Life in the Fast Lane

To The Guy in the Gray Infinite on I75 This Morning:

Wow, dude. Seriously? 85 mph wasn't fast enough for you? You know, I'm not opposed to trying new things and I'm not turned off by a little ass play, but you being up my tail pipe without buying me a drink first or worse! no lube? Not cool, pal. Not cool.

I know you were busy tossing back that Red Bull and yapping on your cellphone (you can afford an Infinite, but not a Bluetooth?), but could you not see over or around my little white motorized lemon to see that there was a whole line of cars ahead of me in the fast lane?

And while we're on the subject, as you were not so gently nudging me up the road, could you not tell that I was dealing with my own shit? You know, I was busy, too, and doing the best I could. It's not like I was just driving 85 and edging faster when I could. I was also....

texting*, yawning, listening to Strauss's Death and Transfiguration, staving off the need to pee, drinking coffee, keeping a watchful eye on my hey, dummy, you need gas light, trying to maintain a safe distance between my car and the car in front of me, fielding telephone calls, scratching inappropriately, applying lipstick*, waving at truck drivers, adjusting my bra straps, and contemplating taking some Phentermine but without the choking.

As you jumped from lane to lane, I could have told you that it was a waste of time. At that time of day, on that looooong stretch of I75, if you're willing to drive at breakneck speeds, your best bet is to jump in the fast lane and cook at a happy 85mph. Faster is folly. Slower is inviting death with pain.

So there you were, getting more and more frustrated, more and more jacked up on whatever the hell you were swilling out of that can and getting more red in the face.

But was I going to lose my spot in line so you could get one car ahead? Not on your life. I've been the nice driver before and found myself boxed in for miles. So you could just cope like the rest of us. Sorry.

When you finally broke free, switched lanes and even jumped up a few car lengths on the far right lane, I cheered you. Did you hear me holler "Run, Forrest, Run!!" ? Because I did. I even interrupted Strauss's poetic work to do so.

But did it work for you? Shhhhhyeah. You learned the painful lesson we've all learned at the hands of morning metro Atlanta I75 Southbound traffic. Stay put, be patient, lane jumping will lead to one thing: The dreaded boxed in scenario. Yep - there you sat between the semi on the right and the two miserably plodding cars in front and in back of you. They were going what? 70mph? Sheesh.

You shook your head, watched mournfully as the left lane zoomed on past you. I watched you as you banged your steering wheel with rage. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw you hold your mobile phone to your ear again, looking forlorn.

Next time, you'll know. 85mph is just going to have to be fast enough.......

Love,

Your fellow commuter Lisa

P.S. Nice care, BTW. I'm guessing your air conditioner works and your driver's side door opens, so there's that.

25 Ways to Coddle Your Man (and Earn His Appreciation)

I have fabulous commenters (no, really! not sucking up). You make me laugh. You make me cry. So far none of you have made me hurl. You make me think. You make me swear aloud at home and under my breath at work. You make me curious. You make me glad I do this blog thing.

This morning, my good friend, dream date and blogging partner somewhere else Freida of the Bees left a comment on this post and I immediately emailed her to say that her comment required oh so much more attention. I closed with a filthy line that would make your toes curl, but I'll save that for when I decide to go all erotica all the time.

As if. I couldn't write erotica every day. I have neither the attention span nor the imagination, but it's fun to threaten it, isn't it?

Anyway, Freida and I got on the phone this afternoon and collaborated on the expansion of her original comment. Now I'm not saying that we're going to drop blogging all together to jump feet first into the advice business, but when you see what we've come up with, you might just want to see us do just that. Give advice or quit blogging or turn in our feminist membership cards. Or stop breathing.

Impossible. We're the energizer bunnies of blogging. And now that we've been discovered by the Queens of Pink, well, let's just say we think our Carnival Cruise ship has come in and Kathie Lee Gifford is waving from the Main deck......