"Bridge Brave: Domination of the Dreaded Driscoll"

     Anyone who knows me well is aware that I have a bridge phobia.  It is something inherent, for, even as a child, I had nightmares about bridges, which have continued through my adult life.

     (For the record, I know a woman who will only traverse a bridge if someone else is driving, and she is in the back, cowering on the floor.  She makes me feel bridge brave!)

     One Memorial Day weekend, my niece invited me to the Jersey Shore for a barbeque.  Great idea, except I have to navigate the Driscoll Bridge to get there.  Or do I?  On second thought, I chose Route 9.  It runs parallel to the Parkway, and boasts a lower, less intimidating bridge. So off I go, a bundle of nerves, over the Route 9 Bridge, triumphantly gazing at the “Dreaded Driscoll”, to my right.  Once over the bridge, I turned left to head to the Parkway.  The result was that I was driving the wrong direction, away from the Parkway, on a highway heading north to the Route 35 Bridge, which towers above the Driscoll, and is curved and narrow to boot!  I promptly stopped, (the road had no shoulder) pondering my dilemma. There was a median preventing me from making a U-turn, so I opted to back up to the intersection, where I had noticed some kind of building.  (Fortunately for me, traffic was light that day.)  I successfully navigated my way to the parking lot, with the intention of going inside the establishment for directions.  It was a Go-go bar.  I quickly nixed that idea and I elected to take my chances with the median, making an illegal turn back to the direction where I came from originally.  At that point, my intuition told me to abandon my plight and head back home.  I didn’t listen.  After driving another hour over more bridges than I can count,   I gave up, turned around, and headed back after all.  After two hours of pointless driving, I arrived home starving and emotionally spent.  Ignoring my hunger, I went immediately to bed and pulled the covers up over my head, where I remained until the following morning.

      Ever the optimist, I viewed that little trek as bridge practice. I drove over more bridges that day than I had in fifteen years. I have since come to terms with my fear of the Driscoll Bridge, and I drive over it regardless of my interminable nervousness, and my triumphant gaze is in the direction of the Routes 9 & 35 Bridges.  Jersey Shore, here I come!

"Pet Peeves"

I loathe the dog poop decorations

You have adorning our home.

You act as if this property

Is yours, and your alone.

You haven’t a shred of consideration

For anyone but yourselves.

You and your dog and your dog poop

Make this apartment look like hell!  (not exactly what I wanted to say, but it is Easter, so I restrained myself.)

 

     My neighbors are decorating for Easter. Their dog is dyed green and the poop adorning front porch is in bags the color of Easter Egg blues and yellows.  Why didn’t I think of that?  I just have Easter Bunnies, flowers, and wind chimes.

     I actually confronted the offending neighbors about the situation last week, since they hadn't disposed of it since Washington's BD. ( I'm not kidding.  The stench was unbearable.)  The poop free porch lasted a week, now they're at it again.  When I move to another apartment,  there is no way I will pay a transfer fee.  I'm going to present management with a ton of pictures. P.S. If this is what they have on display at their home's front entrance, imagine what the inside looks like...

                                                                

 

"A Sorry Sense of Direction"

     At times, I have a sorry sense of direction. (You already know that if you read my post “Driving Alone II, Lost in Cranford.) For instance, did I ever tell you the real reason that I purchased a cell phone back in 2001?  I made a trip to Taco Bell, to pick up supper for the family.  Mind you, the Taco Bell was a mere 10 minutes from our house.  Well, coming out of their driveway, I made a wrong turn.  (The return trip is not as direct. Really!)  I continued driving, my intuition telling me that I was going the wrong way, but proceeding nevertheless.  (I have since learned to listen to my intuition. She is the brains of this outfit.) I wound up in a somewhat unsavory area, and I asked someone for directions.  They sent me ever deeper into the city.  By this time I am totally exasperated, and there is no one to turn to. My husband (at the time) had been a truck driver for many years, and he knew his way around the state blindfolded.  The problem was, I couldn’t contact him because I didn’t have a cell phone, and there wasn’t a pay phone in sight.  I eventually found a gas station, and the fellow mercifully pointed me towards home and directed me out of the city.  I was amazed when, after going about 4 blocks and making a scant 2 turns, I knew exactly where I was: in my town, 10 minutes from my house, and fortunately for me, I wasn’t back in front of the Taco Bell.  The very next day, I packed the sons up and made a trek to the mall.  We all came home with cell phones that day.  They were thrilled, in spite of the cold tacos they’d had for supper the night before.

