I hate driving. I hate it and will avoid it at all costs. Even on the day I got my license, I had my dad drive home. You know that tag line: On the road of life, there are passengers and there are drivers? Guess which one I am.
It's not because I'm lazy (okay maybe I'm lazy) it's just that I never felt that wild excitement of the open road. I've perfected the art of turning the back seat into a reading/napping nest on car trips, leaving the driver(ahem, chauffeur) to keep me safe from accidents as I lounge. If I do happen to stay awake, I spend most of the time either back-seat driving, not talking, or incessantly demanding that the occupants play car games with me.
When I get behind the wheel, I turn into a psycho. I'm a stickler for rules and laws and when they are not obeyed the wrath of Hell escapes from my lips. Having the propensity to curse like a sailor anyway, a jay walker or lane changer can expect a show of wild gesticulation and a crude, horrific series of curse words from the blond chick in the green Acura.
If I am on the phone with someone, they too can expect to be inundated with my carnal reactions. I shant repeat any of my special reserve curses here, but if you ever wish to hear them, give me a ring during rush hour.
I only bring this up because after a year in the professional world, I have my first driving commute. It's only been a week but already I'm frustrated, pissy and vulgar in the car. I used to listen to NPR to keep myself occupied but seeing as the world is slowly going to shit, their reports do nothing but fan the flames of my rage. Oh, you're going to cut me off while Lakshmi Singh calmly explains the financial ruin of the United States? No, it's fine, assface. Are you actually slowly walking across the street, outside of a crossing zone while I'm legally approaching at 30 mph DURING ALL THINGS CONSIDERED?!?!?!?!
Anyway, what was I blogging about?