No band-aid big enough

Thump

A curious word, an ominous sound.

Thump

A tire swerved, a lifeless mound.

It's not hard to predict a "winner" in a match between a ponderous car tire and a frazzled rodent. Yet I'm still a little puzzled at how I, Rahni (friend-to-nature-couldn't-even-kill-a-mosquito-buzzing-in-the-house-last-night-so-opted-to-take-refuge-under-my-sheets-to-prevent-a-"sleeper"-hit), managed to commit murder last Friday. Perhaps I could blame my niece, Madison? She was in the car with me. Alas, no--she did not distract and thus to charge her with the fault would be considered churlish by some. By all?

As I pulled out of the Quiznos' parking lot, he (she?) darted to the shoulder of the road. It really shouldn't have happened--the squirrel froze and I jerked the wheel. Perhaps the car seemed farther away after the pull to the left? Maybe he just freaked? Historically, I've always instinctively swerved away from homicidal opportunities. But I must admit, my hasty tug at the wheel was tempered by that cheeky Geico commercial where the squirrels congratulate each other on running another car off the road. There! I said it. I didn't swerve quite as much as I had first intended! In fact, I was actually thinking something like Hey, I'll try and get out of the way, but you're not making me have an accident, you little conniver! He did escape three out of the four tires, though. Too bad about the right rear one sneaking up on him. I guess I can expect all of squirreldom to be against me and mine from now on.

Bring it.

Not what I expected

Really, it was a bit of a letdown--this whole driver's license renewal process. Granted, there is still a very real possibility of being pulled over by a cop in the nearby future (the new headlight is still sitting in a rather benign fashion on Erv's passenger seat.) I mean, I did my homework. I looked up the renewal requirements online (written test/eye exam a must if your license has expired), paged through a rather lengthy PDF of the AK DMV driver's manual all day, and--when pressed for time--chose the worthier option of driving straightaway to the DMV after work, rather than spending some extra time with a straightener and mirror . . . JUST TO FIND OUT THAT IT WASN'T NECESSARY. When the DMV clerk asked for payment, my first thought was, "You'd think you wouldn't have to pay until after you had passed the test. Weird." After a few moments of anticipatory silence I asked where I would go to take the test, and whether or not I'd have to re-take the motorcycle test as well. She seemed quite a bit amused at the question. I suppose my rather crestfallen appearance may have brightened her day, as well. I so should have spent the time with a mirror--yikes! I now regard my license picture as a potential "before" shot. There's nowhere to go but up. ;o)

What can I say? I LOVE TESTS. I've always loved tests. I retook the SATs not because I was unhappy with my score, but because someone who saw my scores made an offhand comment that I followed the trend of scoring higher in verbal than in math. Well, we'd just see about that! I could be atypical and score higher in math! Bring it on! I ended up increasing my overall score, as well as hitting my bizarre goal of a higher math score than verbal score. We all have our foibles, I guess. ;o)

Could it be?

. . . that the fonts Times New Roman and Comic Sans don't deserve the scorn I heap upon them?

. . . that when I tailgate cars in front of me who are misbehaving, they do not understand my teaching methods and see the errors of their ways?

. . . that setting my alarm clock to erupt 30 minutes before I plan to get up (just so I get the pleasure of pressing "snooze") punishes me with 5-minute hasty sleep increments rather than rewards me with "an extra half hour of sleeping in"?

. . . that just because I didn't start a new resolution or behavioral change at the beginning of the week, it doesn't mean I'm off the hook for self improvement until the next Monday?

. . . that I shouldn't quote my arrival time to others based on a blanket "anywhere-in-Anchorage-is-15-minutes-away-from-where-I-am" mindset?

. . . that it's not a good idea to purposely skip a friend's birthday just so I can use the "belated birthday" card I bought 8 years ago and have never had occasion (or guts) to use?

. . . that I shouldn't continue to drive past the police station a minimum of four times a day with one headlight out and expect not to be pulled over? (fingers still crossed on that one)

. . . that--even though I own a handy Teach Yourself Dutch kit--I won't learn a foreign language just through the FORCE of wishful thinking?

. . . that most people start their conversations with a greeting, instead of launching into a story that's been yammering to be told all day?

IT'S WORTH CONSIDERING, I SUPPOSE. ;O)

Maybe TODAY I'll stop breaking the law

My headlight went out Sunday night. Not really newsworthy, but the incident provoked a rather disconcerting chain of thought that led to the undeniable conclusion that I was leading my life in an illegal manner.

