Taxi Cab Confessions

I find it very fascinating that cabbies are so different in every city I've been to. In New York City, they don't blink at anything; you could strip completely naked and have a threesome with a homeless guy and an Olsen twin, and they just don't care. Why? Because that happened during their last trip, only with Ashley instead of Mary Kate. In Boston, they drive like kamikaze pilots, careening wildly into pot holes, street signs, and elderly citizens that take too long crossing the street. In San Diego, they are exceedingly quiet and very polite when spoken to. And in DC?

They talk. Incessantly. Then badger you about your political views.

Some of the more interesting conversations I've had included a debate between McCain and Hillary's convictions, a lengthy discussion of Obama's idealism and how it could affect international relations, and a delightful story about how this one cabbie was visiting his son in Boston, but he was on some random medication and it made his bladder always feel full, so he pulled over somewhere in the North End and peed behind a pillar.

Not that peeing behind a pillar has political ties, unless we're discussing the Bush twins after a night out on the town, but still.

How do YOU feel about the approaching economic recession?

The cabbies here just really enjoy a good chat. Sometimes this is alright with me, as sometimes I'm in the mood to prattle on and on about my own convictions, but other times I don't feel like being badgered and yapped at. Especially in the morning, when I'm practically a zombie.

This morning my cabbie was very nice, but he asked the dreaded question - "isn't it a lovely morning?" followed by the worst of all time, "are you feeling motivated this morning?"

First of all: No. No, it is not a lovely morning. Do you know why? Because it's the middle of January, it's 3 days after Blue Monday (aka the most depressing day of the entire year), and it's DC. It's a terribly depressing day, even if it is a Thursday, and therefore close to the weekend.

And second of all: No, I am not feeling "motivated" this morning. That's a ridiculous question to ask at 9am. The only times I get motivated before noon are if something huge is going down; if I'm moving, if I'm leaving on vacation, if there's breaking celebrity gossip on TMZ, etc. Otherwise, I'm cursing the world in general for forcing me to be awake at such an ungodly hour.

So, to answer the cabbie's question, I replied, "No, I'm not, but I can't wait for the weekend." To which he laughed. I almost cried. I explained that it was cold, and it was the middle of January, and therefore it was very difficult to muster up some motivation.

He replied, saying something I found to be very interesting: "Well, you're obviously, what, 20?" (it's the suit - without it, people think I'm 16) "Of course you feel that way now. When you get to be my age, it won't matter."

And this frightened me.

What do you mean, it's not July?!

At this point in my life, right in the throes of my Quarter-Life Crisis, it's killing me to imagine going through 75+ more years of gloomy, gray Januarys. I hate the cold; I hate the winter; I hate that terrible feeling of "oh my god, we have at least four more months until it starts to warm up." Am I doomed to spend an eternity feeling crushed by the weight of winter gloom and nosy cabbies?

For the moment, I'm toying with the idea of hibernating for the rest of the winter. I really love sleep, and I really love being cozy in bed. And I really love gorging myself on food and then going into a food coma. But, as the past week has shown me, I hate cabin fever, and I cannot survive on my own. Regardless of anti-social feelings first thing in the morning, I'm a social, needy person. Sure, I can live on my own if I have to, but it doesn't mean I have to be thrilled with it. I like noise, and people, and constant entertainment; hibernation doesn't exactly offer a wild time.

So, in an effort to tackle my issues head on, I present you with:


Your Survival Technique Of The Day:
How to Survive The Winter Blahs

Step 1: Hibernation. If it's your thing, go crazy. Eat a lot of heavy foods, chug some beers, and tuck in for the long haul. Remember to lock your door beforehand, though, because your neighbors are probably really weird, so you don't want uninvited company coming over when you're in a self-induced coma. Unless you're into that.

Step 2: Indulge. Find winter activities that you enjoy, which will help you embrace the cold. If you like skiing, hit the slopes; if you like ice skating, hit the rink; if you like watching other people's misery, watch them tromping by in the cold from the warmth of your office.

