Things That Go... Crash.

Dear Operators of Motorized Vehicles ,

In a world where technology abounds, literature is engrossing, and applying ones makeup takes more time than can be scrounged before leaving the house, our vehicles seem to have become the 'catch-all' of our lives. Swerving by me in countless numbers, you astound me with the amount of circuitry protruding from your ears, newspapers and/or novels in your hands, and double cheeseburgers hanging from your mouths. Where do you find the attention or, rather, the ability to drive?

Oh, wait. You don't.

Guess what the green light means? (Here's a hint, it doesn't mean "adjust your cleavage", "update your Facebook status", or "stir another pack of sugar into your coffee".)

The following is a list of things that, to the best of my knowledge, apply to you and the Wonderful World of Driving:

1. Double-parking is fine... if you are driving a hearse.
2. "SUV" does not equal "Compact", nor does your "lack of brains" equal "handicapped".
3. You are not part-vulture.
4. Cutesy decals on your rear window is grounds for a rear-ending, "Baby on Board" or not.
5. Just because something looks funny (like, oh, a Roundabout), it doesn't mean that all bets are off.

I fail, then, to understand how things could have gotten so out-of-hand. Didn't we all have to take the same drivers' test? Shouldn't we be looking out for each other on this, the great Road of Life, instead of throwing back another coffee, flipping the bird, and playing I-5 bumper cars?

However, since I have pledged to forever don my Seat-belt of Safety, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions for you, Oh Operator of the Auto.

1. I don't care how nice your new ride is; keep it inside ONE parking space.
(I know what it's like to be in a hurry, I do; you overslept, your child is crying, there was a line of DMV-proportions at the drive-through Starbucks, and now your boss is calling, demanding that you pick up 10 boxes of toner for GodKnowsWhatCrazyProject... but parking your car in a dead straddle over the dividing line of two parking spaces? Not cool. The excuse of "Oh, I wasn't paying attention!" isn't very reassuring, either. I'm supposed to feel okay with that? Logic leads me to think that you probably "weren't paying attention" for the majority of your drive. *shudder* Oh, and I'm ever so happy that you have the funds to purchase and drive a Spyder convertible... but slanting your car across two slots just so no one dings your precious Penis Compensator? Sooooo not acceptable. Whenever I see an expensive car deliberately double-parked like that, my hands start twitching and making their way to the keys in my purse, almost begging me to write a nice "Hello, Douche-waffle" note on your door. Which leads me to...)

2. Stop thinking that the rules of parking don't apply to you.
(Yes... I know, Dear Driver, this point coincides rather closely with the previous, but you do know the reason for that, don't you? I can't take any more of this double-standard crap whilst on the road! It's enough that I had to live with it during my childhood... *cough*... anyway, I do not need it from you! I am an SUV-driver. I have a 2002 Saturn Vue that, while it may be labeled as a 'mid-sized SUV' and could, theoretically, fit into a compact space, I park in spaces that will not cause direct or indirect damage to those I have parked next to, or whom may choose to park next to me. It goes beyond common courtesy, m'dear... it's THE LAW. Those pretty markings on the ground aren't decorations meant to enhance the color of your pretty BMW - no, those are words... words that say "Compact Only". Oh, and just so we're clear, parking in a handicapped spot because you're "just going to be a minute", don't feel well, or are too stupid to read the sign isn't an excuse, either.)

3. Stop circling the parking lot like a bird about to dive.
(I know you really, really want that primo spot by the front of the store, but you're holding up fifteen other cars who don't have the maneuverability to get around you while you sit there with your hazards on. Believe me, honey; the only hazard here is that you sit there, pretending not to notice the backup, while gulping down your second quad-grande extra caramel Caramel Frappucino of the day. Your ass could use a little exercise - park a few rows back.)

4. ENOUGH with the stick-figure-families, already.
(Why, my Commuting Cutie, do you feel the need to cover your rear window in cheesy stickers that tell everyone everything about your family? Don't you already do this on Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, etc...? Before you know it, your car will look like this, and I'll be forced to kill you to save my own sanity.
A couple of witty stickers or decals? Totally fine.
(I have one that talks about tattooed moms on the PTA. Gets a laugh every time.)
Row after row of "Baby on Board", "Save a horse, ride a cowboy", "Cowgirl up!", "The Hansen Family", and a sticker from every single concert you've seen...? Nutty.)

4. Just because a traffic function is idiotic, doesn't mean you get to ignore it.
(Sweet Steerer of my Soul, pay attention here. Roundabouts are the Department of Transportation's way of making sure you're paying attention... and then eating your soul if you are not. As my good friend Kim said, "(Roundabouts are) possibly the biggest waste of tax dollars ever because people are too retarded to figure out how to use them. Traffic lights are simple. Red means stop. Green means go. Yellow means floor it. Very simple. At the roundabout, people can't drive because they're too busy trying to decipher the heiroglyphics on the signs to see which lane they're supposed to be in. RE-TAR-DED." I will be the first (er, second) to say that these Whirly-Swirley Cycles of Death are about the stupidest traffic-control creation since crossing guards, but the fact is that they are here, and we have to live with them. Just because they look kind of fun and make you think back to doing donuts in the parking lot does not mean you can just catapult yourself into the intersection (which, yes, is exactly what this is) and think that you'll be fine. Maybe.)

All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Glowing Example of Driver Safety that I know you have inside of you.

