I’ve finally adjusted to my commute, which is over an hour long. Remember, I used to live so close to my job on Block Island that I could walk there (though I never did, which might explain why I was fat). Since others might also be experiencing the joys of a long commute, here’s a list of fun games I’ve made up to play on your ride to and from work:

1. What’s That Noise?
This fun time-killer will have you going crazy in no time. Possible thoughts will include Do I have a flat tire? or Am I behind a gravel truck? and Is there a rabid weasel attached to the undercarriage of my car?
Not to be confused with . . .

2. What’s That Smell?
An entertaining variant of What’s That Noise?, this game will have you wondering Is my engine on fire? or Did I pack rotten eggs in my lunch this morning?

3. Hello, Fellow Commuters
You’ll soon realize that you’re seeing some of the same people every day during your drive. I’ve learned, for instance, that the blue van that speeds down Route 2 every morning with the sign reading Carrying School Children should not be. Then there’s the car with the license plate IKESMA who likes to travel at 50 m.p.h. in the left lane. I hate her, not just for her annoying traveling habits, but because she named her kid after a cartoon character on South Park.

4. Test your Bluetooth Commands
If you’re driving, you should have a Bluetooth. Take this time to learn what that gadget can do! My Bluetooth, for instance, recognizes “Find the nearest gas station” as the command for “call 9-1-1.” Fun times!

5. Stalk the Traffic Reporter Guy
In Connecticut, there seems to be just one guy in the whole state who reports on traffic for every station across the radio dial. His name is Mark. I like to follow him across the radio. He starts off on 96.5 TIC as "Mark the Shark," then hops over to 100.5 WRCH as "Mark Christopher." Sometimes I catch him on WTIC 1080 AM, and then I lose him. But I'll find him, sooner or later. I've got time.

6. Match up your CDs to your Commute
It's fun to try and figure out which of your CDs will line up perfectly with your commute. After stalking Mark for a while, I take the information he's given me (accident on 84 East, say, or Mark lives in Glastonbury) and choose the appropriate CD. Light traffic means I can get in the entire Violent Femmes' Viva Wisconsin! album; a jackknifed tractor trailer means it's time for the Beatles' 1 album. Duran Duran's Greatest CD works best when traffic is moving along but slowing up by the Glastonbury exit.

7. Play 'Dodge-the-Pothole'
Most of my time is split up between What's That Noise? and this game. You will quickly learn which lanes along which routes have the worst potholes, and drive accordingly. I'm sure to the drivers behind me it looks like I'm trying to dodge velociraptors in the kitchen, but trust me, those swerves are necessary. The biggest challenge happens around Hartford, when I have to avoid the potholes without getting stuck behind Ike's mother. I award myself points for every blown out tire I see along the side of the road (one point each, but if you spot a whole tire, including rim, like I did today, that's worth at least ten). When you reach 100 points (and you will, quickly) your reward is a greater appreciation for your vehicle and its tires.

There you have it. These fun on-the-road games will help your commute pass by in no time! 

You may have heard by now that I've returned to the corporate world. (Maybe you didn't hear, in which case, we are either not related or not Facebook friends. Surprise! I have a job.) The bookstore is still my baby, but as any parent knows, babies need to be fed. So off to work I went.
I was lucky enough to find a position as a proofreader for a respectable company. I'll admit I was pretty nervous about returning to an office environment. What if they didn't appreciate my keen fashion sense or somewhat off-color sense of humor? What if I went in the first day and they all laughed at (not with) me? What if the office coffee gave me gas?
My first challenge was the commute. Not only was it long (and keep in mind, I've been used to driving about 8 miles to the bookstore) but I had to face a lot of Connecticut and Massachusetts drivers. As you may be aware, these are two states not known for their considerate and respectful driving habits. Traffic was horrible, one guy drove all the way from Hartford to Marlborough with no lights on at night during a snow squall, and the pot holes threatened to eat my tires alive. I now have significantly less patience and more gray hairs.
I noticed those new gray hairs under the fluorescent lighting of the huge bathroom at work. What a nice change from the last office I worked in, which had one toilet and some people who didn't always lock the door when they were in there! My new place has at least eight stalls, and scented hand lotion right near the sink. I was getting spoiled. Fast.
In the kitchen (and to my former co-workers, let me report that there are three refrigerators and three microwaves just for one department!) I found what was clearly the holy grail of office perks: Pop Tarts™ . A variety of flavors, a toaster to heat them in, and a little donation jar if you want to contribute to the tart fund! Why did I bring oatmeal for breakfast? No worries, though: I threw out my salad and ate brown sugar and cinnamon toaster pastries for lunch instead.
I was assigned my own cubicle, and told I could decorate it any way I saw fit. The only drawback was that if I valued my life, I should probably stay away from New York Yankees pennants and memorabilia. Sadly, I was in Red Sox country, and I'm too new to start stirring up trouble. (Yet.) I worked around it, though, and now I have a bright, cheery cubicle decorated with pictures of Duran Duran, Freddy Kreuger, my family, and Richard Hatch. I love this place!
Nobody interrogates me when I get up to use the bathroom, I don't have to send anyone a list of what I'm working on as soon as I come in for the day, and I haven't once gotten in trouble for wishing a fellow co-worker good morning. It's been quite a refreshing change from my last position. The only downside is that my entire first week's paycheck has found its way into the Pop Tart™ fund. Plus I've already gained ten pounds. And the office coffee does, in fact, make me  a little gassy. But since it's just me and Duran Duran in my cubicle, who cares?
Next week, I'll probably explore how to do my job. But for now, so far, so good!

