Tag Archives: road rage

Discourteous Richards: Always Alive & Well in NJ

I love to drive.  I own a BMW for Pete’s Sake.  They say it’s the Ultimate Driving Machine – and it is.  I love to maneuver up the Garden State Parkway sans traffic, put the petal to the metal and enjoy the ride.

With the top down, my IPOD at full blast I am unstoppable until I am hindered by none other than the Left Lane Dick.

The discourteous Richard:

  1. has no idea he or she is an idiot retarding your progress.
  2. has no clue that it is the law in NJ to keep right and pass left.
  3. is from New York or Pennsylvania – notorious Left Lane Dicks.
  4. is hanging in the left lane on purpose because he or she really is a douchebag.

Nothing makes me road rage more than a taste of a left lane lagger.

I have a 20 minute drive to work door to door and I find myself losing my mind as I try to fly up the highway.  I tailgate.  I scream.  I swear excessively.  I hand gesture and flip the bird.  I drive with my knee.  I pull up next to people and actually yell at them.  I cut them off.  I lose my mind!

When one of my road adversaries gets cocky and thinks he can scare me by tailgating my pristine automobile, I look in the rear view mirror, gesture to him to come closer, swear a few times, then slam on my brakes.  He usually backs off.

I’m tired of being strong-armed by stupid men and women on the road.  I drive like Mario Andretti – not a typical chick – no offense to my gender or any other but STAY OUT OF THE LEFT LANE!

Even if I’m passing on the left doing 95 mph and someone wants to go faster, I move it on over because that’s the way it should be.  Bottlenecking every single lane of the Parkway does nothing but create traffic and cause road rage.

Don’t we have enough of distractions on the road?  We need eyes up our butts and are distracted by screaming kids (not me), loud music, rubber-necking, LLDs and now the GPS.  It’s always so confusing.  It should stand for Go Ahead And Piss Me Off System.  It finds new ways to screw me up while I’m driving but I have found a new use for it.

I Spy.  Remember that game?  You tell me.  What do you see in my picture?  At least it’s good for amusement purposes.

So with all we have to worry about while driving, I wish we could get rid of the Left Lane Dick and push him into extinction because no one should be held back by a jerk off.

You can use that advice in life too.  Good luck.

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010. Re-published 2011.

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Discourteous Richards: Alive And Well In NJ

I love to drive.  I own a BMW for Pete’s Sake.  They say it’s the Ultimate Driving Machine – and it is.  I love to maneuver up the Garden State Parkway sans traffic, put the petal to the metal and enjoy the ride.

With the top down, my IPOD at full blast I am unstoppable until I am hindered by none other than the Left Lane Dick.

The discourteous Richard:

  1. has no idea he or she is an idiot retarding your progress.
  2. has no clue that it is the law in NJ to keep right and pass left.
  3. is from New York or Pennsylvania – notorious Left Lane Dicks.
  4. is hanging in the left lane on purpose because he or she really is a douchebag.

Nothing makes me road rage more than a taste of a left lane lagger.

I have a 20 minute drive to work door to door and I find myself losing my mind as I try to fly up the highway.  I tailgate.  I scream.  I swear excessively.  I hand gesture and flip the bird.  I drive with my knee.  I pull up next to people and actually yell at them.  I cut them off.  I lose my mind!

When one of my road adversaries gets cocky and thinks he can scare me by tailgating my pristine automobile, I look in the rear view mirror, gesture to him to come closer, swear a few times, then slam on my brakes.  He usually backs off.

I’m tired of being strong-armed by stupid men and women on the road.  I drive like Mario Andretti – not a typical chick – no offense to my gender or any other but STAY OUT OF THE LEFT LANE!

Even if I’m passing on the left doing 95 mph and someone wants to go faster, I move it on over because that’s the way it should be.  Bottlenecking every single lane of the Parkway does nothing but create traffic and cause road rage.

