History of my weather-induced driving paranoia Pt. 2

I've already hit a pole in an ice storm, and been rear ended in a parking garage while waiting at a stop sign. Maybe I was feeling invincible? Perhaps looking for a thrill? Nah. Just ignoring my instincts, which never turns out well.

This is my second winter in upstate NY and I must say...it is wildly unfortunate. The small difference in temperature and precipitation between here and say, Westchester is significant enough to make me hate the season. I try not to hate, too much negative energy expelled...but there is no doubt that I absolutely DESPISE winter here.

It was the first snow of the season that surpassed simple flurry action. I currently live in an apartment complex and was afraid they'd tow my car if I left it there for the workday. I cleared off my vehicle as it slowly warmed up. By the time I'd finished, there was already a fresh layer waiting to be brushed off again.

I got inside and started my ten minute journey to work. This isn't so bad, I prematurely mused while exiting the parking lot. My tune changed rather quickly as I almost wiped out going around a traffic circle. I am unsure what road engineer decided that mitigating speed in the form of confusing and obnoxious traffic circles was reasonable for upstate, but I'd like to personally tell them they had a TERRIBLE idea.

I quickly start to panic after my almost-incident. I should turn around, my practical side urged. An SUV is driving behind me close enough to hop into my trunk. This makes me uncomfortable so I drive at an even slower pace. Suddenly my car jumps off the road into a small ditch. Seconds later I hear a "smack" as this SUV plows into me. I look in my rear view mirror and see a young woman only a few years older than I on the phone. So let's get this straight, she was tailgating AND on her cell phone during a snow storm. I get out of the car as she continues to talk on the phone.

She finally climbs out and we exchange the typical niceties. "Are you OK?" etc. She waits for her husband to arrive and apparently has a toddler in the car. They push and prod my car out of the snowy canal. The damage is so minimal we go on our separate ways.

Looking back, I should have called the police because a small crack in the bumper is still a small crack in the bumper that I did not cause. Perhaps I was just thrilled my bumper did not fall off completely as it did during the parking garage incident. Whatever the case, I recently purchased some new tires but am trying my damndest not to drive during any severe weather...ever again.

History of my weather-induced driving paranoia

I have a problem. I hate driving in snow and ice. It all began at the age 0f 18. I decided that an ice storm could not stop me from picking up my friend and venturing to the local mall. I was (and still am) driving a tiny Honda Civic. This should have been the first clue pointing to a reoccurring theme of "danger".

I knew I had an inkling of uncertainty when I asked my father if it was ok to drive, rather than my mother. Opposites on every level, my father is about as laid back as a corpse. My mother on the other hand? Let's just say her reaction would have delivered in shrill tones, asking me if I was insane.

Looking back, did I REALLY need to hit up the Phillipsburg Mall with such urgency? No. That mall was not worth my time on a sunny day. But for some reason I had set my mind to an evening of retail disappointment. A small ice storm was not going to deter me. No way.

I bundled up, stepped onto the driveway with care, started the car and was on my way. Sliding all over the road after the first turn I thought "well they haven't salted yet...I am sure the main roads are fine." I continue along until I hit such a major road, which is conveniently a steep hill. I see cars attempting to go up the incline, most are stuck completely. A cop car attempting to bring order to chaos was parked nearby. I immediately felt at ease for virtually unknown reasons. Was this policeman going to prevent me from getting into an accident? Would he be able to erase any damage incurred? Of course not.

I inch along, further down this slick boulevard. Passing my old pediatrician's office, I suddenly lose control. In slow motion I am spinning off the road closer and closer to a light pole. A sense of calm came over me which drowned out the sheer terror I initially felt. I had lost control of the car but was going so slowly in the first place that I didn't think I would be seriously injured. I was right. Before I know it my driver's side has attached itself to the pole with a loud smack. I sit stunned for a second, but quickly rifle my phone out to call my house. Half in tears I tell my mother what happened. She didn't even know I had left the house. I crawl out of the car with the policeman's help and wait for my frantic parents to arrive.

