Thursday, January 12, 2012

"Get out of my dreams and into my car."*

                        Do all of my blog posts have to have a specific topic or can they just be my insightful musings on life? For instance, last night I woke myself up from a dream laughing. How great is that? I wish to god I remember what the hell I was finding so funny so I could write it for you here. Although stuff that’s funny in dreams is often super un-funny in life. And speaking about that, one of my biggest pet peeves is when people insist on relating their dreams to me in explicit detail. News flash: your dreams are not entertaining to me unless I was somehow prominently featured. Or if the dream was really sexual and about someone I know (preferably me). Haha, just kidding.(But seriously, don't tell me your dreams.)

            What I really want to address is road rage. (Perhaps a non sequitur.)

            In the past, I’ve been known to be a person with a heinous case of road rage, and I can accept that. Los Angeles is a brutal city to drive in, and there are any number of different reasons to be pissed off on a daily basis. (Of course, to be fair to my detractors, I was also known to have road rage in my early driving days in Omaha. At least that's what my friends told me.)

            But one of main things that irritates me, for example, is when people cut me off as though they’re in a huge rush and then proceed to go 15 miles under the speed limit. I was okay with you cutting me off, I figured you had to pee. But this is clearly not the case now, jerk-off.

Los Angeles Traffic of Yore.
            Or when I try to pass someone (usually a man—no offense to guys in general, it’s just a trend I’ve noticed), and suddenly he feels the need to speed up because in some twisted scenario in his mind it’s emasculating to have someone (especially a woman) pass you. Even if you drive a Volvo station wagon and insist on going 10 miles below the stated speed limit every moment of your life, the second someone tries to pass you you’re in a game of chicken to the death, and society’s perception of your penis size is at stake! (Again, no offense to all men, and no offense to Volvo drivers, either.) Go slow if you want to, I just would rather not, if I can avoid it. Can I get by now? 

            These kinds of situations leave me screaming at the top of my lungs and pounding on the steering wheel, usually. And this, I am thoughtful enough to note, may be the reason my friends said I had "road rage" as early as high school. But you have to draw the line somewhere. Like, when I flip other drivers off, I usually do it so low that they couldn’t possibly see. I mean, who wants to get shot, right? This sets me apart from the other psychos on the road.

            But lately, I don’t seem to be the one with all the rage.
            Gasp! Am I mature now? Aw, fuck no! I'm just more observant. And tired. And I don't really drive anywhere during key traffic times (e.g. rush hour or "Saturday night"). I just don't have enough of a life to get mad. But no, I'm definitely not "mature." I am something of an "old fart" when it comes to driving (only in the middle of the day and only with my headlights and glasses on) but definitely, certainly not "mature."

            Anywho, I’ve witnessed several things happen in the last two weeks that make me feel like society has gone insane.

Los Angeles Traffic of Now.
            I’ve seen people stop their cars in the middle of the road to get out and yell at other drivers; people (usually women on this one) so engaged in cell phone conversations (which are ILLEGAL, by the way) that they stop their cars in the middle of the road because THEY’VE COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN THAT THEY’RE DRIVING. I’ve seen big SUVs nearly run cars off the road so they can proceed to speed past. I saw a woman park her car at a fire hydrant and then make every driver in the street stop so she could jay-walk her kid across the street to school and then she got mad when the drivers were annoyed.

            What’s happening, people? Is it the End of Days? Or was it always like this and I’m suddenly morphing into one of those Zen-like hippies who is so serene that I can see other crazies for who they are?

Ah, Omaha. Why was I ever angry driving in you?

            I wish I had a clever way of tying this into my little paragraph about my funny dream, but I don’t. I think, if I’m being super positive, that perhaps my dreams being so happy that I laugh myself out of them is a sign that I am becoming more peaceful in my subconscious life, if not so much in my waking life.
            Yeah, okay, let’s go with that. 
*How great is it that Billy Ocean has one song about dreams AND cars? Perfection.