« July 2003 | Main | September 2003 »
August 20, 2003
MERGING FOR DUMMIES 101
So basically, I avoid the freeways here in Fresno like the plague. It’s not that the traffic is horrific, or people drive too slow, or they don’t use their blinkers, or they ride your tail…..okay, maybe those things DO make me a little wacky. Speaking of which, I saw a great bumper sticker the other day that read, “If you’re not a hemorrhoid, get off my ass!” My sentiments, exactly. Anyway, the real reason I’d rather spend an extra 10-15 minutes getting where I’m going by taking the sticky surface streets, is that drivers here just DO NOT know how to merge. http://www.m-w.com/home.htm I mean, they just don’t get it. At all. Absolutely clueless. No discussion. C’mon, how hard is it really? You’re in the right hand lane on the freeway, an oncoming car whips onto the off-ramp and attempts to join you, and what do you do? Well, you don’t just SIT there. YOU GET YOUR TIRED ASS OVER TO THE OTHER LANE! Why is this so ding dang complicated? It’s not rocket science, for criminy sake. But it doesn’t matter, because if the driver’s exit is 18 miles away, they are NOT budging from their lane. They are STAYING in their lane. “My exit is coming up!” “It’s 47 minutes away, but dag-nabbit, I’m not moving!” And then they act like it’s YOUR fault for trying to get onto the freeway. I’ve had morons come within an ant-hair of plowing into me, and then stay on my butt honking their horn, making obscene gestures, like I’M the one who’s done something wrong. Hey, don’t mess with me pal, I used to live in the Bay Area; I’m a pro.
Granted, if you’re driving in the Bay Area and someone DOES honk their horn and flips you off, well, you know they’re actually having a GOOD day. Normally, you’d just be a skid mark on the road, especially during commute hours. Yeesh. Just keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times, and they won’t get caught in someone’s exhaust pipe or toll booth. I suppose it has something to do with the “sink or swim” mentality that all big city dwellers possess. I spent 14 years there flying all over expressways, bridges, and construction areas, trying hard to keep my car from becoming a permanent installation in a BART train or Muni bus. It took guts. It took intuition. It took a keen eye. It took a strong stomach. It took bravery. It took a lot of insurance and even more high-priced gasoline. But what it really took was survival skills. And that means a lot of caffeine…I’m talkin’ Red Bull http://www.redbull.com/home_intro.html, Mountain Dew, Starbucks Espresso shots, or just 3 nights without any sleep. The shakier you are the better; jittery is just another word for success-on-speed. You can swerve between SUV’s, glide past the inevitable jack-knifed big rigs, race past Oldsmobiles being driven by short, elderly folk, or just pretend you’re cool as Steve McQueen.
But, I digress. I realize that Fresno is a bit different than the Bay Area, in so many ways. In San Francisco, for example, you’re hard pressed to find a service station whenever you desperately need one. Here, they are (literally) on every corner, and this is a good thing. The same goes with grocery stores; if you want a midnight snack of Albertson’s greasy fried chicken some evening, you can just hop in your VW and head on over. If you’re in SF town, forget it – you’re lucky to find a 7-11 open for cardboard hotdogs and Slurpees. And hey, I’ll be the first to admit that the hell-on-earth better known as Bay Area traffic really, truly, does suck. It bites. Big time. It is a Hitchcock nightmare. If you’re trying to get from Contra Costa County to Union Square http://www.sftravel.com/union.html on Saturday afternoon, good luck, and don’t forget the Excedrin. But hey, if you need to get from downtown Fresberg to River Park Shopping Center, http://www.shopriverpark.com/ you can jump in your air conditioned auto and zoom your way there; it should take about 20 minutes. Just do ME an itsy-bitsy, teensy-weensy favor, will you? MERGE, PEOPLE, MERGE!!!
Posted by Wendy at 4:36 PM
August 13, 2003
Crisco, the Camping Bear...
Okay, I think I’ve recovered. I think the “rocky mountain HIGH” I sucked into my lungs at Huntington Lake has finally started to dissipate. I think every clod of dirt, every crunchy pine needle, every single, solitary white bit of smoke ash, and every crumb of s’more http://www.earthsunmoon.com/smores.html finally decided to vacate my camping wardrobe. I think that thin-air-buzz-like-a-Chevy’s-Top-Shelf-margarita has left a few, minute brain cells intact. Of course, this is all conjecture and speculation on my part, considering I’m seeing Big Foot in my sleep. Actually, it’s just the image of a very large, very greedy bear, gulping his way through a can of Crisco. This was the story floating through the Rancheria Campground over the weekend, after our neighbors in the forest discovered a hairy visitor at their picnic table early one morning. I can only imagine what that does to a very large, very greedy bear’s tummy, but it gives new meaning to the age old question, “does a bear s**t in the woods?” Yikes. And speaking of which, every so often when I least expect it, I still have the lingering smell of tin-can-toilet-odor wafting through my nose hairs. Which begs the question, “Must HUMANS s**t in the woods?” And if so, why can’t they bring along some Lysol? Yeesh.