"Canine Cold Shoulder"

    

                                            "Buddy's reaction when I told him I'm going back to work"

                                                                    

      I am concerned about Buddy, my Chocolate Lab, developing “separation anxiety” when I  return to the work force.  Or should I say, I fear his existing “separation anxiety” will worsen considerably, ultimately becoming extreme.  When I get up in the morning, it is usually not by choice, but because the four legged fellow with the big wet nose is nudging me.  I head for the bathroom, and the Buds will usually lie in wait outside the door, whimpering as though I’d moved in permanently. One odd morning, after I showered, perplexed by the unusual quiet, I emerged to find him eating a potholder.  (I know. I should have put it away.)

     My frequent trips to the laundry room will have him standing on the love seat, frantically panting and spewing doggie saliva all over the window sill, as he tries to get a glimpse of me, hopefully on my way back. At times, I will come home to him howling pitifully, like a lone wolf on a moonlit night. The other day, I went out for a few hours, and upon my return, Buddy followed me all over the apartment.  Feeling rather mischievous, I began pacing in circles, amusing myself as he continued to follow me.  When I tired of pacing, I stood in the middle of the living room, doing a pirouette, and he circled me relentlessly, rather like we were engaged in a canine version of Cowboys and Indians. 

     I fear that his appetite for books will resurface, or that he may nibble on my sofa.  He was previously prone to both, even when Aurora was still with us. The problem is that now, aside from still missing Aurora, he’s spoiled.  He has become far too accustomed to having me here with him most of the time.  What kind of mischief might he get himself into next?  Stay tuned…

"Autonomous Cars"

     You remember how technologically challenged I am?  (You should.  I write about it often enough!)  Well, I even surprise myself at times.  I purchased a new shredder recently, and I could not get the contraption to work. (Does anyone even say contraption anymore?) I flicked the on/off switch repeatedly, to no avail. I slathered oil all over the blades. Nothing. I couldn’t understand it.  The shredder ran when I put it in reverse…

     I really didn’t want to go hauling the thing back to Target.  I sat staring at the shredder, pondering my dilemma, when in walks my son. In all his brilliance, he asked me if, once I’d turned the shredder on, I tried putting paper in it…Oops!

     I was recently reading an article regarding autonomous cars, that is, cars that drive themselves.  They are legal in a number of states.  Why?  There is no law on the books that indicates cars must have drivers… (I’m not kidding.  That’s what the article said!)

     The cars are supposed to be infinitely safer, because they eliminate the possibility of human error.  Personally, I have mixed feeling about the science fiction like means of transportation.  On the one hand, an autonomous car would prove beneficial when I encountered a bridge that is too intimidating for me to cross.  On the other hand, would I be able to understand the technology?  Doubtful.  I have great difficulty with paper shredders and I-Pads.  With my limited technological ability, chances are I would program the car to drive itself right off the bridge…which is my ultimate fear to begin with.

     I was born in a city of about 100,000 inhabitants.  We lived on the main drag, which cut a swath clear across the city.  At that time, the street was largely cobblestone, and still had trolley tracks, although they were no longer used.  Far fewer people had cars at that time.  In fact, I can remember horse drawn carts meandering up the street, with mobile merchants selling vegetables, and the rag man, who dealt in or collected rags and sharpened knives.  The milkman delivered milk and butter daily, depositing it in a metal box which sat outside our front door. 