My family rushed the four blocks to the scene. (My dad took a little longer..he's uh..methodical in his actions) My mother was at first angry but glad I was ok. My brother was in wonderment of it all and I just wanted to go back in time to make a better judgment call. The officer was helpful with filing a report for the insurance company and keeping everyone calm.

It turns out that total damage was $4,000. They did not total the car because it was a Honda. I think twice before driving anywhere in sub par conditions. This has kept me out of trouble, until last month that is.

So wrong...but so right

Is it wrong that I love these:
















via Opening Ceremony.


I think they could work with a very simple outfit. Perhaps a casual black dress or chambray shirt/black jeans.

These No. 6 clog boots are like walking on air.















via Totokaelo.




I need to start my shopping ban, after the holidays, of course.

Personal "Don'ts"

Things I will never embrace:

*Sweaters with zippers
*Ugg Boots
*Bright yellow attire (Including yellow "leather" bags...but excluding the adorable yellow woven purse Kat got for me while abroad)
*Crocs
*Hippie skirts (Though they are probably comfortable.)
*Flared jeans (Not to be confused with a wide-leg trouser jean)
*Most polyester garments
*Excessive use of "jewel tones"

I'll revisit this list

P.S. How could I forget denim on denim?

As the Capital Region turns...

An "All America City" indeed. I still find it rather irksome that they chose not to include an "n" at the end of America. I suppose this illustrates my relationship with the area perfectly.

As it turns out we ARE moving. (I think) It's a lovely (cheap) apartment complex with parking spaces. Dear Lord I will rejoice every time I don't have to turn around on a busy street when I want to park near the front door. So back into boxes we go. I'll be sure to eat at Sue's Place one last time, feeling unbearably awkward as I am stared down because I am not one of the family. The Lansingburgh family, that is. Maybe I will take a trip to the disgusting Price Chopper on a day when I am both bloated and hungry. Instant appetite suppressor. Perhaps I will even grab a drink at the Troy Bar. Simple name for such a majestic place.

I don't want to curse myself, but I think we are finally out of the 'Burgh. What a cultural eye opener. I have learned so much about what NOT to do. And as a final hurrah, when we are pulling away for the last time...I really want to yell "GET A JOB!" at the porch sitting fixtures on the corner. I really hated them.

Out of Lansingburgh...

it has become more of a saga than "Out of Africa". I feel like I will never leave Troy. Sure the bathroom is bigger than most bedrooms; and the authenticity of its architecture is just so charming. But in reality the domestic disputes, unsavory porch dwellers & literal gifts of garbage left on our front stoop have left me yearning for a more civilized neighborhood. Hell, I miss the days of living in a dorm. Sure most of the people I was surrounded with had the same level of class, but that's youth at an art school for ya.

Early on in the search we were charmed by an over-zealous woman looking to rent her "in-law" apartment in the coveted Latham area. She seemed to love us. She clearly had empty nest syndrome as her own children had left the capital region for bigger and better things.(Don't they all?) Her warm demeanor and spotless apartment seemed too good to be true. I envisioned coming home to fresh baked brownies and simmering stew left on the counter just for us. We expressed our interest with utmost sincerity. The place was practically guaranteed. We called and left a voice mail after not hearing from her in a day or so. That should have been a clue, because we never heard from her again. This left me rather perplexed. It even put me in a funk for a few days. What had I missed about our interactions? Was she just a 50 year old flake? Did she not receive our messages? Or maybe she is just certifiably insane and its all the better because I didn't need a surrogate mother anyway. No, I am not bitter about the one that got away.

The second attempt was thwarted when the ceiling in our new dwelling literally caved in, or rather fell in. Not to mention the mice droppings, potential black mold and the crap left behind by the landlord. Just as we were about to meet with him and tactfully let him know the conditions were not sanitary upon further inspection, we walked into a kitchen of fallen ceiling tiles. One in particular had held on for dear life. We could see it swelling with water, about to burst over our heads. He tried to make the place look livable, but in the end a heavy rainstorm that seemed to last the entire month of July had its way with the roof. We had already relocated our belongings because of the aforementioned "issues". Thankfully nothing of ours was damaged, besides our sense of relief when we foolishly thought we were out of the 'Burgh. We ripped up the lease and got our money back. With our lives in boxes we were back at the starting point.

