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Uncharted Territories, My New Found Love For Global Positioning Systems, Trying To Beat Death On A Bridge, And Why I Need To Learn Spanish As A Second Language.

There are some things in life I know with utmost certainty I can do well. And then, there are some things in life that I have absolutely no business attempting to do whatsoever.

Take for instance, cleaning.

Nobody loves to clean more than I do. I think I just might be the only person on the planet who gets genuinely excited when I inhale the scent of ‘Clorox’ and ‘Fabreeze’ wafting in the air. As I have mentioned before, I seem to get especially thrilled when I hear the terms: cleaning solutions, industrial strength disinfectants, debris removal, sanitizing agents, commercial potency, deodorizing and/or neutralizing. Seriously, those are just a few of the adjectives that make my heart skip a beat.

I sincerely love ‘All Things Clean’.

On the other hand, there are some things I cannot handle.

Such as, ‘Driving’ in ‘Uncharted Territories’.

I will have you know that when I am in my element and cruising along the back roads on my own turf, I can maneuver with the best of the best. However, when I am faced with unfamiliar ground? Things tend to get a little complicated. I have a severe tendency for getting lost. Even within the confines of my own town. And even when other people are driving.

I literally have self-induced Panic Attacks, at the mere thought of being forced to drive outside of my ‘comfort zone’. And by ‘comfort zone’ I mean the four square miles surrounding my house.

On a whim, and possibly out of sheer boredom, I decided to accept an offer that involved cleaning and driving to help a very dear friend. I wasn’t the least bit concerned with the cleaning portion of this favor. But, I did have serious reservations with respects to the driving aspect of this favor.

Fortunately, my father knows I have a penchant for getting lost, and how I am subject to involuntary, internal pangs of anxiety, when faced with foreign soil. The night before, out of the goodness of his over-sized heart, my father recommended we perform a ‘dry run’ and take an actual tour to some of the destinations.

Even with this preemptive strike [which did in fact, alleviate a lot of my unnecessary fears] I was still quite apprehensive about driving all the way up The New Jersey Turnpike to Elizabeth.

Every one of my readers, and every one of my real life friends already knows exactly how I feel when it comes to The New Jersey Turnpike.

Nonetheless, I had already given my word, and I vowed to fulfill my promise.

Friday morning I met my friend [who will now be referred to as Nightingale] in the parking lot of our complex, promptly at 6:45 am. Nightingale suggested I use her car for the day’s events because all of the necessary cleaning supplies were already loaded up in the back of her truck. Plus, I wouldn’t have to put any unnecessary miles on my own car.

I always feel slightly uptight about driving someone else’s vehicle. While my car IS a total piece of crap, lacking any power or ‘pick up,’ thus rendering me incapable of merging properly, at least I am fully aware of my car’s deficiencies, limitations, and blind spots.

In order for me to get acclimated with her truck, Nightingale proposed a test drive around the block. Much to my amazement, her SUV handled just like a regular car. I felt confident enough to accept the responsibility of driving her vehicle.

Armed with a full tank of gas, an EZPass for the tolls, and my father’s GPS device, I was positively convinced I could handle the tasks at hand.

My drive on the NJTPK could not have been any smoother. Apparently, she was more forgiving than usual, as there was little to no traffic. I even began to enjoy the comforts of Nightingale’s truck. It was a refreshing change to drive a vehicle that had a working driver side mirror, a functional cigarette lighter, and a decent set of breaks!

When the time came for me to exit the Turnpike, having no clue where I was headed, I did not allow my typical nervousness to kick in. Instead, I quietly prayed to the GPS gods to, ‘please, please, please, give me the correct coordinates, and get me to my destination safely’.

I listened very carefully and very closely to the words streaming from the GPS, “In 0.2 miles turn right.” And I did it. “In 0.l miles turn right, and stay to your right.” And I did it. I was delighted and relieved with the accuracy of this lovely device.

With My New Found Love For Global Positioning Systems, overly enthusiastic, and beaming with pride for remaining so cool and calm, I thought to myself, ‘Hey Now! Check Me Out! Wow! I am totally doing this!’

Unfortunately, since I was distracted and prematurely patting myself on the back, I did NOT hear the next set of instructions.

And little did I know those very set of directions were absolutely crucial.

Having missed an ever-so vital piece of information, I turned right, and stayed right as previously instructed, but I did NOT make the essential quick left turn.

And that’s when everything went awry.

Instead of heading into Elizabeth, I was [unwillingly] about to drive over The Goethals Bridge.

I feel obligated to mention that I am TERRIFIED, PETRIFIED, and SCARED TO DEATH of all things bridges and tunnels. Especially bridges that are extremely narrow, only two lanes wide, and that allow 18-wheelers to mingle next to the cars.

[The Goethals Bridge has two 10-foot (3.0 m)-wide (3 m) lanes in each direction, which do not meet the 12-foot (3.7 m) requirement of current highway design standards. The bridge also has no shoulders for emergency access.]

Knowing these facts, I rapidly tried to figure out any possible way for me to turn the car around in order to avert driving over the bridge.

