Ode to the Douchebags

I had the pleasure of driving home from Atlantic City on Sunday after a very relaxing weekend with my hubbie at the Water Club. Dave usually drives but I was driving home solo since he was taking the train to NYC. Maybe our lack of success at the tables colored my drive but I penned the following ode to the douchebag fellow drivers on the road, while powering home.

-- to the guy who had to swerve onto the left shoulder to avoid rear-ending me when we hit a pocket of traffic. Newsflash, if you have to drive off the road to avoid hitting me, you are a douchebag.
-- to the girl who sat in the left hand "pass lane" and matched the speed of the car in the lane next to her. Just like any escalator in the DC metro area, you stand on the right, and pass on the left. Memorize, repeat. Get out of my way, douchebag.
-- to the BMW model 335i manufacturers, who manufacturied a crappy fuel pump, so that the "engine malfunction" light popped on as I was crossing the span bridge to Philly. As I get older, my vertigo is getting more intense and I feel like I am going to drive off the bridge. The fact that the light came on as I was crossing the bridge? Thanks, douchebags.
--To the Ford Escape who sped up to block me from merging onto the highway, thanks douchebag. I really hope Ford has improved the safety records of their cars, no really.
-- to Apple for making my iPhone and giving me the option of putting my entire itunes library on shuffle so I could play "guess the artist" on the drive home, you guys are NOT douchebags.
-- to the car with the guys sticking their feet out of every window as they drove home from the beach. I am REALLY happy that you had such a relaxing weekend. That is awesome. Please, spread the love and get OUT of the FAST lane.
-- to the lady manning the toll both who rocked along to my itunes as I paid my tenth toll of the day. Rock on sister, you are NOT a douchebag.
-- to the guy in front of me who hit his brakes, causing me to swear and also avoid a speeding ticket. I love you, you are not a douchebag.

Conclusion: I could not believe how many douchebags were on the highway during my drive home from Atlantic City. Luckily, and obviously, I was not one of them.

The Best Imitation of Myself

A comment by a neighbor at the pool got me thinking about this topic the other day. Earlier that day, I had posted about my triumphant return to spinning class on Facebook, and she commented to me that she didn't know how I could be so "active" and do all the things I post about on Facebook, or here on my sporadically updated blog. I responded oh, it has been forever since I went to spinning class, and shrugged embarrassed, thinking to myself heh, she has no idea what a slug I am.

Later that week, I was flipping through the photos I had posted on Facebook and it struck me. If you took these snapshots and my status updates as the sole representation of my life, you would come to the following conclusions: I am an avid skier and love to go snow tubing, we spend every weekend outside doing sporty activities, I work out every day, my children and husband are perfect, I frequently adopt dogs, and I never ever have any problems at work.

The reality is: those two sets of photos of me skiing are the only two times I have been skiing in the last ten years, ok we spend a lot of time on the weekend taking the kids to sporty activities but we are couch potatoes who like to watch a lot of TV, the times I have posted that I worked out are pretty much the ONLY times I have worked out, my children and my husband are, OMG, not perfect, and I try not to post about my job, at all, ever, regardless of whether it is a good or bad day.

The time that Alex screamed that she hated me and slammed the door in my face, didn't post about it. The time that Jack spent all day saying "whatever Lady," when I asked him to do something, and no, he was no longer trying to be funny, didn't post about that one either. The fact that I have signed up for two triathlons and failed to do them both times, yeah, somehow that didn't make it into a Facebook post.

I suppose there is no big mystery as to why that is. Consciously or unconsciously, we use Facebook (or twitter) to project a "version" of ourselves -- without all the blemishes, bruises or warts. You know, the "reunion" you, the shiny, hair blown-out, nails done, new outfit sporting you that has the best career, the best spouse, the best kids, and the best life. I don't feel like broadcasting, nor do you really want to read about the fact that I fed pizza to the kids for the second night in a row, am typing this blog rather than writing a memo I should be writing this evening, had to clean up dog pee from the carpet twice tonight, and I let the kids go to bed without washing their hair because I just didn't feel like dealing.

So next time I post about my wonderful day and that awesome work out, remember, I do the best imitation of myself.