We have looked at several places since. None of which have wowed us, but at this rate...location location location. As captivating as the Budweiser drinking men on our front steps are, it's time to go. The way they naturally slur their words indicates they have been drinking since they woke up. They probably haven't even slept. They seem harmless and thankfully keep us informed of what's going on in the 'hood. They were particularly descriptive about the scooter accident on the corner. (That is, when I could understand them.)

I could also elaborate on the train wreck of a basement left by our former room mate who has the maturity of a six year old. Let's leave that tragedy for a different day. I can already feel the ulcer forming.

Hungry hunger

I think my problem lies within the fact that I am far from being inherently "Type A".
I need to get a fire under my a**.

This weather

is for the ducks.

Here is a special hate-filled post

I do not like cars. Namely my own. Sure she's been a real sweetheart, but at 160,000 miles...it seems she may be on her last legs. And then what? The verdict is out on that one. Now off to mope about cars and their issues.

Most females are

FLAKES! I suppose I can be as well, but I'm making a concerted effort to stop from being such.

Combustion would be preferable to...

mindless data entry on a day that I planned on reading magazines. I don't enjoy Mondays, and I don't enjoy putting in a bunch of letters and numbers regarding other people's accomplishments. I get used to doing nothing, and though it drives me insane my rate of pay matches the amount of tasks I normally need to accomplish. I.e.next to none. But that's OK, it's nice to break up monotony with more monotony.

I recently went on an interview where my would-be supervisor disclosed that they had 200 applicants for the position. They were interviewing forty people in person. I remained upbeat after hearing such discouraging facts, but as soon as I walked out the door my caffeine-fueled positive outlook dissolved rather quickly. FORTY PEOPLE? Should I have attached a head shot with my resume? Done a small dance routine to seem a bit more memorable? What's worse was that she had already interviewed 30 bodies.

She politely asked if I planned on doing anything with my degree. Of course I said I would just love the opportunity to be an admin for an engineering firm. I earnestly stated that I would jump for joy if I was hired to type up documents for 70% of the work day. (While the other 30% would likely be spent on a self-suicide watch because I can't imagine this job would be anymore fulfilling than staring at white walls for 9 hours.) Ah, the joys of interviewing. These people are basically looking for the person who can bullshit convincingly. I am working on it, while learning from those who seemingly lie all day and take great pleasure in it.

I am left to wonder if I will hear back from this cattle call. Give it another day, and another shot of espresso and I will be back at it, among millions of others who are searching during our great "recession". Keep spending Obama, who needs a pension or social security anyway?

Start a fight

They say staring is a tell-tale sign of a certain lack of intelligence. So that would probably explain this area's affinity for gazing whilst expressionless at people that confuse them. i.e. those who have a future, class or less of an appetite.

Palms sweaty

Is there a class I can take which will teach me how to say "I am awesome" more eloquently in interview settings? Because otherwise I act like a 15 year old girl being asked on a date. Red face, sweaty palms...lack of control over my words. Yep.

Fashion is Passion

I just bit into a Reese's cup that both tasted like soap, and crunched a bit. I used my better judgment to face my losses and chuck the candy. We have an 80 year old courier who comes bearing a canvas bag of treats twice a week. Could these off-putting realities be more cliche? Sometimes I wonder if he will bring in apples with razors lodged inside, waiting to cut my pink gums. Some of the selections are seemingly harmless. Some of them look like they have been through two world wars; and I wouldn't doubt for a second they have been around that long.

He is an interesting gentleman. Though in no way is he gentle. He gets his kicks out of telling dirty jokes and staring just a little too long. This could be deemed sexual harassment in most work places, but the owner just shakes his head and laughs whenever he hears the end of an uncomfortable joke. I am often left to wonder if dirty old men arrive at their destination after years of suppressing such behavior, or did they act this way since they could speak in complete sentences? I am hoping for the latter, but leaning towards the former.

