So tired. . .so much still to do.

Drove up to north NJ on Saturday, a friend was in visiting from out of state and dropped in on Gayle and Barry, so it was a nice opportunity to see all of them at once, and pop in a couple of favorite shopping haunts at the same time. We had a delightful time, but long drives at night are not as comfortable for me as they used to be. Partly from eyesight changes, partly from lack of practice, I suppose. When I got back, I was really beat.

Next day, it’s northwest NJ for a baby shower! It took two and a half hours to get there, partly for coffee and potty stops, partly because google maps can really suck sometimes. It put me onto the highway west of where I needed to be and then told me to go. . .west. Thank goodness for cell phones. Only two hours drive to get home. Again, a lovely time, but two of these trips in two days wiped me out. I don’t know how hubby handles the commute three days a week. He didn’t say so, but I betcha he thinks I was really a wuss about the travel this weekend. . .

So, driving stories. On the way up on Saturday, some chick (and this suprises me, because it’s something older drivers tend to do, not younger ones) pulls onto the Parkway and goes straight from the onramp into the center lane. Well, she didn’t check to see if there was anyone in the center lane, like, say, me. I’m tooling along at about 70 and she pops right in front of me without looking or signalling, going 40. I slam on the brakes, but I can’t pass her, because traffic going both to the left and to the right is zipping along about 30-40 miles faster than she’s going. So I’m on her tail because she didn’t give me any room before cutting me off, other drivers are piled up on my tail because she’s going so slow, and it takes a while to put a safe distance between you and someone who cuts you off like that. . .so as I’m trying to look for an opportunity to get around her (she still hasn’t quite hit 55 yet, even) She’s gesticulating wildly, and, ignorant of the fact that she’s the problem here, is probably thinking I’m some sort of rude and aggressive driver. She’s still spitting and cussing as I pass, and as I see her retreating in the rear view mirror, she’s still at it. I’m not sure if I’m still the target of her ire, or if she’s redirected it to one of the other half dozen or so drivers still on her tail unable to pass because traffic’s so much faster than she is on both sides.

On Sunday, I stopped at a rest area to get a coffee. I let it sit in the cupholder for awhile, because it’s always too hot. Apparently, I didn’t wait long enough. I picked up the cup, and the pressure of my grip, or the position, or something, caused the top to pop off, and coffee flew everywhere. Owowowow. Good thing I have ADD. . .you tend to focus against things, and the hot coffee made me concentrate even harder on staying in my lane and keeping a good distance. Unfortunately, it made it harder to find the cupholder, because I was trying to do it without looking, so more spilled on my hand. Gonna have to remember to get shorter cups at Starbucks next time, I think.

On the way home, I got a couple of laughs. A guy in an SUV passed me, and I saw that in the filth on the back windshield, he’d written with his finger “I wish my girlfriend was this dirty”. Had to tell hubby this one. Waiting in front of me at a light close to home, there was a car that had a giant graphic in the rear window of a giant sperm with sunglasses, and in all caps, it said “Screamin’ Semen”. If that wasn’t ridiculous enough, the car was an old Ford Escort wagon. It looked like the kid’s mother’s car. I bet she wasn’t happy that he put that big sticker on her car. And from the looks of the driver, I’d say that the sticker wasn’t going to help him get chicks too much, either. “Yeah, I’m poorly dressed and groomed and I’m driving my mom’s escort station wagon, but check out my giant sperm!”

Back home, in another case of laughing at the expense of others, hubby told me that he had refrained, somehow, from commenting on the blog of someone we used to be friends with. She was complaining that she had helped a friend with her computer, and now that friend owed her big-time, and she was going to insist that she help clean her apartment. This same person used to show up on our doorstep for what was purportedly a social visit, laptop and printouts in hand, monopolizing hubby’s time with computer questions. She made him potato chips a couple of times. Hubby is such a lovely, patient person. Maybe he’ll comment today or tomorrow. Heh.