Here are some observations from the road:
Worst drivers are from Pennsylvania, Ontario, and Ohio, usually in that order. Often someone will be creeping along, you pass them (not even speeding by), and then a game ensues. It is usually at this point that I check the license plate to confirm that, indeed, I am dealing with a driver from one of these lovely northern climes. I am rarely wrong.
About stickers:
I have a ton of them. But there is such a thing as overkill. After a point, if you simply have to add a sticker, then say goodbye to another one. And don't put them on the paint, for pete's sake! It hurts the car.
I hate the stickers that have acronyms that only the driver and two friends from his club or favorite vacation spot can decode. I'm going to get one soon that says MFSWTS - part of this is "stop with the stickers." I'll let you decode the rest. But, seriously, knock it off.
I also don't like decals on the back windshield. My least favorite one - which I see all the time these days - is Jesus with the crown of thorns. You love Jesus. Hey, me too! But I don't want to see bleeding Jesus or tortured Jesus all the time. That is like airbrushing the your grandfather hooked up to life support on a license plate as a means of commemorating him. If you must put some giant iridescent decal of Jesus on your car, why not baby Jesus? Why not Jesus healing someone? And need I remind you that Jesus didn't have blue eyes unless he was an albino? He was part man, and that part was from Jerusalem. Connect the dots.
I think I'm just bitter because I still have a cassette deck in my car. That and the price of gas has now exceeded one million dollars a gallon.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
The magic backpack
A little story for a cloudy afternoon:
When my parents travel, they travel like gypsies. Seriously - ask anyone who's ever gone anywhere with them. For example, when I moved to Charleston about a year ago, they thoughtfully drove to Rock Hill to help me move. They were going to arrive around 4 or 5 one afternoon, and I had movers coming to load my rental truck (which Dad would be driving) around 8 the next morning. I said - just bring pajamas and toothbrushes. They were literally going to be there for about 14 hours. So they roll up that afternoon as planned - I happened to see them pull up while I was standing near the window. But they didn't appear at the door right away, so I went to the window again. They were unloading their SUV. It took us three trips to unload their crap. They had brought a suitcase with their clothes, the "shoe bag" - the distinctive gray and white striped bag in which my mother carries her shoes when she travels - a crate of tools (which did come in handy...at least the drill), a cooler, a red bag which is designated for their food on trips (yes, they pretty much bring their own, whether they'll need it or not), two extra pillows, and "the backpack."
The backpack is a hiking pack which my parents take everywhere. In it, they have essentials for the adventurous traveler - a night light, a travel sound machine (whenever I share a hotel room with them, I have to pee at least three times during the night because of the f-ing raining at the rainfall noises turned up to ear-piercing levels), and sundry other items, most notably a stock of all kinds of medications, which, let me tell you are usually expired ("They're STILL GOOD!" my mother always protests). My parents' justification is that, if they get a sinus headache, diarrhea, and a giant gash requiring stitches, they're all set - no trip to Walgreen's needed. And that makes sense, sort of - I mean, I'm kind of a hyper traveller (guess why), and I usually carry a small bottle of allergy meds in my purse; but I've also been hospitalized for allergic reactions. But, you see, my obsessiveness does not spawn an entirely new backpack.
My mother and I always get into "playful" discussions about the topic of the backpack. This past weekend, she and I travelled to Perry, GA to visit my aunt and grandmother. I was going for one night - my mom was to be joined by my dad a couple of days later to extend their visit to FL to see my other grandmother. And I realize she was going to be gone longer. But she filled - the - entire - backseat - of - my - car. She had a giant suitcase (my dad's clothes, too - why should he bring his clothes a few days later in his huge truck when we could pack everyone's into my civic?), the red food bag, a cooler, the shoe bag, and the damn backpack. So, of course, I had to say something in passing about the ridiculous backpack. She responded that they didn't have to stop at Walgreen's every time they needed something - that's $4 if you get a headache or an upset stomach! $4 you could spend on a souvenir. It's just that, at least to me, it would be worth the stop - no extra baggage. Plus, of course, my souvenir would be not having diarrea, which is a-okay with me.
