Because of what “they say” about assuming, I will instead surmise my thoughts on the owner of this car (who I can confirm was male).

  1. He peaked in high school.
  2. He tips 10% (12% if the waitress is “hot” according to his standards).
  3. He douses himself with AXE products in multiple scents with the resulting scent being Ew.
  4. He is over forty and wears skinny jeans that cut off his circulation and Chucks that bother his plantar fasciitis, but hey the college chicks dig it. (Dude, they don’t. Not on you.)
  5. He releases exhaling grunts that sound like the torture scene in Zero Dark Thirty on every machine at the gym.
  6. He wears sunglasses indoors.
  7. His opinions on anything social or political are loud and loudly uninformed.
  8. He should replace his tires with monster truck tires if you catch my drift.
  9. He doesn’t even attempt to recycle. In fact, he litters. In fact, the plastic bottle next to his car is probably his.
  10. He follows a creepy amount of women on Instagram and clears his Google searches at least twice a day.

For more pictures of bad parkers to judge :), check out http://www.youparklikeanasshole.com/


An Open Letter to Drivers Too Cool to Use Their Turn Signal

Dear Driver Too Cool to Use Your Turn Signal,

You suck at life. There is a built-in security system that can save your sucky self and the innocent souls on the road around you. It’s called a turn signal. Oh, you haven’t heard of it? Then allow me and some law-abiding, turn-signal-using drivers to take you to a shed deep in the forest and teach you about it. Wait here while we get our bats. YOU KNOW WHAT A TURN SIGNAL IS. USE IT.

You chew with your mouth open, don’t you? Of course you do because you suck at life.

Your Prius may save the rain forest, but it does not save you or me from a fatal accident. Use your turn signal. Your Hummer was useful in Operation Desert Storm, but you run errands on civilian, non-combative roads. Use your turn signal. Your SUV carts around a child who was smart for one month out of an entire school year, which earned a sticker that you can’t stick on your bumper straight – congratulations. Use your turn signal.

Listen, I’m a driver. I get it. I hate slow drivers on the highway too (especially in the left lane). I’m not saying that you should suffer the next twenty miles behind Eeyore. I’m saying you should know that your individual need is not priority #1 (I just shook your sucky world a bit, huh?). Priority #1 is the collective safety of every car in accident proximity of your impulse to switch a lane. So signal that you wish to pass, and oncoming cars may/may not allow the proper space and pace to allow you to enter their lane. That’s right, your turn signal is an instrument to ask for permission. Just because you use it (and we already know you don’t) it does not give you the right to be selfish and insert your car into any car-length space available in any particular hot second. As a side note to you in particular, a car-length space between two cars does not need another car to occupy it. That would make a train. On a highway. Please stop sucking at life in this way.

I have a theory that people who don’t use their turn signal also can’t maintain a romantic relationship of any worth since communication is a fundamental in both driving and relationships (driving relationships?). Inevitably, someone who doesn’t use a turn signal is reading this confused like, “But I’m in a relationship.” Hot Pants, your mate cheats on you with someone who can communicate (uses a turn signal). Trust me. So if you can’t use your turn signal for safety, selflessness, or common decency, use it for love. Yes even you, you wretched human being who is too cool to use a turn signal, deserve love…but not from me.

Use your turn signal.

With deep desire to reach a destination without an accident or heart attack,

The People Swerving and Blaring Their Horn Behind You


Close Stander

I’m in line at the bank this morning and the following scenario takes place (as it does later at CVS and Trader Joe’s):

I’m patiently waiting in line and a guy enters the line behind me, close behind me.  I take a subtle step forward and brush it off as his human-to-human space ratio may be off for the moment.  It happens.  No big deal.  The line loses a person and we all take one step forward like mindless sheep.  Once again, cowboy behind me moves in pretty close.  Ugh, he’s one of those.  I take another step forward and try to position my purse in a way to create a safety zone around my back, but my purse isn’t one of those trendy pieces of luggage-purses, and so it’s of no help.  The guy takes another step.  So I turn around, flash a passive-obvious (the word makes sense to me) look at him, and take a step forward.  He steps forward too.  It must’ve been the passive part of my obvious look that he doesn’t understand.  I mean, we’re sharing a lung at this point.  I wish I had the balls to turn around and say, Hey, halitosis, the fumes from your sausage and cheddar grits breakfast are sticking to the back of my neck.  Would you take a yardstick or four steps back from me already?  Thank you!…God bless.  But I don’t.  Instead I decide to download The Police’s Don’t Stand So Close To Me on my cell phone so that the next time this happens, I will hold it up a la John Cusack and his boombox in Say Anything.  But I won’t do that either.  I’ll just come home and write about it. 🙂