Yes, it has been awhile since I have updated ye olde blog. This is not to say that I have nothing to say but to say that I can't think of what I want to say or how to say it. I have a form of writer's block I guess. Blogger's block? Can we do away with the word "blog" please? It's a shitty word. I don't know what would replace it that would be an improvement though. "Journal" is pretentious, "diary" sounds like it should be hidden in 12-year-old girls room. "Chronicle" maybe? Nah, that just makes me think of Mary Richardson and how HD is totally not her friend (which I suspect is the real reason behind her retiring next month). Let's come back to this at a later date shall we? No, let's drop it and forget that I even brought it up? Ok, I'm easy like Sunday morning.
Last night it took me a combined 2 and a half hours to get home from Cambridge. That includes a walk from the office to the garage (it's about 3 blocks up the street from the office) in a ridiculous downpour which, because I did not have my umbrella with me, soaked me like the proverbial drowned rat. My pants were ridiculously wet. I did have a semi-water resistant jacket on so my upper body and head were somewhat protected but my shoes, socks and pants were stupid wet. I made squish squish sounds when I walked across the garage floor. Then, after winding my way down the ramps I encountered a traffic jam in the garage. "Oh, what the fuck", I said to no one. "C'mon people, let's frickin' move it." I was just about to beep my horn to encourage the person 3 cars ahead of me to step on the goddamn gas when I realized that it wasn't that person's fault that we weren't moving (I had assumed it was their fault cuz their car was at this wonky angle halfway in the other "lane"). There was something wrong with the gates. They were stuck and refused to go up thus trapping all these cars.
The line behind me quickly grew and people started getting out of their cars, wandering slowly over to where they could get a look at what was going on and stand there staring blankly at the gates. Hi, um...are you people experts in fixing stupid gates that won't move? No? Ok, then could you get back in your fucking cars then? You aren't helping. And I don't want you to think that since we are both stuck in the same line of traffic that we are now best friends and you can talk to me. I assure you that this is not the case so don't bother trying to make eye contact. I will look straight through you and pretend that the Mazda parked behind you is amazingly interesting. 'Kay? 'Kay. Did I mention that I'm soaking wet and my feet are probably all pruney?
Finally after 18 minutes (yes, fucking 18 minutes) the garage dudes got the gates to open and we all spilled out into the street. The woman who was right in front of me decided that she wanted to see what it was like to drive in London and was way over on the left-hand side of the ramp. When another car coming into the garage beeped at her, she screamed at them out her window and flipped them off. Of course she did. This is why I hate people you see. I then started my dreaded drive home. The Wiff was going out with some friends so I didn't have to pick her up so in theory, since it was a little after 5pm, I should get home by quarter of 6...give or take 5 minutes. Sweet. Let's go people, move yer ass. Marky wants a nap. It was still raining at this point but it had lightened up significantly (meaning if I had just waited in my office for another 40 minutes or so I would have avoided getting wet AND stuck in the garage).
Getting out of Cambridge at this time of night is never an easy, pleasant thing to do but for whatever reason (Sox game in town, rain, stupid humans) traffic was just crawling everywhere I went. I abandoned the idea of going my usual way through the tunnel because as this is a school vacation week here in Mass, the traffic over by the Museum of Science is obscene. I made my way over to the Tobin and while trying desperately to remember my mantra of N.O.T.S.M. ("None Of This Shit Matters". I even had custom silicone wristbands made. I'm wearing one right now), I must admit I refused to let quite a few people squeeze in line in front of me. I believe I may have even muttered "Hey, go fuck yourself there Billy." a few times. I admit it isn't very enlightened of me but I wasn't feeling particularly charitable last night. By the time I made it over to Revere Beach I had been driving in stop and go traffic for over an hour and a half. My clutch leg was yelling at me and I was starting to wonder if I'd ever get to use any gears higher than 3rd (short answer: yes, briefly to 4th but only to immediately be forced back down the gearbox to 2nd).
By the time I pulled into the driveway it was a little after 7pm. I had left my desk at just past 4:30. Fuck me. I live a scant 15 miles from my office. That is just a stupid amount of time to go that short distance. I would also like to call out the shitty traffic updates on WBZ radio. All they did was briefly mention that Rt. 1 north was "hung up" back to Sargent St. (for those of you who aren't from this area just know that Rt. 1 is almost always hung up back to Sargent St. so that's not really helpful). What they failed to mention was that no, Rt. 1 was actually backed up all the way onto the Tobin bridge itself. I really think that they don't monitor this road properly and seem to focus more on west and south of Boston. Wow. I just bored myself with that paragraph. Look, the take-home message here is that there are too many people on the road and in my way. If everyone could pull the fuck over and let me get past them I would be eternally grateful and I might even not swear at them as I drive by. No promises though.
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