Don't wave no goodbye

Act one. 

About a week ago, I was sitting at my desk doing my part to make air travel a happy experience for the customer and world at large when my mobile buzzed. Chloe. The ambient sounds told me she was driving. She doesn't usually call while she's behind the wheel.

"Mom, there's a guy behind me flashing his lights and tailgating me."

"Call 911." It was the only rational thing I could think to suggest.

"Mom. Really? I don't even know how to give a description of his car. He's behind me."

"Whatever you do, don't stop."

"What if there's something really wrong with my car?"

As she talked, she must have slowed down because the other driver drew alongside her. Chloe shouted "What?" and waved her phone around.

He sped ahead and turned right at the next intersection. Chloe went on her way. I went back to protecting the flying public by sending out mass emails and posting documents on a website.

Act two.

I'm motoring south in the left lane of I-75. In my peripheral vision, I notice a vehicle on my right. It's even with me. Odd is my first thought.

I'm imagining it, I think, after Chloe's experience.

I speed up. The black truck next to me does too.

I don't want to look. I don't. I don't want to look.

I look.

The charmer behind the wheel - salt and pepper hair, a mustache, aviators and a cap - grins. A big grin. Wolfish. Ah. He has my attention and he's ever so pleased.

For goodness sake says the roll of my eyes.

My attention is back on the road and my audio book. Ignore him. He pulls level with me and stays there.

I look again and there's that grin. And a hand over his heart. Thump thump, he indicates, patting his chest.

I smile because I've been well-trained and shake my head. Go back to watching the road.

He honks his horn to get my attention. There is a car in front of me and one behind. I can't vary my speed by much or change lanes.

Stuck.

I glance in his direction and he points at his chest then at me then at his chest again. Fans himself.

Ah.

He's spotted the cleavage.

I roll my eyes southward. Well, hello there. With my hands dutifully placed at 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock, my breasts are smooshed in just a way as to create that cleft. The one that makes grown men act like ignoramuses. Frustrating for those of us with big breasts. Stacy and Clinton advise the big-breasted to not wear shirts with  fabric covering the chest because it makes one appear even larger. And a decent bra makes cleavage.

It's a fine line. Running right between your breasts and into imaginations.

He blows his horn again and I tug my shirt up to cover the valley. Again with the horn. I look his way and he tugs his shirt down.

I'm slow. I don't know what he wants. I wave him off.

He gets my attention again and points to me, then pulls the front of his shirt away from his body.

Oh. I see. He wants me to show him my boobs. For free.

Call me strange, but I do not get the thrill of begging a stranger to show you her body parts. 

That's not really what it's about though, is it? It's about power. Intimidation. Perceived subversion. Testing the limits. And I'm thinking, Dude, I used to have my boobs on the internet. Getting me to show you my tits is really not the special thing you think it is. Unless, of course, the real thrill is the fact that we're cooking along at about 75 miles per hour.

I think of my daughter who was potentially in danger because she'd committed the crime of being female while driving on an open road in a little white car. I'm getting angry.

I punch the CD button to stop the audio book. I've missed whole paragraphs. The car in front of me finally moves out of my way and I push forward. Black truck keeps up with me until he gets caught behind a slower driver and no way to switch lanes.

I change lanes a couple of times, still a few miles from my exit onto I285.

Black truck catches up with me again. He's on my left. He's behind me. He's on my right again.

He follows me onto the exit, still in the lane to my right on the long ramp that bisects at its end. I glance once more. He makes a sad face. Hands off the wheel - he's praying for my acquiescence. Please, he mouths. Please, please.

I push the button and the passenger's side window slides down. Anticipation makes Black Truck nudge his sunglasses down his nose.

I smile at him. Game on.


I point at my chest and shrug. He nods. Still hopeful. It's now or never. Come on, he mouths. The wind coming through the window is hot and smells of exhaust.


I go west. He goes east. I switch the audio book on and search for the spot where I stopped listening.

