TV and my joy over the new fall season), ate breakfast, did some work (pesky job) and then went shopping. What a great way to kick off the weekend.

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear and my packed overnight bag sat waiting by the door. I tossed it into Elsa and off we went to Chicago! One of my friends was getting married, another had just gotten engaged and I had plans to meet up with a few others. Fun!

I got to Chicago, checked into my hotel and headed up to Gurnee to have dinner with a high school friend who I hadn't seen in about 3 years. She's younger than me, but I used to drive her to and from school her freshman year (my senior year) so we got to be pretty good friends. Also, I dated her brother. Thanks to the internet, we've been in touch and getting together was awesome. She's still the same fun person I knew and we talked just like had every morning and every afternoon for months on end so long ago.

The wedding of my other friend was in Evanston. They decided last week (last week!) to get married. They have a friend who is a JP and he was going to marry them. In their living room. At 8pm. Okay. While I was driving to Chicago, she calls me and tells me that wedding has been moved to 9, and asked if I could do her a huge favor by picking up the wedding cake at Jewel, since it was directly across from my hotel. No problem. While at dinner with my Gurnee friend, I got a text message that said the wedding was now at 10. Okey-dokey. The plan, by the way, was that they would get married (in their living room), we'd have cake and champagne and then we'd all head off to a bar. Not my style, but for them, it works. Also, it was her second wedding and his third. They'd both done the big wedding before and decided it didn't work, so they should just do it in a way they were comfortable with, surrounded by friends and family. I applaud their optimism.

I arrived (small 2 tiered wedding cake in hand) at 9:40. The JP was not there yet, so we sat around and talked until he arrived. At 10:12, he was finally there and we all assembled for the wedding. Candles burned in the fireplace, along the mantle and around the table holding the cake. The bride had a small boquet of white roses and wore jeans and a white t-shirt. The groom wore jeans and a black t-shirt. Everyone attending (all 7 of us) were asked to wear something red and were handed white tapers to hold while they said their vows. When the vows were over, we were asked to make a wish for them and blow out the candle. Please note, if you're going to do this at your own wedding, warn people ahead of time so they have time to think of something! Once the last candle had been blown out, they kissed and we had cake and champagne. At 11:30, it was decided to head to a local bar, but I begged off. I had driven a long way that day, had a brunch the next morning with some other friends and then had to drive back home.

The next morning I met 2 of my other friends from high school. One of whom had gotten engaged the previous weekend. Her friends (and mother) have all waited patiently quite a long time for her now fiancee to pop the question, so I am thrilled for her. Plus, her fiance is awesome and they are perfect together. I have to say, while he took his time in proposing, he did it very well, and she now sports a lovely very blingy ring on her left hand. My other friend had just gotten back from Ireland and had tons of lovely stories to tell that made me insanely jealous. It was great catching up with them in person. We keep in touch frequently via email, texts and phone calls, but meeting up is always better. We had a great time, talked and gossiped and after we parted, before I headed home, I made one last stop: IKEA.

I love IKEA. Seriously, love it. I would live in IKEA if they'd let me. There's just something about it that makes me happy. Maybe it's all the cool dsiplays or the fact that they have a gazillion and one thing to put all your stuff in. Man do I love the things you can put your stuff in. I also like how they show you how to pack a family of 4 into an 803 sqft house. To be fair though, while they pack the house with toys and pots and pans and books and chachkis, they leave out the one thing that constantly clutters my house: paper. I swear I feel like I'm drowning in paper. It comes from everywhere. Mail, things stuck on the door, work, my son's backpack. It's everywhere. While I know I don't need it all, I'm petrified to get rid of most of it, because what if I need it? I generally never do, but I might. Anyway, IKEA shows you where you can put all your stuff and I love it. While I don't think it possible to really live the lifestyle IKEA portrays, I'm going to keep throwing my money at them in a vain attempt to do so.

I got home late that night and was practically attacked by my son and dogs who had a lot to tell me. Well, not the dogs, but my son. The most interesting being the evading of the police for shooting off fireworks in the back yard. My son assures me though, he was going to tell the "kaplice" that Daddy did it, not him. Way to cover your six, little man.



So, that's what I did this weekend. Now, onto the things I learned:



-Watching Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares while eating breakfast is NOT a good idea. Seriously, watching GRKN while eating anything is not a good idea. I did it, nearly lost what I was eating and finally had to turn it off. Just trust me on this and do not try it at home (unless you have a cast iron stomach or want to clean up a really big mess).



-Men are weird. Okay, I didn't learn that just this weekend (I've know for a long time), but it was reinforced for me this weekend at a gas sation in Joliet. Only a man would think it's a good idea to tell a woman (a perfect stranger at that), who is innocently pumping gas that she has a great ass. While the sentiment is appreciated, being told it, very loudly in a public place is not. He's an older guy who drives a black Toyota Corolla. If you live in Joliet, be on the lookout!



-Getting together from time to time with friends who knew you when you were in your formative years is a good idea. Even if it's only every few months or once every couple of years, it will make you feel young again and remind you of a time when life was far less complicated.



-People are going to let you down. No matter how much you may love and care about them, they're going to let you down. Not necessarily because they want to, but because circumstances force them to. This doesn't make you any less disappointed, but there's nothing you can do about it.



-Life treats some people unfairly. Good, decent, hard working people, who deserve better are often dealt a hand they don't deserve, while others are allowed to skate by on luck or accident of birth. The people who are dealt the bad hand work hard to make the best of it, but to see it makes me sad because they deserve better. There's nothing I can do about it and honestly it's none of my business, but to see it breaks my heart.

-Weddings don't have to be big fancy affairs. They can be done in your living room at 10pm and attended by just a few people and still be just as nice as the ones that cost thousands of dollars. Though really, if you ask your guest to say something, give them more than 30 seconds warnign or you might get someone saying something like "I wish you happiness and joy and that I had known you were going to do this."