Social Traffic

What is the deal with traffic? I can not understand why people constantly have to slow to look at the most mundane of things - a broken down car, a parked tow truck waiting for a call, some smooshed roadkill, etc. It's not even like it's a fender bender or a lunatic wandering in the street? You would think people would be wanting to get on their merry little ways and keep the flow of traffic moving, but no, our society of gawkers is astounding. Do people just think that pain, death or anxiety in others is worthy viewing material? It's like a form of crack to driver's, they can't help but to stop and look, hoping to spot broken glass, a trail of blood, or a fist fight that might break out at any moment. They seem to view all things stopped on the side of the road as a potential accidents or tragedies that will fuel their water cooler chatter for the day.

They don't care if someone is hurt or if they've slowed to a stop for two seconds,inadvertently creating a 3 hour traffic jam at that very spot they stopped to view an abandoned car. We are a collective of selfish people, subconsciously seeking out things out of the ordinary for our typical lives because it gives us a sense of relief that we're not the person in trouble or hurt, but an objective viewer that can revel in the grief or frustration of others without being directly effected.

We want to view hardships other then our own, not live them, and stopping to spot things on the side of the road helps us accomplish this goal, even at the cost of sitting for 2 hours moving an inch every 5 minutes to achieve this goal. It is so sad what types of people our social environment has turned us into. So I ask you, dear readers, if you see something on the side of the road, and it doesn't have a blinking orange arrow or red flames directing you to move to another lane, just keep driving...keep the flow of cars proceeding to their destinations unhindered by brake lights.

My Birtdhay Wish

Hello Everyone,

I am one of those people that really hates being the center of attention, having all eyes on her, so celebrating a birthday is pretty scary to me. Having everyone around you, wanting to celebrate in me turning a year older, it's a daunting conscept. But when you have amazing friends, parties can be fun and the people you're with, help you not realize the extra grey hairs you've aquired or the little more pug to your midsection. They remind you of the good times and the crazy times you had with them in the past and share in new memories to be remembered. So for this birthday, I would like every single one of you that reads this page, as your present to me, to leave a comment. You can write whatever you want: a single letter, an expletive, a poem, a short story, gibberish, your name, etc. Just leave me something so I know you care. I love creativity and gifts that come from the heart. I know that almost everyone who will visit this blog today will visit it because I asked them to, so follow through with my wishes and leave me a "comment" of anything, as long as it's not two simple, but unoriginal words of, "Happy Birthday." Anything but those words. And thank you ahead of time for your best wishes.

Fireworks and Port-o-Potties.

You know when you go to large events and there are always real, in-a-building-type bathrooms, and then there are always a wall of port-o-potties set up somewhere near the real bathrooms? When Robby, myself and a group of our friends went to the 4th of July fireworks event at the Santa Barbara beach yesterday, we had to decide which of these lovely facilities to use. Yes, there were 20,000+ people weaving themselves in and out amongst everyone else, blocking your way by walking at a snails pace or randomly stopping to stare at a shit kicker of a Chihuahua, making it so your anticipated annoyment at waiting in a line for a port-o-potty that much worse.

We had been closer to the building bathrooms first and as we approached its beige walls and murky yellow lighting, we noticed something equally disturbing, a line of women milling about out, starting from the entrance, extending down the pathway to the sidewalk and hooking a right, ending further down the street. The boy's side wasn't much better. I looked at Robby, "Hell no," my head indicating the line of women and then pointing towards the second bathroom option for the evening, "Scary X-file port-o-potty's it is." 15 yards to the right of the amazingly long Women's bathroom line was the start of the port-o-potty line, but this line was different.

Upon approaching the tall gray shit houses that make you cringe every time you touch the sides, there was chaos. One large line that we'd originally seen from standing by the real bathrooms was for the wheelchair shit box only. Apparently most people were willing to wait for the large port-o-potty because they wouldn't have to touch anything except the door and the floor and it looked more conducive for the people with little children. Sadly, I wonder what would happened if some one in a wheelchair actually rolled up to the box, would they have first priority to line jump or would they have to wait like everybody else?

Once we managed to make it past the wheelchair line, we were immersed in the chaos. 15 port-o-potties all with their own version of a line, either a group of people waiting for a couple shit boxes or people standing in front of one single box. Robby and I chose to be behind the line that was attached to one shit box rather than multiple because there is always the chance of getting cut when you're in the multiples lines. Yes, it's sad and petty, but if you're going to wait for 15-20 minutes to use a smelly and untouchable toilet, you don't want to be cut by a random Joe Blow that has just walked up. It's not fair and it really urks me. Can you just imagine a lovely cat fight over a port-o-potty, two women flipping their hair back, raising their index fingers to shake, and preparing their, "if looks could kill," stares? Not pretty for the two people involved, but most likely great entertainment for the rest of the people waiting.

Anyhow, the two port-o-potties that Robby and I happened to stand in front of were the mysterious, never opening port-o-potties. Every box around us, doors opening and closing, people coming and going, mostly rubbing hand sanitizer between their palms upon exiting, but the doors in front of us remained closed. Two Asian Women showed up next to me and started talking in broken English about the slow people in the Johns we'd stood in front of. I don't know why they were complaining, they'd only been standing there 3 minutes, but it was funny. We all kept wondering if someone was actually in them, I even joked that the x-files monster managed to survive the past ten years and was current active in Santa Barbara, but when I knocked, I was rewarded with a grumble, so yeah, the guy just got lost, not eaten. A mid-thirties drunk man appeared on my left and slurred out, "Man, did we choose the slowest ones or what?" he looks at me for confirmation, "Yes, I think they fell in," an old saying of my Dad's. The guys tilts his head and then nods, "yeah, yeah, that's a good one."

One of the shit boxes next to the never opening ones, was free and Robby, then I, grabbed it. After I finally got to go and was exiting the stuffy little box of crap, I saw one of the Asian women still waiting and I asked her if someone had come out. "Yes, a man came out." I was equal pissed that I didn't get to see what the guy that lived in the port-o-potty looked like and equally happy I didn't have to use the shit box that someone had previously occupied for 15 minutes or longer - I think it was occupied before we showed up to wait. Advice for going to one of these events in the future: either try to hold it, invest in a funnel, or just knock over the never opening shit box because it's way more entertaining then standing around out front waiting and you just might forget that you need to go through all your laughter (or you just won't care that you don't have to go anymore if you know what I mean.)

With that, I hope everyone had an enjoyable 4th of July.