My parents haven't flown in a long time. I can't wait for those stories.
"Sir, this medication is no longer legal in the U.S. And you can't carry three pairs of nail clippers in your carry-on."
"But if a rabid squirrel bites me while I'm sleeping at the Holiday Inn Express, that salve will heal my wound more quickly! And I need the nail clippers, and the back-up pairs!"
When my parents travel, they travel like gypsies. Seriously - ask anyone who's ever gone anywhere with them. For example, when I moved to Charleston about a year ago, they thoughtfully drove to Rock Hill to help me move. They were going to arrive around 4 or 5 one afternoon, and I had movers coming to load my rental truck (which Dad would be driving) around 8 the next morning. I said - just bring pajamas and toothbrushes. They were literally going to be there for about 14 hours. So they roll up that afternoon as planned - I happened to see them pull up while I was standing near the window. But they didn't appear at the door right away, so I went to the window again. They were unloading their SUV. It took us three trips to unload their crap. They had brought a suitcase with their clothes, the "shoe bag" - the distinctive gray and white striped bag in which my mother carries her shoes when she travels - a crate of tools (which did come in handy...at least the drill), a cooler, a red bag which is designated for their food on trips (yes, they pretty much bring their own, whether they'll need it or not), two extra pillows, and "the backpack."
The backpack is a hiking pack which my parents take everywhere. In it, they have essentials for the adventurous traveler - a night light, a travel sound machine (whenever I share a hotel room with them, I have to pee at least three times during the night because of the f-ing raining at the rainfall noises turned up to ear-piercing levels), and sundry other items, most notably a stock of all kinds of medications, which, let me tell you are usually expired ("They're STILL GOOD!" my mother always protests). My parents' justification is that, if they get a sinus headache, diarrhea, and a giant gash requiring stitches, they're all set - no trip to Walgreen's needed. And that makes sense, sort of - I mean, I'm kind of a hyper traveller (guess why), and I usually carry a small bottle of allergy meds in my purse; but I've also been hospitalized for allergic reactions. But, you see, my obsessiveness does not spawn an entirely new backpack.
My mother and I always get into "playful" discussions about the topic of the backpack. This past weekend, she and I travelled to Perry, GA to visit my aunt and grandmother. I was going for one night - my mom was to be joined by my dad a couple of days later to extend their visit to FL to see my other grandmother. And I realize she was going to be gone longer. But she filled - the - entire - backseat - of - my - car. She had a giant suitcase (my dad's clothes, too - why should he bring his clothes a few days later in his huge truck when we could pack everyone's into my civic?), the red food bag, a cooler, the shoe bag, and the damn backpack. So, of course, I had to say something in passing about the ridiculous backpack. She responded that they didn't have to stop at Walgreen's every time they needed something - that's $4 if you get a headache or an upset stomach! $4 you could spend on a souvenir. It's just that, at least to me, it would be worth the stop - no extra baggage. Plus, of course, my souvenir would be not having diarrea, which is a-okay with me.
My parents haven't flown in a long time. I can't wait for those stories.
"Sir, this medication is no longer legal in the U.S. And you can't carry three pairs of nail clippers in your carry-on."
"But if a rabid squirrel bites me while I'm sleeping at the Holiday Inn Express, that salve will heal my wound more quickly! And I need the nail clippers, and the back-up pairs!"
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Reflections - how very zen
As I prepare for yet another move, I've been trying to make the most of my remaining time here and reflect on all that I've loved about this city (while at the same time celebrating crap I won't have to deal with anymore!). Here's the long and short, for now:
Things I will miss about Charleston:
-Being so close to my parents & brother, and all the old friends who live here, and the new ones that have become such a wonderful part of my life, too.
-Dorchester Presbyterian - that's going to be a hard transition, leaving and returning to another congregation!
-The ducks and sundry birds that entertain me & the cats at our apartment.
-The awesome running trail along the marsh at West Ashley Park.
-Getting to poke around downtown or find a funky new place to eat at a moment's notice.
