How To Drive In The Rain

I signed onto the web-guru that is weather.com today to check out the forecast for sunny NC, which recently, to my dismay, has been not-so-sunny. I clicked on the lovely 10-day forecast button for my zip code... waited a few moments... and began to peruse the upcoming days.

Today: Light Rain and Wind. High of 61, low of 56. Yeah, cool, that's about right.

Tomorrow: Rain and Wind. High of 68, low of 60. Par for the course.

Saturday: Showers. High of 75, low of 61. And a link to an article entitled "How To Drive in the Rain."

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...
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What in the bloody hell? Are they kidding me with this?

We live in North Carolina, people. Not the Sahara. Do we really need instructions outlining how, exactly, we are supposed to drive in the rain?

Let me just tell you something. The showers they are predicting-- they're mild. Meek. Like a little baby lamb. A lamb-let, really. Today's 100% chance of rain has left simply a few droplets of moisture on my office window... and I think that was 2 hours ago.

We are not in the midst of monsoon season here, people. We don't even have a monsoon season.

What we do have, apparently, are a bunch of paranoid losers who need instruction on how to navigate four wheels when it's spritzing.

The article, on which I clicked out of my sheer desire to see something completely stupid, acted as if driving in the rain were a near-impossible feat. According to them, successfully driving in the rain is almost as possible as flapping your arms really hard and then, consequently, flying to the moon.

I was somewhere between tips on proper windshield wiper material, how to replace the little rubber strips on your wiper blades, and advice on how to spend a whopping 80 smackers on rain shields for your windows (just in case you are in dire need of rolling down your window in the midst of our impending sky tsunami) when I just had to get a hold of myself.

And then it hit me. Like a ton of bagels.

There are places in the United States in which people genuinely cannot function on wheels when water falls from above.

I was in California earlier this year. The sun was setting and I had places to be. I took off down the highway in a Jeep ready for a little adventure when, GREAT MOTHER OF PEARL, it started to rain.

Nothing alarming, really. I think a grand total of 15 drops hit my windshield.

I did what I thought any sane driver would do. I reached forward and *click* turned on the wipers.

Swish-swish. The rain was gone. Just as quickly as ding-dong, the witch was dead.

But. Apparently, I was the only person on the entire highway capable of doing this.

In an instant, the nicely flowing traffic came to a complete stand-still. The screech of rapidly braking tires resounded for miles. It literally sounded like the screech heard round the world.

Oh.
My.
Gosh.

And then, for the next 2.5 hours I sat in traffic without going anywhere, I was able to ponder the idiocy of those around me.

Perhaps I should make 1.6 million copies of "How To Drive in the Rain" and send them west.

Nose Crinkle Giggly Face

Do you remember feeling like this?
Feeling like your insides might just be full of sunshine and it's just screaming to get out?
Do you remember feeling like you have to let it escape?
Share it with the world, or else the world just might not make it?
Do you remember the joy just having to bounce around the room a little bit?

I had forgotten.
But now I remember.
Thanks for that, Avery.

Jack London. 38-year-old Brilliance.

“ You look back and see how hard you worked and how poor you were, and how desperately anxious you were to succeed, and all you can remember is how happy you were. ”

This is me. Right now.

One Way Ticket to LoserVille

Ok ok ok, I know I posted a long list of reasons one may still be single a while back, and I never quite responded to that as promised. Bad, bad Apple. I know. I hang my head in shame, and all that jazz.

But today, to make it up to you, I have something much better.

Why is it better, you may ask? Well, it's better... because it's real! Kinda like those great jokes that are funny because they're true? Or women's breasts. Yeah, this is on that level.

So yesterday, I was chatting with my lovely friend Flex. God love her. And in a particularly entertaining bout, she went on a rant.

I do so love a good rant.

So, I figure... you will so love a good rant as well.

Context: Single-ness and the way that, on occasion, it's not all that it's cracked up to be. Flex decided to tell me about her recent string of beaus, none of whom appear to be particularly impressive. But, being of sound mind and body, I'll let you decide that for yourself.

And here we go:

Flex: Let me tell you about the People that love Flex

Apple: i'm ready.

Flex: A) Men that are VERY VERY wealthy who want to parade Flex and her very large chest around like arm candy, but cannot maintain an erection if their life depended on it.

Apple: HAHAHAHAHAHA... continue!

Flex: B) Hockey players who have been hit one too many times in the junk and speak as though their testicles have actually ASCENDED

C) Boys who use the word 'britches'. Enough said.

D) Photographers who are so emo that their hair cuts itself.

Apple: oh my gosh stop! i'm dying!

Flex: E) PhD students who 'act like royal turds' and can't decide if they like a girl or not -- and are very quick to defend themselves when accused of booty calling

F) Men who struggle through reading 'the hobbit' -- and brag about it.

Flex: OH

Apple: and wait, there's more

Flex: there was G) the guy I only talked to on the phone ONCE who asked me in our first phone conversation if I thought Keira KNightly or Kate Hudson had nicer tits.

Apple: oh my gosh.
tell me you're kidding.
what did you tell him?

Flex: I thought to myself clearly I was not the right person for him, if that body type tickled his fancy.

Apple: you're asking the wrong girl, cause honey, those girls don't even HAVE tits?

Flex: precisely.

Apple: there's another winner.

Flex: I give you, Apple, the men in Flex's life. this is pathetic.

FYI, B D and G didn't make past a first date

Apple: well that's good

me: oh, and F

Apple: at least you have standards

If you make a fool of yourself, they will come.