Don’t we have enough of distractions on the road?  We need eyes up our butts and are distracted by screaming kids (not me), loud music, rubber-necking, LLDs and now the GPS.  It’s always so confusing.  It should stand for Go Ahead And Piss Me Off System.  It finds new ways to screw me up while I’m driving but I have found a new use for it.

I Spy.  Remember that game?  You tell me.  What do you see in my picture?  At least it’s good for amusement purposes.

So with all we have to worry about while driving, I wish we could get rid of the Left Lane Dick and push him into extinction because no one should be held back by a jerk off.

You can use that advice in life too.  Good luck.

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

A Raving Lunatic’s Rants of The Day

We’ve all had days when we are raving lunatics – some more than others.  I am at the top of that list being a hormonal, road-raging, cranky bitch.  When something sets me off, my whole day seems to go awry.

Yesterday, though tired, I woke up in a relatively good mood.  It was Monday.  I hate Mondays but I sucked it up, got out of bed and showered while my girl kitty sat on the toilet seat, happy to be locked in a room without the Alpha Male boy cat attacking her.

Dressed and ready to leave I opened my wallet to find that my ATM card was noticeably absent.  My husband borrowed it on Saturday and despite my constant urging all weekend to put it back in my purse, he did not.  In addition to packing my lunch and feeding the cats, I had to wake him up out of a NyQuil induced slumber because I needed it and his wallet was M.I.A..

Not being a morning person, he stumbled out of bed barely audible searching for his pants where his wallet was sleeping as well.  I went back downstairs and waited for him to bring it down.  Minutes later – nothing.  I opened my wallet and there it was.  He snuck it into my pocketbook without a word.  I flew out the door, already running late and opened my car.  It was stuck but I finally managed to pull it open and get in.  I’ve got to get that fixed.  Anyway….

I furiously started my Beemer and glanced at the dashboard.  “Oh my God!  He used my car on Saturday and left me with NO GAS!”  Even though I asked him on Saturday if he left me any gas (he said YES by the way), I was still running on fumes.  I had to stop on the Parkway because I didn’t have enough to make it to work which further delayed my progress.  I swore over and over, screaming at the top of my lungs in my car to no one.

Flying up the GSP at 85 mph I was thwarted by a line of left lane dicks that rivaled waiting in line at midnight for a new Harry Potter book.  So not only was I cursing my husband I also raged at the LLDs in front of me.  I weaved and darted in and out, using my turn signals of course and finally made it to work on time, but too late for me.

I made my coffee, ate breakfast and had a reasonably pleasant day.  Home Instruction was cancelled so I headed home to Costco and Target to pick up a few things.  By the time I got home the neighborhood kids were playing basketball in the cul-de-sac and I was ready for a nice glass of Pinot Noir and a little relaxation before I started dinner.

All of a sudden I heard a big bang, like something hit my house.  I ran to the front door to investigate and saw my neighbor’s kid retrieving a basketball on my property.  I screamed at him and asked him if he hit my house (knowing full well that he had).  He lied to my face and I went into a cursing rant using every expletive that had come out of my mouth earlier that day.  My last words were, “If there’s a mark on my house there’s going to be a problem.  We’re gonna have a problem.”

I stormed back in the front door (the cats were hiding by now) swearing like a bad-mannered sailor and made a beeline for the wine.  It gets better….  I couldn’t find the corkscrew.  Any corkscrew – and we have about 6 of them.  I searched all the drawers and cabinets, behind the bar, on the counter and no luck.  Where did John put the damn opener?  My tirade went into overdrive as I texted him and called about the whereabouts of the thing-a-ma-jig.

When the phone rang I continued to pontificate about my woes in the latter part of my day and I still couldn’t find the damn thing.  Finally I located an old one, opened my wine and began to decompress.

My husband called me later to ask if I was ok.  That was nice since he was the one who started by downward mood spiral and ended it by hiding a very important piece of equipment – at least important chez moi.