Rahni's Rules for Roving Risk-Free
Headlight out? Check. License recently expired? Check. Forgot to put the updated insurance card in the glove compartment? Check.

Seeing as how I drive on "the Strip" all the time for work, being a pididdle (one headlight-er) is just asking to be pulled over. I snuck around the city on Monday, successfully avoided any diligent police officers, bought a headlight, printed off my insurance info and today I am just minutes away from turning myself over to the DMV in order to subject myself to taking the written driver's test again. A written test, vision test, and a new deer-in-the-headlights photo? Yea! And some people only get to go do really fun errands like this when they're 16.

Sigh.

!!!Wendy's Wroad Wrage!!!

My name is Rahni, and I am very susceptible to road rage. Oft-times, I could be considered a road-rage-aholic. Really, though, I just get mad when people don't follow the basic driving rules. Or etiquette. Or just plain common sense at the wheel.

Each day that I drive the stretch of Northern Lights Blvd. from LaTouche to the Seward Highway, I am bothered anew by the collective amnesia suffered by the Anchorage driving population. Instead of switching to four lanes at that light--as so indicated by the helpful lines on the road--drivers have followed Cosmo Kramer's lead and formed three "luxury" lanes in that area, followed by a hasty dispersal at the light back into four lanes. I often ignore the obvious paths people have carved out and follow the actual lines of the road, in hopes of reminding others of their summer memories on the particular stretch of asphalt. It's all Chandra's fault, really. She's the one that used to get ticked off about it and vent to me. Now that she's gone (from the state, that is), I feel it my duty to make sure that someone is paying attention. Yes, I am rather sanctimonious in my driving--but I'm trying to ease up! Oh, but that is just one of my driving irks.

The other day, my unfortunate nephew, Tommy, was witness to my overwhelming fixation on driving etiquette. We were stopping by the Wendy's drive-thru to indulge in some Frosties on our way home from Madison's soccer game. There is a break along the drive-thru line curb that is meant to let cars from the Fred Meyer's crowd into the parking lot. Ideally, the cars in line should keep that gap open so cars can pass through. The temptation, of course, it to bust into the line right there instead of proceding into the lot, then joining the back of the line. One obnoxious driver waited like a little vulture next to break. Well, the long and short of it is that the car ahead of it took forever to order, thus the vulture-car effectively blocked any traffic between the lots AND made me increasingly angry. I flashed my lights at them and indicated that they should continue through, so as not to cheat or block cars, but the impudent driver stoically ignored any hints or harassment. And, boy, were all the other cars upset. I can somewhat admire their resolve to stick to their (horrible) decision, but I couldn't even concentrate on Tommy's conversation because I was seething. Not quite the holiday spirit, eh?

Frequently, when I tell people about my road rage tendencies, or some situation wherein I was angry, they respond with scoffing disbelief, "You? Rahni, I totally can't picture you getting mad. No way." Which I suppose is complimentary, but I puzzle at their perspective of me. And I'm sure there's at least one person in the group who's too polite to voice the dissenting opinion, but is privately thinking, "Not me, man. Everyday I wait to see when she's going to blow her lid. Totally a 'wrage-a-holic'." In fact, when I told Chandra of this incident, and related how most people can't picture me mad, she laughed, "You? They think you don't get mad?" More laughter followed. Family knows [you] best, I guess. ;o)

The Honeycomb Disaster of 'O8

Upon retrospect, it was a terrible idea to drive with a full bowl of cereal on my lap. My rushed morning kind of snowballed--took off running too late this morning to leave a reasonable amount of time to get ready, didn't adjust running time, showered with two applications of shampoo, not to mention conditioner (time-consuming), blow-dried my hair almost all the way with a diffuser to try out the new curl scrunch stuff I just bought, debated shoe choices, etc., and STILL decided to have Honeycombs for breakfast. After all, I just bought the box last night and I was excited about the opportunity to actually have cereal again--I never have time for breakfast.

Well, my foot slipped off of the clutch at one point this morning (wearing my "Jesus sandals" that Chandra brought me back from Israel years ago) and then, to my utter bewilderment and shocked surprise, I was suddenly soaked by a wave of milk and renegade 'Combs. My hair, shirt, skirt, shoes, steering wheel, legs--even my underwear--were absolutely soaked with milk. I even found a puddle of milk in a pair of shoes that I had left just under my driver's seat. So I drove home, shook out honeycombs onto the lawn from my skirt, washed up and changed. When I got back into the car I kept finding more and more droplets of milk dripping inexorably down, down, down.

And I looked cute, darn it!