Tag Archives: rebellions

I Can Drive 55

Even if I’ve done nothing wrong, my heart still jumps into my throat any time I either see a police car in my rearview mirror or drive by one running radar on the side of the road.


It doesn’t help when commercials or songs have sirens in them either, but that’s not my point.

My point is that I have nothing but respect for law enforcement—my dad was a cop and various family members/friends still are—but when I’m driving, it scares the crap out of me to see them on the road.

There’s really no reason for this paranoia.

I am normally a very law-abiding driver, give or take a few road rage urges from time to time, and I’ve only had one ticket in my 14 years of (legally) driving. It came when I was in high school after I unsuccessfully argued that there was no way my piece of shit Ford Escort could actually go 70 mph without spontaneously combusting.

The officer didn’t seem to care. 

Aside from that $80 misunderstanding, I was also pulled over two other times in college in the same exact spot in the same week—both times when I was skipping class, which should have been a sign. But that’s not important, as no ticket was issued either time.

However,  now every time I pass a cop and I’m actually going the speed limit, I feel like I should get some sort of extra credit or build up a stack of bonus points that I can cash in on those days I might not be going the speed limit, hypothetically speaking, of course.

This hasn’t caught on yet, but there’s still hope.

I bring this up because there has been an interesting development recently concerning the speed limits on a few of the roads in my area. They have raised them without telling anyone, and by “anyone,” of course I mean me.

There are a couple stretches of road that have been set at 35 mph and 45 mph respectively for as long as I can remember, and quite honestly, that was kind of a ridiculous expectation. Most people—not me, of course—went 45 in the 35 and at least 50 in the 45.

These stretches of road were also popular speed traps.

But as I was driving along the other day, I noticed that people were flying by me a bit more than normal. After mentally performing a citizen’s arrest, I caught sight of the speed limit sign, one that seemed to have gained 10 mph since the last time I took note.

speed limit

What? How is this not broadcast on the news? Did I miss a memo?

It seems the powers that be either tired of having to hear bullshit excuses from people being pulled over in this area or finally realized the ridiculousness of their “speed suggestions” and changed the speed limits. This delighted me, not because I want to speed, but because it just seems to make more sense.

But the truth?

Now that the law has been changed, I feel like a total rebel badass and purposely go that route at times just so I can legally zoom down the streets a good 10 mph faster than I’ve been able to do in the past. People who haven’t been as observant as yours truly stare at me as I whiz by, most likely praying I get caught in the speed traps so often set on this stretch.

But little do they know that I will NOT be caught in this trap, as I am simply abiding by the new speed suggestions. Yes, now I can legally drive 55 without crapping kittens* if I pass a cruiser poised on the side of the road sticking something that resembles a hairdryer out of his/her window.

*OK. That’s not true. My heart will still jump into my throat, but that kind of detracts from the badass-ness I am trying to exhibit here.

I was born to be wild.

So spill it. How’s your driving?

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Warning Signs

There are warning signs.

The sun gets molested by layers of dark and ominous clouds. Birds and small animals—even the simple ones that hang out in the street—run for cover and hide. Occasionally the earth will quake.

No, I’m not talking about  impending planetary doom, but rather warning signs that I’m boarding a bus to Funky Town. In other words, falling into a funk of crankiness.

Most of the time I’m positive and can deal with whatever annoyances pop up—an oppressive heat wave, getting yelled at by old people, a flare up of old issues—but sometimes I’m get positively pissy.


I display all the classic symptoms of crankiness—snarky shortness, passive-aggressive Facebook updates that run more aggressive than passive, etc.—but I also have a few of my own that are a bit harder to detect with the naked eye. They aren’t quite as obvious as Voodoo dolls or the situational hyperbole above, so I thought I should educate the general public on how the innocent can avoid my wrath in these moments of crankiness.

*For those who have contributed to causing this crankiness, there will be no warning signs before I attack. I can slip into stealth mode like a cheetah stalking prey and hit you when you least expect it—possibly in a literal sense with random office supplies.

Warning Signs

I’m rather hippy-dippy and a huge advocate for recycling and nature. In fact, I think people who litter should be forced to eat  the crap-filled diapers they leave in parking lots or have the McDonald’s bag they threw out their window strapped to their lazy ass for a week.

But in compiling this list, it appears that I take my angst out on Mother Earth in subtle ways. No, I don’t do anything drastic like destroy the habitat of an endangered bird or go around spraying aerosol cans like a maniac, but for me, these little rebellions are out of character.

  • I spit my gum out in inappropriate places. While I usually make sure to dispose of my gum in a proper trash receptacle, when I’m in funk phase, I spit it out like a pitcher spitting chew out on the mound or subtly spit it into my hand before launching it into the street.
  • I rebel by not recycling. It could be a water bottle or some junk mail, but when I’m pissy, I get this urge to bypass the bin and directly deposit potential recyclables into the trash. It’s never a large amount of something, but it’s enough.
  • If the dog has the misfortune of being dragged on a walk when I’m pissy,  I don’t pick up poop—a huge pet peeve of mine (no pun intended.) I’ll try and drag him to the empty lot to do his business instead of the perfectly manicured lawn he prefers, but if that doesn’t work, I proceed to exhibit the most ridiculous behavior ever.  When I’m in a funk, I will take the plastic bag and pretend to pick up the poop, but really just pull up some grass next to it and cover it up. In the moment, I feel victorious. He pretends not to know me.
  • My flowers don’t get watered. I think it’s because I see them as needy, and needy annoys me when I’m pissy (and frankly, even when I’m not.) I will look at them, look at the hose, feel a bit powerful and as long as they don’t look on the edge of death, I look the other way. In fact, I might even pour myself a big ol’ glass of water and go outside to drink it among my potential victims of  horticultural homicide.

There are a few other warning signs—refusing to let people into my lane when driving, as I know if they don’t give me the courtesy wave and mouth “thank you,” I will be tempted to run them off the road and unleash a string of profanity involving their mother and a truck stop, for example—but it’s possible these are just part of my personality.

At any rate, I admit I’m not proud of these mini rebellions that seem to pop up when I slip into a funk, but at least it’s temporary and you’ve been warned.

And at least you’re not one of my plants.

Do you have any warning signs that are a bit out of the ordinary?