   The transition from horse drawn carts to autonomous cars is drastic, to say the least.  Considering my history, is it surprising at all that I am technologically challenged?  Not in my estimation.  In fact, I’m beginning to consider myself to be rather progressive...

"Like a Postman..."

   Neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night*

   Will deter me from my job seeking plight…

      I took my “new” old car to the mechanic yesterday.  I wanted him to give it the once over, in addition to the standard oil and filter change and lube, and look for and correct any problems so that it is ready to commute when I eventually do land a job. (I hope the car lasts that long.  I probably should have bought new. Of course I couldn’t, since I don’t have a job! Ugh!) 

     I figured the car probably needed brakes, as I was hearing a rubbing sound when I would step on them. (I was correct in that assumption.) What I didn’t expect though, was the surprising revelation heaped on me by my mechanic.  He asked me if I’d noticed the car shaking or wobbling.  Well, no, actually.  I hadn’t. The car is so different from the tortoise, which I drove for nearly ten years, that I thought the car was just…different.  If I had noticed, or realized there was a problem, I wouldn’t have been driving it all over the state of New Jersey during the course of my job search. 

     I had asked the mechanic to check the tires, and he said he noticed right away that the right rear tire was, well, lopsided. Additionally, it had a bubble (think of the inflating football in the Our Gang episode Little Papa.) seemingly like it had bounced off of a curb or a large pothole. (It had. Both, in fact.) When the tire hadn’t immediately flattened, I figured I had lucked out. (I did.) Of course I never actually looked at the tire…I have been driving up and down mountainous roads, in the company of tractor trailers and SUV’s, on busy highways, and over bridges in the snow, sleet, and driving rain, all with a bubble in my tire.  I believe my guardian angel has been keeping an eye on me.  I wonder if she could help me land a job…

*adapted from the Post Office motto

"Like a Charm"

     This past weekend, the 50-Something Freshman had a date like she never had before-with a Doctor!  It was a simple, but fun and relaxed, date.  We went to the local coffee shop, where we sipped flavored lattes and munched on decadent chocolate chip cookies.  Our conversation flowed much like the coffee, it was robust and plentiful.  Having known each other for a time, we didn’t encounter any of those awkward pauses that are common on a first date.  For ninety plus minutes, we discussed a myriad of topics:  movies, travel, and education, to name a few.  There was a young couple sitting next to us the entire time, not uttering one word to each other.  The woman was on her I-Pad and the fellow was listening to his I-Pod. I imagine that to be virtual intimacy of the twenty first century. Young people in coffee shops and restaurants don’t communicate with each other.  I witnessed a more alarming display from another couple.  The fellow was actually talking to the girl, attempting to engage her in conversation, but instead of looking at him, she had her phone perched directly in front of her- at eye level.  I wonder did she have to trade in her manners when she purchased the phone, kind of like a used car…  When I go to a coffee shop or restaurant with friends, it is because I wish to spend time with them, and vice versa! If I were to whip out my I-Pad, I-Phone, or I-Pod, other than to take an important call from my kids, it would be our last social encounter, and I would feel the same way about them.  One time I was out with one of the sons and his girlfriend, and they whipped out their phones during dinner.  I immediately commented that if the phones didn’t disappear, I wasn’t paying... Worked like a charm!

"Sustainability"

    