-Great seafood, when I could afford it!
-Looking at the pretty water that, let's face it, is pretty much everywhere. I'm surprised my apartment doesn't have a bridge in it.
-Fantastic summer to-do stuff - Riverdogs baseball, Party at the Point, and sundry warm weather fun that only Charleston can cook up.
-Can you say Art Walk? Glorious.
-All the visitors!
Things I won't miss:
-Traffic.
-Sitting in traffic.
-Wanting to kill people in traffic.
-Paying out the nose for everything from rent to parking.
-My noisy neighbors who are making the most of their time on the dole - mostly by smoking enough to take down a pack of gorillas, listening to everything at high volume, and drinking cheap beer, courtesy of you, me, & Uncle Sam.
-Freaking "Palmetto Bugs" - a nice name for the one thing that makes my skin crawl more than ANYTHING ELSE. Ever.
-Having to drive for anything - even milk or tampons. I mean, geez!
-High taxes and car insurance.
-Trained monkey time - holla at the Pink House crew.
-TOURISTS wandering through the streets as if they're on some Hollywood set where, no, people aren't trying to drive, why do you ask? And tourists taking pictures of everything, including their freaking food, like they're Jane Goodall and we're primates. They're grits, people - get over it. And make like you're from here & grow some manners.
-Humidity hand-crafted by Satan himself from April to September.
-Rain that makes you pray for a drought straight out of the Bible. No one should have to wade in knee-deep dirty water just to get to and from the office, or to forage for freaking lunch food.
-All the visitors. Well - there won't be as many where I'm going, which will give me an occasional weekend for Lifetime television and other neglected priorities.
Things I will miss about Charleston:
-Being so close to my parents & brother, and all the old friends who live here, and the new ones that have become such a wonderful part of my life, too.
-Dorchester Presbyterian - that's going to be a hard transition, leaving and returning to another congregation!
-The ducks and sundry birds that entertain me & the cats at our apartment.
-The awesome running trail along the marsh at West Ashley Park.
-Getting to poke around downtown or find a funky new place to eat at a moment's notice.
-Great seafood, when I could afford it!
-Looking at the pretty water that, let's face it, is pretty much everywhere. I'm surprised my apartment doesn't have a bridge in it.
-Fantastic summer to-do stuff - Riverdogs baseball, Party at the Point, and sundry warm weather fun that only Charleston can cook up.
-Can you say Art Walk? Glorious.
-All the visitors!
Things I won't miss:
-Traffic.
-Sitting in traffic.
-Wanting to kill people in traffic.
-Paying out the nose for everything from rent to parking.
-My noisy neighbors who are making the most of their time on the dole - mostly by smoking enough to take down a pack of gorillas, listening to everything at high volume, and drinking cheap beer, courtesy of you, me, & Uncle Sam.
-Freaking "Palmetto Bugs" - a nice name for the one thing that makes my skin crawl more than ANYTHING ELSE. Ever.
-Having to drive for anything - even milk or tampons. I mean, geez!
-High taxes and car insurance.
-Trained monkey time - holla at the Pink House crew.
-TOURISTS wandering through the streets as if they're on some Hollywood set where, no, people aren't trying to drive, why do you ask? And tourists taking pictures of everything, including their freaking food, like they're Jane Goodall and we're primates. They're grits, people - get over it. And make like you're from here & grow some manners.
-Humidity hand-crafted by Satan himself from April to September.
-Rain that makes you pray for a drought straight out of the Bible. No one should have to wade in knee-deep dirty water just to get to and from the office, or to forage for freaking lunch food.
-All the visitors. Well - there won't be as many where I'm going, which will give me an occasional weekend for Lifetime television and other neglected priorities.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Things that make me go "hmm"
I love Charleston. I really do. It's like genteel, crazy Savannah meets a Southern Baptist convention with a penchant for secret drinking. And there are bugs and C of C students on bikes and rollerboards and drugs. Oh, and there are tourists. It's a charming, funny, aggravating city that you can't get away from once you've lived in it. And, damn, is it expensive!