Saturday night, I had a mini-college-reunion in Wilmington, NC-- otherwise known as the Land of Perfection.

I swear, I don't know what it is about Wilmington and the Wrightsville Beach area in general, but I think my soul just takes off and grows little wings every time I venture anywhere near that salt water. I lived there for a few months after college, in a fleeting moment of wild abandon, and by golly, I believe I must live there again someday. Someday very soon. I owe this to myself and to the world that deserves a less anal-retentive me. But I digress.

Upon arriving in town at a very leisurely pace, one of my favorite people on the planet and I decided we wanted to stay beachside. With no reservations and no remote idea of hotel vacancies, we just decided to head to the ocean. One of the best feelings in the world is that of setting off in your car with a haphazardly packed suitcase and no clue where you'll rest your head or when that rest will come... and we decided to indulge ourselves in that feeling.

We got a perfect room with an ocean view overlooking a gorgeous swimming pool. We were high enough above the ground that the full moon over the ocean made it look like we were on the bow of a ship. I breathed in the setting sun and breathed out my working-girl life. Quick. Simple. Easy.

Just as I stepped out on the balcony, a band below belted out "Whyyyyy do you build me up (build me up), Buttercup, baby just to let me down (let me down)?" and I giggled unashamedly. I have a friend who sings this song daily in public places; I suspect he does so because he likes to hear his own voice. So, in the presence of the perfect ocean, the full moon, and the ocean air, I called him to tell him he was with me. That was the only part of my home-world that entered my perfect beach-world that night... and it was, in fact, perfect.

The night was a mix of good champagne, great seafood, old friends and new experiences. We had a three-hour dinner, over which we all went around the table and answered the question: "What have you been doing for the past four years? Readdddyyyyy... Go!" We laughed. A lot. And drank almost as much as we laughed, which would explain why I still feel a bit like I've been hit by a mack truck. On steroids.

But the highlight of the evening came at a rooftop bar somewhere near the river in downtown Wilmington. We had just come from a club full of sweaty teenagers posing as hip of-age 21-year-olds. They looked silly, we looked out of place. We're 26 and 27 now; clearly much older and wiser. Most of those folks were sporting crotch-high skirts while I was looking decidely J. Crew in knee-length denim. It became obvious we needed to roll. So roll we did... onto the rooftop bar and into a selection of music so delicious, Steve Perry would have been jealous.

We decided what the world needed that night was a good, solid dose of 80's and 90's dancing. So we rocked it out. Sprinkler? You got it! MC Hammer? No doubt!!! We even did the Running Man. A lot.

And suddenly. We were the coolest people in the bar. I learned a lot from this experience. Dance like a moron, and everyone will want to dance with you. Did I mention we did the Shopping Cart? We danced and danced and danced... and people crowded around and joined. At one point, we even did the "let's all stand in a circle and sway together" move, and this poor guy tried to break into the circle. Unsuccessfully. I felt a little guilty for that.

But in the end, it was all perfectly untimed, perfectly unplanned, and perfectly surreal. We all stepped back into our old lives, our college lives, our old selves... but we brought our new selves with us. We have less perfect skin, a fuller bank accounts. We have more stories to tell, and more stories to make. And floating around in all that, well... we just have us. And that is the best part.

But seriously. Dance like an idiot. People will love you for it.

Do You Know Someone Who Drinks Too Much?

For today's edition of Apple Blogging Jeans, I am simply copying and pasting an email I received today. It seems my entire group of friends is suffering from an outbreak of some terribly retched respiratory bug. Therefore, it became necessary today for a field trip to the doctor's office. Since I was 1.) not sick and 2.) hard at work (wink, wink), I did not go. What follows, however, is a first-hand account of the things that happened today in the urgent care facility.

Tee hee.

#1. Vivienne and I arrive at the Duke's Urgent Care center and are banished to the waiting room immediately, where we notice this very-novice looking poster on the wall, demonstrating the stellar "teamwork in action", as expressed via cheesy little Excel spreadsheet graphs, using the default line graph. These posters are an attempt to illustrate the great amount of teamwork. However, Vivienne noticed that while their statisfaction was rated "high" in the last month, the previous month had taken a huge digger in the area of satisfaction.

#2. Vivienne and I are escorted to the traige area, where Vivienne barely is able to squeak out her own name.

Nurse: "Wow, you don't sound very good!"

Vivienne (shaking her head) says: "I'm fine"

Nurse: "Well, either you don't sound fine, or you're just shy".

Cue Flex laughing hysterically at the suggestion of Vivienne's bashfulness.

#3. While still with the nurse.......

Nurse: "Any tobacco use?"

Vivienne: "no"

Nurse: "Alcohol?"

Vivienne.......unresponsive.

Vivienne: "Well, I mean, I'm a social drinker -you know, weekends and stuff"

Nurse: "So, would you say 1...? 2?"

Vivienne: "Per day?"

Nurse: "Per week...."

Vivienne:.......unresponsive.

Nurse: "3? 4, maybe?"

Vivienne: (matter of factly): "um, I'd say 8 to 10"

Nurse (nods, in disbelief and types it into the computer)

Vivienne: (in sheer defense of this point, hand gestures included): "But that includes weekends too!"

I lost it guys. I completely lost it and could not recover from that point on.

After the nurse leaves Vivienne says to me "Well, I mean, seriously. What do you expect from a 25 year old who drinks from the bottle in a fort?? We drink from the bottle! How am I supposed to know how many drinks that is?!"