Yup, I can fill 'er up for about $30

When I was considering where it was that I wanted to move after finally gaining the type of employment where I could afford to move out of Casa de Parents I let my personal enjoyment factors far outweight the practical ones. I don't regret this method of decision-making, but I now pay for it with a certain activity I'm going to deem "the rush hour gauntlet." Every day I drive 15 miles one way during the height of rush hour (which should actually be termed rush most-of-the day. Or we could just call the time when there's not traffic the senior hour).

Anyway, I've learned alot about cutting off lines of cars at difficult exit ramps, which lanes to avoid because I don't want to be cut off by someone cutting of lines of cars at difficult exit ramps, where there are giant sinkholes, how to pick the best ramp signal line, and overall to bring my iPod on the car journey so there's far less chance of me FREAKING OUT if I end up sitting for an extra 45 minutes. Or hour. Or two. No, seriously.

Unfortunately, I don't think driving like this is doing a whole lot for my blood pressure. Why is it that when we're behind the wheel we automatically assume that we're God's gift to the road? Don't deny it, you know it's true. I always find myself muttering things like "learn how to drive, [idiot]" or "yeah, that's okay because I definitely wasn't USING this piece of road [jerk]." (Author's note: creative substitution of words may have occurred in the above dialogue.) I'm also constantly scanning for flying mufflers (following an unfortunate incident this past summer) or dudes who think that I'm towing them.

Maybe I would suffer less if my car wasn't the size of a go-kart. However, then I wouldn't be able to go 300+ miles on about 11 gallons of gas. The trade-off appears to be a broke, but confident driver or a budgeted angry little swearer. For now I have made choice B. However, last week a guy who I'm pretty sure was on a filming break from My Name is Earl threatened to shoot me because he bumped the back of my vehicle. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm female and was alone, or maybe it was because my car isn't exactly imposing, but he managed to scare me badly enough that I just drove off and didn't call the cops. Luckily my car wasn't damaged and so far (knock on wood) the bumper hasn't fallen off or anything, but it did make me wish I had been driving an Excursion which would have rolled the hood of his Tauris back like a tin can.

Oh well, the next time I read the credit limits for running your credit card at the gas pump I can gloat again slightly since that much gas doesn't even come close to fitting in little kart, errrr, car.