I know you're busy. I know you're stressed, you're tired, and you are most likely over-worked. I can understand how the brain can switch to auto-pilot when you start to do a familiar task such as driving; it's something that most of us have done since our teenage years. Just remember that driving safely and parking responsibly isn't just for you... it's for everyone else on the road, feeling just as stressed, tired, and over-worked as you are.

Like me, the girl with the really, really good aim... looking for just one more reason to get her concealed weapons permit.

Honk if you love kitties,

Krystal

Girly-men

Dear Metrosexual Twig-Men and/or Men Who Look Like Boys,

I am almost at a loss of words here... but, unfortunately for you, I will soldier on.
What. The. Hell.
I think that about covers it.
Whatever happened to embracing your masculinity, guys? When did it start becoming cool for guys to dress like a chick? Why are we so overrun with men who would rather scribble madly in their black spiral notebooks, or get a manicure, than go punch something/someone when they're upset?

The last I checked, the following is what most women find attractive about you/why we keep you around:

1. Your muscles are sexy
2. You look so, so good in jeans and a t-shirt
3. Your communication skills are... sparse
4. Your recreational choices befuddle us

I fail, then, to understand why you have decided to chop off your collective cojones and embrace the twisted world of emaciated, Emo fashion and high-priced cocktails. How am I, an intensely pro-sex, straight adult female, supposed to fantasize about a guy who looks like a jacked-up, butch lesbian or, at best, a teenage boy with whiskers? You're making this way, way too hard for me, fellas.

However, since I have a vested interest in seeing your ranks improve, Oh Twig-like Metrosexual Abomination, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.

1. Put down the eyeliner and pick up a barbell. And a hamburger.
(I don't care how nasty your gym bag smells after some time lifting weights, playing basketball with the guys, or a quick pick-up game of baseball, I would rather smell dirty-dirty man stink than some unisex cologne you dropped $100 on. Oh, and please... if anyone should be ordering a salad with the dressing on the side, it's me; I'm the girl in this relationship, m'kay... and I would likely order something with a little more punch. Unless you're really, really craving the dandelion greens with crumbled feta and an aged balsamic reduction, order the 'Entire Rib of Cow' special with a side of 'More Beef', roll up your sleeves, and tear into that sucker like a kid at Christmas. There's something primal and sexy about a guy who shows healthy-to-high levels of testosterone... one such exhibition being food choices. Now, I'm not a big girl by today's health standards, but I don't want to look at a man and think, "Hm... nice eyes, cute smile, but I'd break him in a second." I want a guy who has the muscle tone he should have for his age, not that of a high school senior.)

2. Put down (or burn) the skinny jeans, and put on some sweats.
(Why... WHY with the skinny jeans, guys? I see so many of you walking around with tattoos (a personal attractant for me, yes) on your arms and scruffy, sexy faces... only to find your man-junk all vacuumed sealed into these size 2 pants. It doesn't stop at skinny jeans, either. No, I like to call this craptastical wardrobe brainwashing the 'Jonas Brothers DiCaprio Effect'; khakis (not so bad, in moderation), a polo shirt (gag me), and/or a sweater vest (wave 'bye-bye' to your chances of getting laid), and some loafers (no words), and you've got yourself a Mr. Douche doll. I'll be completely honest and say that yes, this may seem like sex-on-a-stick for some women, but me? I'd rather see my guy in a pair of jeans (that don't advertise the size/lack of size of his unit) and a t-shirt... or, really, whatever he's comfortable in. That, to me, is incredibly sexy.)

3. Put down the notebook and raise your voice.
(Ah, poetry... the centuries-old method of self-expression, and super-romantic 'wooing tool'. I don't really know how to proceed with this one, Oh Man of Missing Masculinity, as I have some mixed feelings here. While I can appreciate the time, effort, and creativity that goes into writing a poem or love song for a girl, and have had a couple written for me that I treasured, it has always felt... off... to have a guy be that expressive. I'm sure I will get many an e-mail/comment about this from my male friends, but this is just what I feel. I like my men a little more closed-off; willing to cuddle after sex, but not wanting to immediately jump out of bed to write a sonnet (or ten) about my breasts. Hey, I like 'em too, fellas... but poetry as self-expression for a guy? If it's the only form that you're using, it's going to be a turn-off.)

4. Put down the gourmet Gouda and pick up a Wii controller.
(I'm sure you've heard plenty a stereotypical woman spout-off about "I just wish HE'D cook some of the meals", or have watched your fair share of The Food Network, but really...? When did the weekend plans of the (admittedly stereotypical) American male turn from video games, movies, sports, projects, etc. to sauteing, blanching, scrap booking, or intensive, voluntary manscaping? Stop taking over the woman's hobbies, damn it! Go back to your Wii's, your ESPN, your table hockey, and leave our stuff alone! Not only are you infringing on our millenia-old territory (what do you think cave drawings are, if not the earliest form of scrap booking?), but you're becoming too much like US. If we wanted to date other women, we would... hence lesbians. Totally fine, just not my bag. I want my man and I to have a few, key differences other than the obvious anatomical ones.)

All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Strong and Mighty Tower of Masculinity that I know you have inside of you.

I love me some men-folk. I do. I also understand that men, like women, are multi-faceted creatures with widely differing personalities within their own subset. I respect the rights of each individual to pursue the lifestyle that makes them happy... I also happen to respect my own right to wonder what the hell they're thinking when they walk out the door looking and acting like a neutered version of themselves.

All of that being said, I'd still do you.

Stay out of my closet,

Krystal