I have not had good luck on Valentine’s Day over the years. I’ve dated some real jerks, which I think these February 14ths of the past can attest to:

February 14, 1978: In kindergarten, on Valentine’s Day, someone’s mom made sugar cookies shaped like hearts with pink icing on it. One boy in my class (let’s call him “Brad”) put his thumb in my icing after using the bathroom without washing his hands. This was the first of my Valentine’s Days to end in tears.

February 14, 1983: In fifth grade, despite the fact that all of my classmates knew that I loved both chocolate and Duran Duran, not one person gave me chocolates shaped like Nick Rhodes’s synthesizer. I still haven’t gotten over the disappointment.

February 14, 1989: Possibly my first Valentine’s Day on which I had an actual boyfriend. Unfortunately, he decided on this day that he liked my friend Kelly more than me, and dumped me during 6th period study hall by handing me a note. The rotten jerk didn’t even have the decency to include some token pity chocolates with his stupid note. Still hate you, “Scott.”

February 14, 1994:  I was in college, dating a guy named “Tom,” who unfortunately was much more in love with me than I was with him. Call me fickle, but I can’t stand it when a guy worships the ground I walk on and thinks I can do no wrong. That’s a high standard to live up to, and it will ultimately end in disappointment (for him). He sent me a dozen roses, which the cat I illegally kept in my apartment promptly ate. Honestly, you can tell a man a million times that you prefer chocolates, and they still give you stupid red roses. It was inevitable that I would dump him. I wrote him a note, and neatly tucked it into a Whitman’s Sampler box. That’s the way to break someone’s heart on Valentine’s Day, Scott.

February 14, 2000: I lived on Block Island and was married to the most useless human being that ever stained the cushions of a couch by not moving off of it. My best friend and I went out for chocolate cake and chocolate martinis. I may have stayed over her house that night instead of facing the dreary misery that was my life. Good times.

February 14, 2007: Jason and I celebrated our first Valentine’s Day together by going to a movie. He gave me a book on movie monsters as a gift. I guess I could live without chocolates that year.

What I’ve learned over the years is that the only man I can count on to give me my heart’s desire on Valentine’s Day is my father. That’s right: every year, without fail, since I was a young’un, my dad has given my sister and me heart-shaped boxes of chocolates. Sometimes the boxes have pretty pink lace on them, other years, it’s been a plain, deep red. Doesn’t matter. They're always filled with chocolates, from coconut creams to caramels with dark chocolate coatings. It turns out that when it really matters, my father will always come through with the goods. Thanks, Dad.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

***
Be sure to visit me at Queen City Kamikaze on Sunday, February 16 in Manchester, NH! I'll be the only woman (not complaining) at the Books & Boos table with talented writers like Dale T. Phillips, Vlad Vaslyn, Gordon Bean, and T. T. Zuma! One of these four gentlemen has already promised me chocolate!

I don't particularly care who won the Superbowl. I couldn't even tell you who played this year. What I can tell you is who had the best commercials. That's right; I like to watch the game just for the ads. And thanks to www.superbowl-commercials.org, I don't even have to sit through the game anymore. So what was everybody talking about after these primo ads ran? Stupid things. People of America, I hate you.

First up is this adorable ad from Cheerios:

Nice, right? So when I heard that people were complaining because the song was sung in multiple languages, I wanted to run away and live in a cave with the other hermits that have given up on society. America, as you know, is the great melting pot. It's kind of our thing, you know, one of the positive things that we're known for.  That anyone would have the audacity to say that "America the Beautiful" should only be sung in English is mind-boggling. If you're not complaining in Cherokee or Iroquois, you really don't have the right to say anything, do you? 
Finally, what was without a doubt the best ad of the night:

Hands down, Radio Shack's "The '80s Called" was the best commercial of the night. How much fun was this ad? I loved seeing Dee Snider, Mary Lou Retton, Kid-n-Play, Alf, Chucky, Dee Snider (I really like him) . . . but I didn't hear one person complain about the teaser ad for this commercial in which Hulk Hogan is clearly submitting to Sgt. Slaughter's Cobra Clutch. I mean, COME ON. That would NEVER happen. Preposterous! Insulting! Totally unrealistic!

Overall, I thought the commercials were pretty crappy this year. But I found the response from a few narrow minded, socially inept hypocrites to be more than I could handle. Luckily, when I was at my lowest point (when some jerk on Facebook wrote "THE ANTHUM SHOLD BE IN ENGLISH!" -- wrong on soooo many levels), it was Radio Shack who came through for me. I love you guys. 
And Dee Snider. I love him too.