He ambles in looking in need of a nap. I fear for other drivers as I see him lurch into traffic at approximately 2 miles per hour. He is likely the kind of ancient driver that causes accidents. I learn to ignore the comments and looks because hey, I get free candy. 50% of the time it's completely edible too!

Talk about upselling

A coworker's 15 year old daughter wants to see Fall Out Boy. BLEACHER tickets are $70. Are you goddamn kidding me? For that epic piece of musical garbage? What makes me even more distraught is the serious lack of quality music that shows up in this grand area of NY. I miss living near the city. My wallet however, does not.

Warranted to Aggravate

I get roughly 10 phone calls a day from different gendered computers telling me that the factory warranty on my vehicle has expired. These calls happen to come in via my work phone. I listen for a second and the same script launches from different area codes. Scam artists from Canada, California, and other far away reaches of North America are genuinely concerned about my automobile's health.

Little do they know that my 1997 Honda Civic's factory warranty expired about 70,000 miles ago. So yes, it is too late to renew; and no... I couldn't care less. A few times I have tried to remove the phone number from the list. I always reach a very frantic operator. I hope their job does not bank on anyone willing to sign up for this supposed warranty. I think it's safe to assume that no one does, and I am left to wonder how such a company stays in "business".

I don't even think I have the energy to get annoyed by these sales attempts. In fact I feel a certain joy when I realize the person calling is just a computer chip. Ah yes, much better than the other phone calls I receive that make me feel like this:





or

Feeling a bit...

sour today.

New music

just doesn't have enough soul.

Pizza Hut...

SUCKS. Their sauce was always too sweet or too much. Maybe it was really just not enough. I guess I can vaguely say I enjoyed the bread sticks and the seedy atmosphere. But let's face it folks, their pre-made fare leaves much to be desired.

Now that I have bared my inner soul, really shown you my disdain for "The Hut"; I will tell you something else. When the charge for $29.15 showed up on my debit card with the words "Pizza Hut" next to it, my heart dropped. I have not been to a Pizza Hut in quite some time. Though the aroma has tempted me within the confines of Target, I just cannot bring myself to spend one penny I make under their own red roof.

The last time I had a sit down feast, a large waitress ambled along while clearing tables, enjoying her own buffet... of customer leftovers. She nibbled on the stuffed crust, then took a bite of someone's forgotten bread stick. She had no shame, she worked at Pizza Hut. The waitress even sipped on an unfinished soda. Thoroughly disturbed, I made it a point to never return. Imagine my surprise when I found out that someone had committed 30 dollars worth of fraud at the pizza chain with my credit card.

I called my financial institution immediately. The teller told me the order had been called in at 4:56pm the previous day. At that same moment the order was placed, I was silently screaming at the clock so I could leave work. I didn't even know there was a Pizza Hut in Troy. What bullshit. She told me the charge was canceled, as was my bank card. I breathed a sigh of relief, only to find days later that the woman was a damn liar.

"FORCE CHARGE Pizza Hut Troy NY" showed up on my account. I called again. Another woman told me that debit charges legally had to post. I would have to go in and fill out a form to dispute this charge. I wanted to tell her that I hated Pizza Hut; and that I would never give my credit card information over the phone. I know she didn't care either way, so I saved my breath for cursing out America...and the world.

I started to put two and two together while obsessing over the subject. I had only used my card for a gas charge. This particular station was apparently called "Race Track". It is a veritable bodega with a highly visible bong in the window. They must have smoked, gotten the card information, and decided Pizza Hut would be the place they would feast with someone else's money. Of course there is virtually no way to prove this, but I think it's highly probable. Those stoners were more resourceful than most. I'll give 'em that, but in reality I would like to give them a bomb.

Hobbies=

Bank. Literally. I would need mucho money IN the bank to do most of the things I want to do. I would also need daylight hours to stick around, and for my hands not to turn blue after taking five photos. Such is life. I also need a sewing machine. Perhaps I could covertly take my mother's out of the house without her noticing. Probably not a good plan.