stop...go...stop...go...stop...

I'm well aware of the fact that the study of traffic patterns is essentially a science in itself, but I would love for someone to explain to me how I can be in the "fast lane" of a four lane highway at a dead stop while the the other three lanes drive merrily along posthaste, undoubtedly having a little chuckle at the irony of the "fast lane" concept and how much better off they are not being in it.

I would also love to know why I, having noticed this reoccuring trend for the past two months, continue to drive in this so-called "fast lane" every morning.

"If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem"

-Eldridge Cleaver

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headgear...check

I filled up my gas tank for $2.79/gallon yesterday. It would seem that the apocalyptic predictions of soaring gas prices have once again been temporarily averted. I guess it's a good thing I didn't invest in that rice-powered car after all.

A car is a mode of transportation that some people, myself included, use to get to work on a daily basis. (that was my segue for the following anecdote...ya know, to make it flow)

Yesterday, at work (*ting*) I was having a conversation with my coworker Rick concerning my future career as a helicopter pilot. He had asked me what the training process entails, so I went on to tell him how you must first get your private pilot's license and then build upon that foundation, adding additional certifications over time. "What kind of additional certification would you need?" he asked.

"Well, there are several. There's your instrument rating, your external load certification, your certification to fly a helicopter with a turbine..."

It was at that point that Rick erupted in uncontrollable laughter. I quickly thought back through what I had just said, trying desperately to figure out what could have been so funny. My stupefied expression must have been asking the question for me, because through his laughter he proceeded to explain.

As it turns out, I had inadvertantly slipped in one of those phenomenal un-planned puns that blends so perfectly into a story, most normal people never even pick up on it; but Ricky was on top of his game that day. He went on to say that when I mentioned you need special training to fly with a turbine, he immediately pictured me sitting in the pilots seat dressed as a Sikh, wondering why I needed special certification to fly with a long piece of cloth wound tightly around my head. Clearly he heard "Turban" instead of "Turbine" and we both got a much-needed laugh out of the little miscommunication.

Awkwardocity

You know what sucks? When you're waving hello to a friend down the hall and another random person, who you don't really know all that well, springs out from behind a well-hidden doorway and intercepts the friendly gesture, only to look back and realize that it wasn't meant for them. It's just awkward for all parties involved.

Although I must admit, it's considerably less awkward being the waver than the poor bloke stuck in the middle, who more-often-than-not just so happens to be myself, while the waver more-often-than-not just so happens to be an attractive girl with the recipient being either her attractive female friend or her genetically enhanced boyfriend.

On a side note...I can't think of any word that more accurately portays the essence of its meaning than the word "awkward". It looks awkward when you see it, it feels awkward when you type it, and it sounds awkward when you say it. I don't know the etymology behind it, but oh how fitting.

Four of my close friends have consecutively asked me if I have any recent relationship activity to tell them about...not because they're concerned about my loneliness or emotional well-being but because the bizzarre and farfetched stories I tell are so entertaining.

.....*sigh*.....

Cracking under pressure

My sister and I went to dinner at Cracker Barrel the other day (...best country fried steak around if you're wondering. Trust me, I'm a connaisseur). There I am at the checkout, waiting to pay. For a second I think to myself that perhaps I should use the calculator on my phone to figure out exactly how much of a tip I should leave to get the total to a nice round number (it's a habitual thing for me at restaurants. Not quite OCD in that it doesn't bother me at all if I don't do it, but it usually gets the server an extra 50 cents or so when I round up, so I figure it's worth the extra effort.) I decide not to use the calculator. I mean, come on, I was on the Dean's list at college. I did great in Algebra, Geometry, and all my math courses, so why the heck would I need to use a calculator for a simple subtraction problem??? I reassure myself one last time that I don't need it and put my phone away as the cashier says, "I can take you over here sir."

I walk up and hand her my bill as we begin the obligatory exchange regarding the quality of my meal and our visit to their establishment...and then it happens. The moment that for some reason, I dread EVERY time I go to a place like this. Bob Evans is the same way. I hate, HATE, HATE writing in the tip while the cashier hovers over me...waiting to see what I write so she can fill it in on the computer and have it show up on my printed receipt. WHY????? Why can't you people just let me turn this in and walk away? Why can't I do it at the table??? Why must you hover?? My hands immediately start getting sweaty as she hands me the pen...

*GULP*

Okay, this one isn't so bad....10% is-.....x2 for the standard 20% tip....okay, now round that up to-....now this plus that is-......okay....I hope she doesn't think I'm stiffing our waitress..... now carry the one...STOP HOVERING LADY!!!!...almost done.....am I taking too long?...add that line and VOILA! Okay, that wasn't as bad as I thought it would be...

I triumphantly hand her the receipt, relieved that my moment under the microscope is over with. As I wait for her to transfer my scribbling into the register, she stops...looks at the total....looks again....then turns to me and says those words I had been dreading since she handed me that friggin pen: "Did you mean to put a 1 instead of a 2?"

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!.......the blood immediately rushes to my face as I try to laugh it off "Oh yeah, I'm sorry! It's been one of those days!" She of course laughs, but I know inside she's thinking I'm one of those high-school drop out, illiterate, dunces who can't read, write, or do simple long addition and subtratction.

No, it's not like that lady! Honest! I'm smart! I just start feeling a little anxiety when you hover like that! I don't do well under intense scrutiny! I get nervous! I'm really rather intelligent and very very literate! I promise! I can show you my grades from my last semester of college! Want me to quote some Shakespeare or Robert Frost??? Please please believe me!!!

It's no use. I walk away.....ashamed.....defeated......trying desperately to avoid the mocking eyes of the people in line around me....

I should have used the stupid calculator

I can't wait to move to a place where the only use I have for my snow brush is wiping the sand off my feet

...soon.....very soon....