Driving Miss Crazy

I still have Bruce Springsteen stuck in my head.  And I'm still on a total high from yesterday.   Oh you wanna know why?  Sure, I'll share.

I googled image "road rage" and
found 800 pictures of cats driving.
Cat people are weird.
Though this cat does look pissed.

You see, I hate driving.   I hate everything about it.  I hate cars.  I hate emissions.  I hate climate change.   I hate butt cramps. I hate traffic.  I hate the obesity epidemic.  I hate sun glare.  I hate how I tend to hit things. I hate road rage.  I hate the geopolitics of oil. And I hate that I always get lost (FYI the talking GPS thingy only works if you actually listen and don't zone out then find yourself thinking "shit, what did she say? where do I go?" and then cut across 3 lanes of traffic to exit in a panic.)

So I decided long ago to dedicate my professional life to building a world that minimizes all these things.  I go to work every day to pour my efforts into shaping better communities - ones that don't only rely on cars - ones that provide fair access to public transportation - a cleaner, healthier, more "livable" lifestyle (can you hear me being all judgy?  yeah, me too). 

Yet I go to work...every day... by car.  And not only that, I drive all over the friggin place going to meetings to discuss transit-oriented development and other jargony words (shout out to you planning peeps - hi Sara!) in my big, dirty, slightly-banged-up-on-the-front-end-where-I-hit-stuff car. 



(That's what she said)

My carbon footprint wears a size 12.  She has to order her shoes on the internet because Nordstrom never has her size in stock.

But I try to make the best of it. Like a good East Coast Liberal Elitist, I force myself to listen to NPR in the car.  I get my news, feed my need for external validation, and am guilt-tripped into calling every time they ask for money (mission accomplished, WNYC).  

But yesterday...oh yesterday.  It was my greatest car moment since I decided I hated cars. 

The day started out pretty average.  I worked from home in the morning because I had afternoon meetings in Trenton. Which sounds relaxing but I had so much to do and I was frustrated because, of course, there were things I wanted to get done that didn't get done.  Plus, I was really not looking forward to driving 3 hours round-trip to sit in a two hour meeting, especially version 8000 of "Let's all sit around and discuss a problem using powerpoint and then no one actually decide to do anything about it."  Trenton and Washington have a lot in common.

But I went because I had to...and I left the meeting feeling frustrated that I had wasted my afternoon, especially on such a beautiful day.  So I get in my car to drive home - determined not to get lost again -- and since my brain was already full of information, instead of NPR I put my iphone on shuffle (I needed someone something else to make a decision, for once). 

I start driving. 

And I'm on route 29 and I get a little Dolly, a little Norah, a little Man of La Mancha... I start to relax, maybe even sing along.

Then I hit the turnpike and I'm cruising.  No traffic (a miracle).  Sun is shining.  Windows are open... just enough to feel the fresh air, but not so much that I'll need my daughter's detangler.

And then Thunder Road comes on.  And I smile..and maybe sneak out a little "oh..nice" to myself.  It was as if my iPhone could see into my soul (Siri, are you in there?).  The song starts out slow, and I can't help but sing... then it builds and builds and Bruce says

"Roll down your windows and let the wind throw back your hair."

Awesome idea.

I get now why Courtney
kept her hair short.

So I roll down all my windows, open my sun roof, take my hair down and proceed to drive 80 miles an hour up the Turnpike on a  perfectly gorgeous, gorgeous day belting Thunder Road at the top of my lungs.  My hair is in my face, I'm drumming on my steering wheel. and I am sure that I look (and sound) insane.

But oh my goodness did it feel good.

It was exhilarating.  Enlivening.  It was better than... ummm... better than...you know...better than one of those dove chocolates, ladies :)

So I turn off the shuffle and belt my way through Bruce's Greatest Hits volume one.  By the time I got home I was relaxed, refreshed and renewed...smiling from ear to ear.  Like a new woman. 

And now I think I'm in lust with my car. 

Don't tell anyone. Okay?


PS:  I totally needed that detangling spray.


For Jean and Kevin and the stage dive heard 'round the world.

.

Mother's Day Rocks

So I woke up this morning with every intention of actually doing some "real" work before my kids and husband woke up.  I have this paper  nagging in the back of my head that I need to write and haven't had time and I thought that perhaps 6am on a Saturday morning would be the perfect time to do it.  I made some coffee, turned on my laptop, plopped a stack of dense files on the table next to me, and let out a long, long. long, looooooooooooooooong sigh.

(sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

Then I stopped myself.  And I perked up.  Hey wait, it's Mother's Day weekend.  Screw it.  I don't need to meet any deadlines.  It is MY weekend.  I am queen.  Preparing for next week's meetings will just have to wait...

at least until Monday. 

Because for now I'm going to milk this baby for all it's worth (wait. that came out wrong. perhaps not the best idiom to use on this occasion.).  And I starting thinking about all the ways that Mother's Day is way way better than my birthday.   So, before everyone else wakes up and I am thrown back into the I'm-not-really-queen-and-the-universe-is-not-at-my-command reality, I will take 5 minutes to share my top five reasons why Mother's Day is better than my birthday: 

Ready?  I'll do it Late Night style.


5.  I get presents and cards without being forced to face my own mortality.  I have not gotten any older this weekend.  That is a huge relief.  Though I did wake up with a pimple.  Am I actually getting younger?

4. The songs are way better.  "Happy Birthday" sounds the same every year and aren't we all a little tired of it?  I had the pleasure of being serenaded all week long with a variety of tunes and ditties my kids learned at school about the wonderfulness of moms.  And so what if they only remembered half the words and fought over which ones to sing?  It was a huge improvement, even if it did end in bloodshed and tears.

3.  No candles = No fire hazards.

2.  Mother's Day is always on a Sunday.  Birthdays come on whatever day they come.  It could be a Saturday if you're lucky... or it could be a Friday which is also not so bad.  But, it could also be a random Tuesday on which you have to wake up at 6am to get yourself dressed and get your kids to school and get to work and get to a meeting and get screamed at by the parking attendant for driving down the wrong lane and then get stuck in loads of traffic on the way home.  On a Sunday I am less likely to encounter those things.  (Though substitute "school/work/meeting" for "brunch" and "parking attendant" for "other parking attendant" and it could also be a Sunday.)

And the number ONE reason Mother's Day is better than my birthday....(drum roll)

1. My own mom.  She is awesome.  I get to celebrate me and celebrate her at the same time.  In fact, I get to celebrate ALL the other awesome moms out there (and hell, even the crappy moms deserve a shout out this weekend). 

And none of us have to get any older.  You're welcome.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This post if for you, Mom.  I love you.