Step 3: Take a vacation. A Rockefeller? Go to the beach - Aruba, Barbados, Jamaica, whatever. A broke ass 20 something? Beg your parents to pay for you to go to Miami. A broke ass 20 something with mean parents? Print out pictures of tropical islands and plaster them all over your office/cubicle/bedroom walls. Close enough.

Step 4: Reward system. So you hate skiing, you don't want to sleep for 4 months straight, and those blurry pictures of Aruba are pissing you off instead of making you feel better? Plan a reward system to help you through the long haul. For every week you stop yourself from committing a messy suicide, give yourself something nice - it can be anything from a new pair of shoes, to a package of Oreos that you've been dreaming about. Like Pavlov's dog, we can be programmed to eagerly look forward to tasty treats.

Travels, Furniture, and Child Pornography

First of all, let me start by saying that she swore she was 18. She swore!! Unfortunately, it turns out that Vanessa Hudgens was maybe 15 when she took all those hysterically bad naked photos which were recently posted far and wide on the internet. At first it was funny, but now I feel like a total child pedophile for looking at them. And of course I looked, don't seem so shocked - do you have any idea how many celebrity va jay jays I've seen?

It's always the NSFW that gets me. Or, if they're particularly juicy (my god does that sound wrong), the NSFL tags, which mean Not Safe For Life. Those are generally reserved for Britney Spears' snatch, and while if you've seen one, you've seen 'em all, Britney doesn't fit into that category. It's like a giant gaping wind tunnel that's trying to suck you in, whether you like it or not - and let me assure you, no one goes in there willingly. Not even K-Fed, anymore.

In other news not pertaining to vaginas, I safely arrived in Boston after my trip, but that wasn't before being serenaded by an off tune cabbie who insisted on singing along with both Whitney Houston and Sarah McLaughlin. Imagine one of your worst fears, magnified by 100000x because you're at the mercy of a cabbie who drives on the left hand side of the road and sounds like a cat being repeatedly run over with an 18-wheeler.

I wanna dance with somebody!

In between belting out the Best of the Divas, my new friend helped beat some friendly sense into lost and confused women via the Delilah PM Show (who's theme song included a catchy verse about women of all ages ditching men and getting together with their gals for some much needed estrogen time.) He was particularly concerned about Joanne, a woman who had spent the past 8 years of her life talking online to the love of her life - a man that refused to meet her face-to-face. But he's been having problems! Joanne insisted tearfully. BFF Cabbie's advice:

Cabbie: Bitch please! He's using your ass! If he was into you, he would've met you by now!

How is it that even middle-aged male cab drivers can grasp this concept, and yet millions of women are agonizing and rationalizing and doing all sorts of crazy -izing things that we do in order to attempt to placate ourselves in the epic battle of Men Vs. Women?

Once my joint serenading and relationship counseling session was over, it was time for an extremely exciting and challenging 8 hour Amtrak ride to Boston. While I don't usually mind the train, this time I was in for a most unwanted surprise - I was on Survivor!Amtrak! In order to test their passengers' mettle and will to survive, the train conductors cranked the AC up from "Moderately Chilly" to "Siberian Winter" and watched eagerly. I spent 8 hours freezing solid, and suddenly gained a new sense of empathy for poor Mr. Torrence at the end of The Shining.

That's it, next time I'm flying

I slept fitfully, at best, but managed to thaw out once finally arriving in Boston and getting out of the meat freezer. My mother took pity on me and took me out for breakfast, and then we had a fun filled day of mowing down slow elderly shoppers with our cart at Ikea (only partially by accident, as the floors were very slippery) and driving Sleep Technicians out of their minds at Jordan's Furniture. In the end, I made out with a bed, a mattress and box spring set, and the vast majority of dishes and plates and other things I needed for the kitchen. Next weekend I'll go pick up the bed frame and the table I ordered, and I will be that much closer to being a real adult. Well, being a 'real' adult is debatable, but I'll definitely be one step closer away from being a homeless money-sponge, as my mother so fondly calls me.