     Okay, so I had an interview on Friday, I had one today, and I have another tomorrow. (Here’s hoping the third time’s the charm!)  You know, I’ve been thinking, if  “fifty is the new forty”, why the heck can’t I get a job?  I pondered this today after an interview with a young man who demonstrated about as much interest in talking to me as he would his mother on a Saturday night. I think I’ve got it figured out now, after forty five minutes with this fellow who is young enough to be my son.  Sixty may be the new fifty, fifty the new forty, and so on, but from whose perspective?  From the perspective of the sixty or fifty year old, of course.  No matter how young the semi-senior individual feels, or regardless of how well we have aged, to the thirty-something, we are old!  We are not dealing with subjective age here.  The fifty-something job candidate is trying to convince the much younger interviewer that we are not as old as they perceive us to be. What is problematic is that they will not comprehend the concept until they reach the dreaded age themselves.  In the meantime, I, and many others like me, try to appear as young as possible. We attempt to convince the increasingly younger interviewers of our own youth and vitality, and that we are far more capable than they give us credit for.  I feel as if I am at a disadvantage before even walking through the door. When going on an interview, we of a certain age not only have to sell ourselves on our experience and expertise, we need to convince the individuals doing the hiring that we are young enough to do the job, do it well, and keep at it for years to come. (Puts a new spin on the term sustainability, don’t you think?) The questionnaire I completed today asked an interesting question: “where do you want to be in ten years?”  I didn’t respond that I hope to be retired…

"Crickets"

If I were a drinker

You know what I think?

I’d drink and I’d drink

Till I could no longer think

I’d drink till I fell 

Flat out on the floor

Then I’d pick myself up 

And start drinking some more.

     Each time I go on a job interview, I obtain a business card from each interviewer so that I may send the subsequent, requisite, thank you note.  I have now accumulated enough cards to play Canasta. 

     Part of the job search dilemma is that the lack of success slowly erodes a person's self confidence. I began feeling as if I need to know that I can at least land a job, any job. In my state of desperation, I applied to Dunkin Donuts. Crickets. That little ploy certainly backfired. Even Dunkin Donuts won't have me. They must know I drink Starbucks! Maybe I should put in an application there...

     I know who will be disappointed when I finally do land a job-the people at Dress Barn.  I have invested a small fortune in interview appropriate clothes.  I made a dash over there today to buy some black slacks and another jacket.  I now have the best dressed closet in town.  

     Come to think of it, Dress Barn is hiring...

   

"League of Unconventional Students"

    

     The number of page views on my blog decreases with every passing day.  I realize that, partially at least, I am to blame.  I haven’t been writing as many posts as I had been previously, which I attribute to my unemployment induced depression.  Aside from that, I imagine that a large portion of my potential audience doesn’t even know what a blog is, and even if they did, navigation to the site may prove problematic for them.  Therefore, I have been pondering creative ways that I may induce people to find their way to my blog, even if it’s purely by accident. 

     The first idea I came up with was to add pictures, once my technologically challenged brain figured out how to do that.  On a number of my posts, I have a variety of snapshots of me, Buddy, books, and even some favorite foods.  I have received lots of positive feedback…from my friends and family.

     The second idea I had was to mention “Baby Boomers”, since that is who this blog is really geared to. I did that a few weeks ago, and, so far, no good.

     The other idea I had was to rename the blog as follows: “L.U.ST.”, which is an acronym for “League of Unconventional Students”.  That catchy title would probably get some attention, but may attract the wrong kind of reader,. That being said, I really like the name of my blog.  Combine that with my prudish nature, and I will nix that particular idea.

     One of the son’s girlfriends, a student at a local University, has indicated to me on numerous occasions that there are a multitude of unconventional students in her classes.  Perhaps I should ask her to give them my blog address…

"Calamity Lane"

     I recently invested in EZ Pass.  I really didn’t think I needed it, since I rarely drive on toll roads.  My sons however, have been trying to convince me for years of its convenience, regardless of how infrequently I might use it.  I have vehemently resisted, until a recent near calamity provoked me to sign up that very same day. 

     I was returning from a recent job interview (I am always either heading to a job interview, or returning from one) and I needed to get on the Parkway, which is obviously a toll road. I followed the sign at the toll booth which indicated “change/receipts”, and entered, without ever looking at the signal light, which just happened to be…red.  Realistically speaking, the only reason I did notice at all was because the toll collector was standing in the lane directly in front of my car. . (I guess she’s lucky that I at least saw her.) In a moment of panic, I quickly looked behind me, and fortunately, there was no traffic (a rarity in New Jersey). I had to back up, and enter the next lane, which indicated exact change.  Do you think I had any change on me?  In keeping with my life in accordance with Murphy’s Law, that would be a resounding NO!  Obviously, I had to go through the toll without paying, and then wait to receive the ensuing ticket.  Upon my return home, before removing my coat or walking the dog, I immediately parked my stubborn butt at my computer and signed up for EZ Pass on the spot. 