But the other day reminded me of just what I find so oddly entertaining about this city. I was walking to my car, praying the rain would hold off and spare my hair its last remaining frizz. Any rain, and I knew it would actually stand up high enough to connect with the atmosphere. (There's a reason southern women love big hair - they're just embracing reality.) So - walking to my car. As I was on the sidewalk by the dog park, I ended up walking behing a woman who obviously also works at MUSC - scrubs, danksos, big bag of crap you have to carry in and out like you're camping at work. As we wound around the block, and crossed the street, this woman began looking behind her (at me) more and more frequently, and then began walking faster. Surely she didn't think I was following her? Oh, but she did. When we crossed the street, she crossed BACK over and weaved between cars to avoid walking on the same sidewalk as me, where I could CATCH her and mug her and steal her insulated lunch bag and extra pair of shoes. Eventually, fate took over, though, because she had to cross back over yet again, right next to me, to be on the right side of the street to get into her car - which she unlocked while giving me a combination dirty look/anxious, furtive glance over the shoulder.
Let me clarify that, while my hair was not at its A-1 best, I was wearing a skirt and a freaking twinset. Granted, my walking shoes are a little scruffy, but I was CARRYING A PAIR OF HEELS. Perhaps that's why I seemed so threatening.
And today, I saw a fake & bake girl in a bikini, riding a bike through Marion Square. I'm surprised this town even has movie theaters or cable television.
But the other day reminded me of just what I find so oddly entertaining about this city. I was walking to my car, praying the rain would hold off and spare my hair its last remaining frizz. Any rain, and I knew it would actually stand up high enough to connect with the atmosphere. (There's a reason southern women love big hair - they're just embracing reality.) So - walking to my car. As I was on the sidewalk by the dog park, I ended up walking behing a woman who obviously also works at MUSC - scrubs, danksos, big bag of crap you have to carry in and out like you're camping at work. As we wound around the block, and crossed the street, this woman began looking behind her (at me) more and more frequently, and then began walking faster. Surely she didn't think I was following her? Oh, but she did. When we crossed the street, she crossed BACK over and weaved between cars to avoid walking on the same sidewalk as me, where I could CATCH her and mug her and steal her insulated lunch bag and extra pair of shoes. Eventually, fate took over, though, because she had to cross back over yet again, right next to me, to be on the right side of the street to get into her car - which she unlocked while giving me a combination dirty look/anxious, furtive glance over the shoulder.
Let me clarify that, while my hair was not at its A-1 best, I was wearing a skirt and a freaking twinset. Granted, my walking shoes are a little scruffy, but I was CARRYING A PAIR OF HEELS. Perhaps that's why I seemed so threatening.
And today, I saw a fake & bake girl in a bikini, riding a bike through Marion Square. I'm surprised this town even has movie theaters or cable television.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
A metaphor
This is like one of my tangents while teaching, except better - because I can review it for grammar, glory in its inappropriateness, and hope that no one hears.
Let me tell you a story about my cat, Maggie. She is a darling little lady, my siamese daughter. But she has a sensitive stomach. The back story there is for another day; but suffice it to say that sometimes wet food doesn't agree with her stomach. The result is that she vomits. And vomits. And vomits. It always starts out the same - I go for the papertowels and the giant bottle of Folex. Before I can finish the first mess, she has thrown up again; this goes on until, usually, as I'm scrubbing away, I can hear her throwing up in an entirely different room.
Today, as I was listening and scrubbing, it struck me that this is an apt metaphor for my life. Maybe I'm just bitter because today, I found out that my mortgage loan, which was preapproved, isn't worth shit because they'll no longer offer anyone 100% financing. Which means no house. Which left me cursing and inches from a crying jag. The guy on the phone was very nice - and I know it's not his fault that squatters and trailer trash have ruined the housing market for the rest of us decent but not filthy rich would-be buyers - but he kept suggesting that one way to put 5% or more down on a home would be through a "gift." I'm not sure what kind of unicorns and other mythical beasts he converses with; but if I had the means - through some kind of family wealth or otherwise - to put a down payment, that would have been my plan from day one.
