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Thursday, September 06, 2007
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
I hate traveling.
Don't get me wrong; I love going places. I just don't like the getting there part of things. I don't like driving long distances. I don't like riding for any length of time, especially since I don't trust 90% of the drivers out there. I don't like flying either.
I realize the old statistic says that you're more likely to die in a car accident than you are to die in a plane crash, but in a car it's a surprise. BOOM! Out of nowhere. With a plane, if something goes wrong, you're going to have at least 3 minutes of anguish and panic before you FINALLY explode on the ground. I'd rather never see it coming.
Shari and I drove back from Crestview, Florida this Monday. Crestview is about 45 minutes east of Pensacola, so the trip normally takes about 8 hours. It took over 10 hours Monday. 10...long...hours...
For some reason, between Pensacola and Biloxi, people decided to drive much, much slower. I'm not talking about slowing down from 70 mph to 60. I was going as slow as 0 mph at times. We came to complete stops on the interstate at least 15 times! This shouldn't happen. There wasn't a wreck. There wasn't construction. It was just a mass of people coming home after a Labor Day weekend spent out of town, getting congested in traffic and handling the wrong way. Therefore, I drove between 25-30 mph for well over half the distance to Biloxi.
When we finally got out, I went as fast as I could without setting myself up for a ticket. I refused to stop for stupid reasons; I was ready to get home.
Well, I was under the impression that I could make it from Alexandria to Natchitoches with less than a quarter tank of gas. I thought that I had done it before, so I decided to make it again. I spent the last 20 miles to Natchitoches with the air conditioner off and the gas light on. We rolled into the gas station safely, but the gas meter in my Element had dipped below the red line.
So we're full of gas and making the last stretch home. About 15 minutes away from the house, Apple starts shaking. Apple is mine and Shari's little puppy that we've had for about 2 weeks now. She had done well on the trip to Florida, and was looking fine on the way back too. Well, when Apple starts shaking, that usually means that she needs to use the restroom, and she's scared because she's not outdoors and she knows she'll get in trouble if she can't hold it. If she's shaking, then she's barely holding it.
Well, Apple had been trying to get over to me on the driver's side, so Shari sits her on my lap...
...and I feel a warm sensation...
As you can probably guess, Apple couldn't hold it anymore, so I spent the last 15 minutes of the trip with dog urine soaking my lap and a scowl on my face. It wasn't really the dog's fault. I just hadn't stopped in too long, and we didn't read the sign. Shaking dog = stop NOW!
So I hate trips. I'm glad to be home.
Don't get me wrong; I love going places. I just don't like the getting there part of things. I don't like driving long distances. I don't like riding for any length of time, especially since I don't trust 90% of the drivers out there. I don't like flying either.
I realize the old statistic says that you're more likely to die in a car accident than you are to die in a plane crash, but in a car it's a surprise. BOOM! Out of nowhere. With a plane, if something goes wrong, you're going to have at least 3 minutes of anguish and panic before you FINALLY explode on the ground. I'd rather never see it coming.
Shari and I drove back from Crestview, Florida this Monday. Crestview is about 45 minutes east of Pensacola, so the trip normally takes about 8 hours. It took over 10 hours Monday. 10...long...hours...
For some reason, between Pensacola and Biloxi, people decided to drive much, much slower. I'm not talking about slowing down from 70 mph to 60. I was going as slow as 0 mph at times. We came to complete stops on the interstate at least 15 times! This shouldn't happen. There wasn't a wreck. There wasn't construction. It was just a mass of people coming home after a Labor Day weekend spent out of town, getting congested in traffic and handling the wrong way. Therefore, I drove between 25-30 mph for well over half the distance to Biloxi.
When we finally got out, I went as fast as I could without setting myself up for a ticket. I refused to stop for stupid reasons; I was ready to get home.
Well, I was under the impression that I could make it from Alexandria to Natchitoches with less than a quarter tank of gas. I thought that I had done it before, so I decided to make it again. I spent the last 20 miles to Natchitoches with the air conditioner off and the gas light on. We rolled into the gas station safely, but the gas meter in my Element had dipped below the red line.
So we're full of gas and making the last stretch home. About 15 minutes away from the house, Apple starts shaking. Apple is mine and Shari's little puppy that we've had for about 2 weeks now. She had done well on the trip to Florida, and was looking fine on the way back too. Well, when Apple starts shaking, that usually means that she needs to use the restroom, and she's scared because she's not outdoors and she knows she'll get in trouble if she can't hold it. If she's shaking, then she's barely holding it.
Well, Apple had been trying to get over to me on the driver's side, so Shari sits her on my lap...
...and I feel a warm sensation...
As you can probably guess, Apple couldn't hold it anymore, so I spent the last 15 minutes of the trip with dog urine soaking my lap and a scowl on my face. It wasn't really the dog's fault. I just hadn't stopped in too long, and we didn't read the sign. Shaking dog = stop NOW!
So I hate trips. I'm glad to be home.
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