Yes, it was quite the Cecil B. DeMille production, complete with a cast of thousands. This list consisted of, but was not limited to: mosquitoes, dragonflies, bees, squirrels, blue jays, chipmunks, deer and other miscellaneous furry creatures, including human Happy Campers. http://www.earthsunmoon.com/happy_camper.html Be wary of this species of humanoids my friends, they’ll fight you for the last Flaming Volcano, using some of the dirtiest tricks in the book. And talk about some “cheese to go with that WHINE”, you’ve never heard such complaining since the “Friends” folks had to negotiate their last contract. “It’s tooooo cold!” “It’s sooooo dirty!” “I can’t hike that far!” “What’s for breakfast? “That’s IT for lunch? What time is dinner?” “Where’s the room service menu?” “Where’s the gin?” “Where’s the tonic?” “Where’s my scotch?” “Where’s the cheap vodka?” “My sleeping bag has ants!” “I slept like crap!” “I didn’t sleep at all!” “Gawd, that guy was sawing wood!” “Shut those screaming kids UP!” “Geez, did you hear those frickin’ loud helicopters?” “No, the deafening air raids drowned them out!” “WHAT???!!!” “The fire’s too smoky!” “The smoke is following me!” “I have gravel in my underwear!” “I can’t FIND my underwear!” “Hey, is that MY underwear on your head?” “How the ding dang DO you put up this tent?” “Uh oh, we have leftover tent parts…”
Thus endeth the grandly ambitious Big Five Family (Hunter/Greer/Fagan/Pire/Jones) Camping Experiment of 2003, now let’s move onto the Awards of Excellence. Please locate your seats, and try not to spill any Jiffy Pop during the ceremony, or Crisco may mistake you for a tasty appetizer. Our trophies were donated by the fine folks at Food, Fauna, and Fun With Fire, who believe even yahoos like us can make a decent meal out of poison oak and wet matches. And now, without further adieu, here are the winners: The Award For Laughing Your Brains Out Without Much Provocation goes to Dorothy Hunter, for that unforgettable performance during her birthday celebration. We believe several martinis were involved. The Award For Fire Building, Wood Collecting, And Folding-Rake Patrol goes to Frank Hunter for his deft, all-around Man-Show-Type artistry. Again, martinis may have spurred on his confidence. The Award for Stuffing a Camry With More Food Than Humanly Possible To Consume goes to Susan “Margaret” Greer for her scary ability to pack a car within an inch of it’s life. A large bottle of scotch may have contributed to this feat of endurance. The Award for Martha Stewart Cleanliness goes to FFej Fagan for his anal ability to spot a speck of dirt on the floor of a big ol’ tent from 3 miles away. The Award for Most Glamorous Gal and The Award for Horsie Hog Heaven go jointly to Hillary Fagan and Kelly Pire, for their ability to maintain flawless makeup while perched atop their pooping ponies. A special nod to Ms. Hill, for hiding her drooling so well in the presence of such a cutie-patootie cowboy. The Phil Photo Paparazzi Award goes to Jim “the dude” Pire for his competence in convincing two amorous ladybugs that their photos would no way, no how, appear on the internet. The I’ll Squish My Face Into Any Different Shape For A Laugh Award goes to Bailey Fagan, for her charming story-telling cheeks. The Ringling Brothers Tightrope Circus Award goes to Wendy “Ferd” Fagan, for not falling hiney-first into Huntington Lake while being shoved and consuming Mother’s Taffy Cookies. The What The Heck Were We Thinking Award goes to Jill Hunter and Jeff Jones, for schlepping all the way up to no-man’s land for an overnight stay of drink and debauchery. And finally, The You Bet I Can Read Out Loud Using My Headlamp By The Campfire Award goes to Wendy “geek-in-training” Hunter, for her fine, oratorical rendition of The Cremation of Sam McGee. . http://www.robertwservice.com/verse/cremation.html
Special thanks to the following establishments, for allowing our rowdy group to park it in their lovely and spacious quarters: The Pillow-Laden Hilton East, The Four-Wheeled Plaza Hotel, The No-Sleeping Allowed Lame Duck, and the Water Bottle Laden Motel 6….where they do, in fact, leave the light on for you. And now, it’s “Happy Tower” for this one, but first I must disinfect my tired, typing fingers with some “Sand Hanitizer”. Good night, Muffy, wherever you are…
Posted by Wendy at 12:24 PM | Comments (3)
August 6, 2003
Of shopping, camping, and rabbi rentals...
