What I Get For Thinking

I commute.

I live in a suburb in the metroplex and work in Dallas, and if you're not familiar with this particular part of North Texas, it's actually not too ridiculously far of a drive. I can make the trip during off-hours in 30 minutes or so. But on any given on-day, the drive is closer to an hour.

(For kicks, my longest commute—one way—was almost three hours after a semi ran into an overpass and the road had to be closed. WHILE I WAS ON IT.)

(If you lived in Rhode Island—and felt so inclined—you could drive across the state like 87 times in three hours.)

I try to constantly find the silver lining of my commute: alone time! time to think! regardless of how many loads of laundry Mike has failed to do that month, I'm ecstatic to see his face when I walk through the door since his face doesn't resemble a brake light! I get to hear every Top 40 song so I can finally hold my own during all those Fergie vs. Rhianna debates I find myself entangled in!

And I can think up blog ideas.

Today—HA! THE IRONY!—I was mulling over how I was fresh out of blog ideas. I was thinking of posting how television hasn't been the same since Veronica Mars was canceled Or perhaps how Milo's new haircut is knee-quiveringly sexy. How Molly is stoked about Barktoberfest this weekend and the costume contest she's going to make her bitch. Or how I'm back on Weight Watchers and I'm not joking around this time.

But all those ideas just seemed meant for another day. I didn't have the urge to expand on any of them, so I figured I'd just sit this day out.

And THEN as I was stopped at a light—bopping my way through this song, which I happen to love—some idiot PLOWED INTO ME.

When I finally gathered myself and had muttered "You've got to be fucking kidding me?" a good 62 times, I pulled into the nearest parking lot—can I stop here and mention how many ADULT ESTABLISHMENTS were around me?—and I know I should have been more careful about the words I chose to speak to my Sampson's* attacker, but when I stepped out of the car, all that came out of my mouth was:

"THANKS FOR THAT."

So I am fine. And Sampson—although less fine—is still OK. I have a slight headache and, really, it most likely stems from my anxiety over my Life! Changing! Haircut! appointment tomorrow and not over my rather uneventful and unfortunate fender bender. But I do have to admit to immediately thinking—upon being thrown INTO MY STEERING WHEEL:

Well, I know what I'm blogging about now!

::

 

*My car's name is Sampson.

Comments

[Chris Cactus]

Hey, as long as you're okay...

[Bethany]

It is ironic you mentioned haircuts twice in that blog and the real Sampson's (See the good book of Judges) demise happened to be a haircut as well. Ha! I just made myself laugh.

[Katie]

Aww man, that SUCKS. At least you're okay, dear. I love that you immediately thought of your blog...I, too, have the "I'm soooo going to blog about that" moments.
P.S. My car is named Sweet Hazel. Perhaps she and Sampson can have a rendezvous. ;)

[Kristabella]

My car's name is Banged Up Piece of Crap.

Glad you and Sampson are OK. And people are dumb.

[Lauren]

Glad you and Sampson are ok. I am a new reader and just wanted to say Hi. I am a former Aggie and still live in College Station. (Class of 2003)It is nice to read a blogger who knows where Bryan/College Station is. I'm not missing the traffic of the big city. My commute every day is all of 15 minutes.

[slynnro]

Sorry bout the accident, but your comment to the attacker was hilarious.

[Raven]

My comment to the attacker would have been MUCH more colorful, I'm afraid.

Glad you are okay!

[Leah]

Dude! That sucks!