Abnormalities of Life

I had my tires changed today. It took roughly an hour. I parked 20 feet from the bay and returned to find my car 25 feet from the bay. I didn't notice any mileage racked up on the odometer, so I'm lead to believe that my car was driven about 50 feet during the whole ordeal.

So I post with not just a complaint, but a search for answers. Please reply to this and tell me why the mechanics still feel the need to adjust the seats of the car to drive o so far. I'm just totally perplexed.

Gas prices have now eclipsed the $3 / gallon mark. I'm upset, but not devastated, as I only fill up my little lean import only about every week and a half. But there is a Hummer H2 in my condo complex's parking lot that has only seen the road for about 3 weeks since I moved last July. I can't blame the owner, as every 12 feet costs roughly $20. At least he or she has another car with which to circulate around town. Either that, or they really don't get out much.

I actually feel some sympathy for SUV owners right now. They bought cars when incomes were high and gas prices were low. Now that the gas prices have skyrocketed and incomes have only trickled skyward, everyone is feeling the crunch. Common sense tells us we should all do our part to help minimize consumption. We'll start by not driving like a maniac.

So this chic in a huge yellow Hummer (not a smaller and more manageable H2 or H3) careened down the aisle of the train station parking lot this morning. I was in my doughnuted-gimpmobile (flat tire #27--keep in mind I've only been driving for 10 years) minding my business. I had just turned a corner and was approaching her straight on. The aisle is wide enough for two cars, but not if one of them is a Hummer. I didn't use my turn signal to indicate I planned to acquire a parking space, but I had slowed down and was far from any other cars. Until the Giant bumble bee flashed a finger and gunned it 100 yards just because she could. Biggest waste of $50 ever. I was irritated, but soon forgot. I was approaching the parking pay station (think Plinko or Connect 4 board for quarters) and I hear this scuffling behind me. Up runs Big Yellow's driver in a poorly-fitting suit and a pair of bedroom slippers. She boxes me out only to take an extraordinarily long amount of time to dispense her four quarters. By now I'm visibly angry and she's like "You'll have to wait, I need to make the train" which wasn't anywhere nearby. I replied with "and I don't? Fat bitch".

I totally wanted to say that second part under my breath, but my anger got the best of me and gave a much higher volume than anticipated. She really wasn't that fat, she just looked like a train wreck with her undried hair, that ill-fitting outfit, and the slippers--OMG the slippers!

I have never seen someone so stuck on themselves as to completely disregard everyone else in America and then get angry when called out on it. Oh wait, I have; his name is George W, but that's an entirely different topic.

Hopefully the gas crisis will be over soon. This girl will actually survive quite well; she has enough hot air and noxious gases in her head to provide many a Hummer's worth of energy.

I, like the rest of America, am slightly obsessed with celebrity babies. I also have my own theory about them. Why is this? For every celebrity couple, you can have very interesting offspring. Some of the most notable include Kate Hudson, Drew Barrymore, and the 7,000 Baldwins (although they're brothers so it doesn't fully count). When they're young, you wonder what they'll grow into (hot as hell or gruesome). Perhaps they're shielded from stardom like Lourdes Ciccone Leone and Rocco Ritchie (Madonna's kids) until they become the monstrosities that can be defined today by the likes of Nicole Richie and Kimberly Stewart, among others.

Well last night, the world realized the possibility that one day we could be reading the tabloid about Sean Preston Spears-Federline's affair with Suri Cruise. We'll leave the Pitt-Jolie kid out of this for now, as the gender has not yet been released.

But my question to you dear readers is what has become of our naming? Suri? Lourdes? Apple? Puh-lease.

At least I know I am not the only lamewad who is caught up in the hubbub. Observe the mature and wonderfully-witty exchange between my posse of 7-year-olds* and I:

The conversation began by discussing dinner plans.

Matt: But seriously, if you ride a SEPTA vehicle and then dont wash your hands before eating communal food, we are so not friends anymore.

Marianne: Matt's threats of us not being friends will shut me right up.The thought brings me to tears as big as Kate and Tom's new baby.

Me: Suri. Reminds me of a Surrey. I'll call her Go-Kart Tom Kitty.

Matt: Reminds me of rose petals ;) so I shall call it pussy.

Brenda: Are you people insane? what the eff are you talking about? (yes I know she popped the kid - but you guys are over in left field).

Marianne: Better left than right I say. They are talking about the kid's name: Suri. It means red rose or princess depending upon the Persion or Hebrew translations, respectively.

Matt: Jeffery found certain terms relating to female anatomy rather gross, so instead he called this particular term "rose petal". I believe suri's name means red rose in persian.

Me: According to Webster, a Surrey is: a four-wheel two-seated horse-drawn pleasure carriage. Hence Go Kart. But I think I like just saying her full name better. Suri Cruise. She's totally going to school in Upstate NY so that Suri Crusie can be a Syracuse Orange Woman.

Matt: Umm, according to the popular song, this is a surrey.

Marianne: Sometimes Surrey's have fringe on top. Particularly in Oklahoma. I enjoyed your SU joke Jay. Perhaps they will give her a scholarship.

Matt: Puh-lease. she is the supreme leader of scientology. she is L. Ron reincarnate. you think she would waste her time being an orangeman?

OK, Brenda. Keep up with the conversation. Everyone else is just crazy. But thankfully we're not the only obsessed crazy people. And no matter what, we're never going to be as crazy as papa cruise.

*In her defense, Marianne has her PhD. She's closer to 12.

My dad finally got a cell phone yesterday. He is a sports writer, so he follows teams to the four corners of the planet at all times of day. You'd think with the propensity for potential problems, he would have been one of the first to test out cell phones when they first became mainstream. That would require him to learn new things. He's one of those folks that is perpetually behind the times.

My stepmom thought it would be a good idea to get him one after he had to use mine on numerous instances, hers on many many instances, and pay phones anytime he could actually find them.

I'm so proud of him. He actually learned how to use it too. He only hung up on me once, dropped it twice, called the wrong number three times, and took only four attempts to memorize his new number. Now if we could get him to actually turn it on and keep it with him like most other people do, we'd really be getting somewhere.

I've forgotten my phone on occasion, but usually only one day a month. And I blame that on my early mornings. I'm just not up that early. I usually don't get enough sleep because I'm out so late.

I went out late on Saturday and had a similar behind the times experience with my Mom. Luckily she is much further ahead of the technological curve than my dad. She missed her calling as a mechanical engineer. She's very intelligent when it comes to figuring things out like that. I was in a bind and hoped she could look something up online for me as I wasn't near a computer.

I explained the SEPTA website to her (yes, my favorite foe SEPTA) and asked if she could look up travel times for several routes so that I could plan accordingly. I carefully walked her through the sequence of events. She telephoned me back a few minutes later once she had the opportunity to look everything up. She tried so hard, and did well. She found the Schedule for the R8 Correctly. It is pictured below.

Then it fell apart. She misread the part of the table I highlighted and told me that the train left Chestnut Hill West at 9:46 and arrived at Market East at 9:20. Something sound funny with that? I told her not to read from right to left--we're not in Asia. So we figured that out and she Read the correct times to me. She then moved the R7 with a new found knowledge in hand. She proceeded to read it wrong again and informed me that the 15 mile trek was accomplished in a lightening 11 minutes. This doesn't sound odd, until you realize that we had 10 one minute stops to make. Last time I checked, SEPTA does not yet offer an Acela.

I have a dad that can't use the telephone, and a mom that can use a computer but can't read. It's a wonder I have any skills at all!

I still love though mom and dad. My birthday's coming up!