     I installed and christened it yesterday. As I ponder the ill effects of my legendary stubbornness, I’m wondering why I resisted for so long.  Modern technology certainly has its advantages. 

     Now, if I could only convince my sons to chip in and pay my ticket. Too bad I can’t utilize the ever convenient method of maternal guilt. Unfortunately, I can’t use it this time, because my young men were right!

"Pouting Pooch"

                                                                         

     I don't know what he's so depressed about. He's got the life of Reilly!        
                                                             

"You Bet Your..."

They asked me can I multi-task?

In my mind I responded-you bet your a--!

Multi-tasking is something I know how to do.

I would quickly hire me if I were you!

     Do I possess the ability to multi-task? I’m a woman, a wife (formerly), and a mother, for crying out loud!  Of course I can multi-task!  For instance, after spending a grueling day at the office, multi-tasking, I came home (loaded with groceries) to three children, three dogs, a demanding husband, and aging parents.  I can remember standing at the stove making dinner while balancing a small child on my hip, a batch of cookies in the oven, clothes in the washer, and children sitting at the table asking for help with their homework while clamoring for their dinner. These tasks were accompanied by me straightening up, setting the table,  and putting the groceries away. Besides which, the hubby wants attention and the parents are confused.  Sounds like extreme multi-tasking to me.  Too bad I can’t list these feats on my resume. 

     At that time, I was working in a busy Customer Service Department, with parallel demands.  I could be on the phone with an importunate customer, second line ringing, Emails to answer, paperwork to complete, orders to enter, quotes to do, coworkers requiring collaboration, and an onerous boss standing over my shoulder criticizing me relentlessly.  Oh, and additionally I was simultaneously exuding enthusiasm, charm, and good humor. Can I multi-task?  I have turned it into an art form.

     By the way-I am exhausted from merely writing this post... I think I'll take a nap.

"The Unemployment Blues"

Who would ever expect to wish being older:

I’ve got a bad case of the unemployment blues.

I’m getting depressed after reading the news.

I thought a new job would be easy to find.

Just what was I thinking? I’m losing my mind.

I’m pounding the pavement. I’m working the net.

A new job eludes me. I haven’t found one as yet.

I wish I were older for then I would be

Eligible to receive Social Security.

It wouldn’t be much, but enough to survive.

I would simply get by though, unlikely to thrive.

At least it would relieve me of all of the stress.

Remove me from all of this job searching mess.

"I'm Melting"

                                                                
   
      Every time I think my face can’t fall down anymore…it falls down some more.  My once round, full, “Jennifer Lawrence-esque” cheeks are transforming themselves into jowls as rapidly as an express elevator headed down with no one manning the controls.  My face is beginning to look like soft ice cream on a summer afternoon, folds of soft flesh gently cascading downward, like melting ice cream draped over a sugar cone.  I take pictures of myself pretty regularly, looking for attractive shots that I can post on my blog or on FB.  Recently, while perusing them with my BFF, I opined that I feel as if I aged overnight, that all of a sudden, I am looking so, well, old.  Astonished, she asked me “just how young did you think you looked?”  Apparently not as young as I'd thought...Oh what a world...

Run Away

If I were a teenager I would run away.

I wouldn’t wait until tomorrow. I’d do it today.

I’d pack up my car with my dog and my books,

Turn my back on my life without a second look.

I would point my car west, and I’d never come back.

I would run and I‘d hide and I’d cover my tracks.

Problem is that no matter where I would be,

The one person I can’t run away from is me.