Well, by popular demand and several vodka tonics, I’ve decided to keep you waiting no longer. It’s time to blog and enthrall you with all the goings-on here in the hinterland. But first, a personal note. Today marks the 1 year anniversary my soon-to-be-ex informed me that he had not taken the “to remain faithful” part of our marriage vows quite as seriously as I had. Actually, I think it was just selective hearing, but hey, it’s a guy thing. So tonight I was watching the “real Roseanne” show, http://abc.abcnews.go.com/primetime/realroseanne/ and she was attempting to select an executive producer for her new program. The tentative idea is to have her be the “white trash Martha Stewart”, and considering where Ms. Martha may be making her bed soon, it might not be such a stretch. Anyhoot, she invited over a couple of her rabbis to view some videotaped interviews of the selected candidates. Apparently, one of them is a “Kaballish-face-reader”…or something to that effect. He was trying to help Rosie by reading the candidates’ crow’s feet, disheveled eyebrows, puckered lips, and sweaty sweat glands, in order to fashion the perfect union between star and executive producer….or star and babysitter. Whatever. The show was quite funny, and I began to think that perhaps all single women should rent their own face-reading rabbis before dating (or much worse), marrying the man of her so-called dreams. “What do you think, Rabbi Gravenstein?” “Oooh, very bad lines around the mouth, hideous unibrow, and nose hairs like the angriest Brillo pad”…..in other words…..RUN AWAY!!! RUN AWAY!!!
But enough of that, it’s time to talk about camping. That’s right, the outdoor sport of kings, requiring thick hiking boots, thick sleeping bags, thick sweat pants, and thick slabs of flank steak. Oh, and many thick, chocolate/marshmallow laden, graham cracker-crispy, gooey s’mores. And let’s not forget the martinis. Hey, you camp the way YOU want to, and we’ll camp the way WE want to….dirt in the socks, but not a trace of dust in a well-chilled gin & tonic. My family is heading up this weekend for the annual watch-mom-turn-a-year-older “Happy Camper” excursion to Huntington Lake. http://www.huntingtonlake.com/ We like it up there. It’s green and lovely. It’s calm and soothing. IT’S A WHOLE LOT COOLER UP THERE!!!!!!!!!!!! Actually, it has cooled down here a bit, but experiencing chilly weather by a crackling fire in the mountains…now that’s the real deal. Of course, balancing oneself on a tin-can toilet in the middle of the night, and searching for toilet paper is pretty exciting in itself. So one must always be prepared, and the best sort of preparation for a trip of this magnitude can only mean one thing….shopping, shopping, and more shopping.
My Visa-clad pal, Margaret, decided we needed a few sundries for this little get-away, I mean we were going to be there for 3 whole days. We had some very grandiose ideas of going to a local sports store here in town, to snag on some of their great bargains and save a few bucks. Off we headed with our newspaper ads tucked triumphantly under our arms. We’ll find the deals! We’ll find the best price around! We’ll have dough left for beer! Unfortunately, we got sucked into the spinning vortex that is Target. We couldn’t help it. They had a whole AISLE of Coleman gear! http://www.coleman.com/coleman/home.asp They had little cosmetic travel bottles! They had cases of water! They had flannel pajamas, tiny toothbrushes, hand-sanitizer, face cloths, batteries, disposable cameras, headlamps, insect repellent, blow-up mattresses, ficus trees, plastic containers, big ol’ flashlights, and personal-sized Charmin bath tissue rolls! How could we ever THINK of going anywhere else? Why, it would be un-American. So $947 later, we emerged into the daylight with a cart so completely overloaded, I thought we’d get stopped for some sort of traffic ticket. “Hey ladies, you can’t treat a four-wheeled vessel like that, why that’s “cart cruelty! Just look at the way she’s buckling, and straining from the weight…….geez, is that just for TWO people?”. Luckily, we didn’t get any sort of citation, but just a night in the slammer. Hey, you can’t expect 2 blondes who just spent 3 hours traversing Target to have a sense of humor about a crack like that. Besides, I didn’t slug him THAT hard…….
Posted by Wendy at 11:04 PM | Comments (2)