Then I got home to find a message from my car insurance company about an accident claim. And before you think something along the lines of "you've made your bed," the claim is from an accident that happened in Florida. Someone hit my rental car the day I was leaving - hit it during the night and was nowhere to be found. Being the good citizen I am, I reported it. I was delighted to find karma had come home to roost - my master card, on which I'd charged the rental, covers up to your deductible for such a situation. Hooray! I thought. Nice gals don't always get screwed. Not so, apparently. Even though it was only the bumper, the rental car company can charge me directly for "loss of use," as well as about 18 other things, including a decrease in value (how repairing a cracked bumper by replacing it decreases value is beyond me). So, guess what? They have charged me - just shy of $2,000 - beyond the $1,000 master card already paid, and beyond the nearly $300 my insurance company sent them.
I also just got a bill from the hospital - from a stay in December. I paid a small amount, surprisingly small, in January; but I wrongly assumed that, since I have health insurance and had more than met my deductible at the time of my little near-death experience, the payment was a co-pay. Not so. Surprise! Tack on another two grand to the fun fund.
And guess what? I need two new front tires.
Know what else? Health insurance also declined to pay more than $600 for care I had to have at the, you know, girl doctor. That's not the kind of care you skimp on, and, so, here I am, paying out the nose.
I think I hear my life throwing up down the hall. In better news, my sister's surgery went well today; so I think today has been worth the cost of its paper towels.
Let me tell you a story about my cat, Maggie. She is a darling little lady, my siamese daughter. But she has a sensitive stomach. The back story there is for another day; but suffice it to say that sometimes wet food doesn't agree with her stomach. The result is that she vomits. And vomits. And vomits. It always starts out the same - I go for the papertowels and the giant bottle of Folex. Before I can finish the first mess, she has thrown up again; this goes on until, usually, as I'm scrubbing away, I can hear her throwing up in an entirely different room.
Today, as I was listening and scrubbing, it struck me that this is an apt metaphor for my life. Maybe I'm just bitter because today, I found out that my mortgage loan, which was preapproved, isn't worth shit because they'll no longer offer anyone 100% financing. Which means no house. Which left me cursing and inches from a crying jag. The guy on the phone was very nice - and I know it's not his fault that squatters and trailer trash have ruined the housing market for the rest of us decent but not filthy rich would-be buyers - but he kept suggesting that one way to put 5% or more down on a home would be through a "gift." I'm not sure what kind of unicorns and other mythical beasts he converses with; but if I had the means - through some kind of family wealth or otherwise - to put a down payment, that would have been my plan from day one.
Then I got home to find a message from my car insurance company about an accident claim. And before you think something along the lines of "you've made your bed," the claim is from an accident that happened in Florida. Someone hit my rental car the day I was leaving - hit it during the night and was nowhere to be found. Being the good citizen I am, I reported it. I was delighted to find karma had come home to roost - my master card, on which I'd charged the rental, covers up to your deductible for such a situation. Hooray! I thought. Nice gals don't always get screwed. Not so, apparently. Even though it was only the bumper, the rental car company can charge me directly for "loss of use," as well as about 18 other things, including a decrease in value (how repairing a cracked bumper by replacing it decreases value is beyond me). So, guess what? They have charged me - just shy of $2,000 - beyond the $1,000 master card already paid, and beyond the nearly $300 my insurance company sent them.
I also just got a bill from the hospital - from a stay in December. I paid a small amount, surprisingly small, in January; but I wrongly assumed that, since I have health insurance and had more than met my deductible at the time of my little near-death experience, the payment was a co-pay. Not so. Surprise! Tack on another two grand to the fun fund.
And guess what? I need two new front tires.
Know what else? Health insurance also declined to pay more than $600 for care I had to have at the, you know, girl doctor. That's not the kind of care you skimp on, and, so, here I am, paying out the nose.
I think I hear my life throwing up down the hall. In better news, my sister's surgery went well today; so I think today has been worth the cost of its paper towels.
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