Remembering the 3 F Rule

I imagine this set to music, carved on the Great Wall of China, a cave painting somewhere in France, Sanskrit on  palm leaf, set in hieroglyphics at the base of a pyramid. Captured for posterity. We could weep for humanity. Or just blog it.

daisy gardner
she walked through the corn leading down to the river

i love my mom and black metal

column hairdryer
D cup
scent of friendship

that's why
That why

rich people school senior prom date
wild cheryl strayed

big bang theory fail pictures

Remember the 3 F rule. If you're not fucking me, feeding me or financing me, then your opinions really

fun ways to style short hair on teens every day
joan didion

THATS WHY
That's why

am siki (That's turkish)
cat wearing a wig
french painting woman man toast wine cheers
my live webcast
young anais nin

vienna beef logo
vienna beef log

I am on vacation bitch
I am on vacation bitch

Hwy 61 pic
monet metropolitan museum of art
college cheer 1984
casual sex friday

daisy gardner

why a strategy session
laundry on a line

stalking kids online

go go jason waterfalls

parachute open mind
parachute open mind

xhamster free sex mom

How do people find you?

Almost As Satisfying as Killing Two Flies With One Whack. Which I Just Did.

Like many of you, I go through my day editing myself. Hard to believe, I know, but I don't actually say the first thing that pops into my head all the time. I do self-censor. I'm careful because the situation warrants a certain amount of respectable behavior (boring!). Other times, I don't say what I'd really like to because it might hurt someone. Or get me fired. Or arrested. Or laughed off the PTA hospitality committee. Or smacked. Or drummed out of general society.

We all feel this way sometimes, don't we?

Today was a day full of those moments. Work, personal relationships, driving on I75. You name it. Picture my words, traveling with lightening speed from my brain to just the tip of my tongue where they are snagged by a large rubber band and catapulted back down my throat. I have to chew them before I can swallow them. Then, after a deep breath, I'm able to come up with a slightly more suitable response.

If I'm not careful, though, after time, those nasty words fester, getting meaner and uglier and more angry. Eventually, they find their way out and my self-censorship ends up being for naught.

To combat this, I'm using this post to let it out. I invite you to do the same in comments. It's not really a confessional, but rather a place to vent one's spleen safely so that there's no real or lasting damage to the people who matter in your life. Or who sign your paycheck, for example.

I'll start. I offer no explanation or tell you to whom something is directed. I'm not looking for a confrontation. I'm just having my say, using the words I wished I'd said, but didn't.

Item one
"If you think this thing is falling apart, perhaps you'd like to take it over and show me how it should be done. I don't like being stuck in the middle of what you want and what they want."

Item two
"Who do you think you're kidding?"

Item three
"Actually, I'm not so crazy about Chinese buffets. I'm not keen on Chinese food and I'm grossed out by the idea of food sitting out in the open on buffet. And I never get my money's worth at a buffet anyway. Unless, of course, it's a dessert buffet."

Item four
"Nice one, douchebag. That got you ahead one entire car length. Bravo. Now don't slow down, you moron! If you don't have the skills to drive in the left lane, please move over."

Item five
"You are exactly what everyone says you are. A coward. A user. A narcissist. A troubled soul. A child. Did I mention coward? Just checking."

Item six
"You know how I said I like your singing voice? Well, I lied. Frankly, I think your voice sounds pinched and tight."

Item seven
"For cliff's sake, we are not made of money!"

Item eight
"If you guys want to keep living here, you must learn how to use the toilet, feed yourselves and help out with something useful like the laundry. I've had enough of your lying around sunning yourselves and stealth pooping."

Item nine
"My passion evaporated because I felt like it wasn't wanted. How do we get that back?"

Item ten
"Next time, don't ask them what they want if you already know what you want. It creates an enormous headache and more work than I need."

Okay. That's plenty from me. Your turn. What would like to say to someone that you held back? Go on. You know you've got those words churning around inside you. Why not let it out here. I make no promises for the Internets, but your secret is safe with me.

Sunburned in All the Wrong Places

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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.