Alas, I quickly realized I could not stop the inevitable.


As I looked out each window at the harrowing view, I immediately went into panic mode. The palms of my hands began sweating profusely, my heart was racing, and I thought for sure I was going to black out.

I drove in super slow motion, staring straight ahead, ignoring the vulgar language, middle fingers, and car horns blaring in my direction, while gripping the steering wheel so tightly, my knuckles turned power white.

The only thing that remotely held me together was the soothing sound of the GPS automated voice, talking me off the ledge of complete hysteria. I felt reassured everything would eventually be okay as soon as I heard ‘Recalculating Route Now.’

After what seemed like a lifetime had passed, I was directed to ‘Exit Left’ at the end of the bridge. Then I was given a series of instructions, which I followed perfectly.

Now, there was just one more problem.

I would have to get back on the bridge.

And drive over it.


In the other direction.

Already traumatized and practically in tears, I heard my cell phone chime with a text message. I didn’t want to look at my phone while playing another game of ‘Trying To Beat Death On A Bridge’ but force of habit made me check.

It was a text message from one of my favorite people, Amy The Bartender [Who Plays Tennis But Is Not Ranked]. She was also having a rough morning. Amy The Bartender had high hopes a nice hot shower would do her some good and help loosen her stiff muscles. Sadly for Amy The Bartender, that was not the case.

I opened my cell phone and saw this:

“Amy The Bartender is exhausted, sore, and freezing because she had to shave her legs in another cold shower this morning.”

They say ‘misery loves company’ and I am no exception to that rule.

After reading that text message, and visualizing Amy The Bartender’s angry disposition, plus the fact that she texts in the third person, made me laugh all the way back across that bridge.

Of course, a whole new set of problems was about to begin.

Now I don’t know if it was because I had been riddled with anxiety, or because I had laughed so hard, but suddenly, I felt as if my bladder was going to explode. I needed to get to a restroom. And right quick. I am pretty sure the two cups of coffee, and the bottle of water I drank that morning did not help the brewing pressure in my abdomen.

However, I didn’t want to defer off course again. I needed to pick up a woman that works for Nightingale to assist with the cleaning jobs and I knew I was very close to her house. I figured I would be better off picking her up and then I could deal with trying to locate a suitable restroom.

Thanks to the GPS [an electronical device I will now and forever consider my new best friend] I arrived at her house without any further incidents.

I beeped the horn once and a tiny, totally super adorable, black haired woman appeared. I unlocked the doors, let her in, said good morning, and that’s when I discovered she did not speak a single word of English. And I can’t speak Spanish even if my very life depended on it.

Let the game of ‘Why I Need To Learn Spanish As A Second Language’ begin.

My plans on asking her where I could find the closest and cleanest restroom were now an impossible feat. I tried to communicate with her, via charades and the use of body language, but that wasn’t very beneficial when attempting to demonstrate my urgency in needing a bathroom. I can only guess, from the very confused expression plastered on her face, that she must have thought I was wearing a really uncomfortable pair of underwear.

[Note to self: Invest and purchase the Rosetta Stone Program]

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Rommie placed a few of her own supplies in the back seat of the truck, while I punched the keypad buttons on the GPS. And we were back on the road.

Considering I had just barely survived the disturbing and upsetting bridge disaster, I decided I was not ready to take on the new stress that driving on the Garden State Parkway would cause me. As much as I complain about the NJTPK and what a thorn in my side she can be, at least I know her. I know everyone of her potholes and I am familiar with every crack and fine line on her asphalt surface.

As I hauled ass down the highway, clenching every muscle in my body tighter than I ever have, for the duration of a forty-five minute ride, I prayed repeatedly I would be able to ‘hold it in’ until I reached my house.

When we finally did make it to my house? Rommie must have thought we were at the first job. Clearly, she had no idea where we were as she started to get out of the passenger side door and reached for her cleaning equipment.

Desperately searching for a way to communicate with her, I wracked my brain and summoned all of my 7th grade knowledge pertaining to the Spanish Language. With no time left to spare, and impending doom looming over my fragile bladder, I shouted:

“No!”   “Mi Casa!”  “El Bano!”

Rommie, understanding what I said, let out a sweet chuckle of laughter.

I sprinted in and out of my house and took care of business in record time. As I jumped back in the car, I attempted to ‘mime’ the word “Whew” and I pretended to wipe the imaginary sweat off my forehead.


And THAT was all before 9am.

[**Part Two: And the rest of this story, can be found in the comments section of this blog post.**]

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  • Meleah

    And Now, for “PART TWO” which includes: How A Costly Tragedy Was Averted, And, The Longest Day In My Life. Also Featuring: Amy The Bartender, Food Allergies, Crohn’s Disease, And Sh*t That’s Not Even Funny. [Also Known As: what happened AFTER 9am]

  • Meleah

    At 9:01am, We headed back out onto the road and towards our first location. Rommie turned to me and smiled, while pointing at the radio. She very politely and optimistically asked, “La Musica?”

    Not having the words in my extremely limited Spanish vocabulary to explain to her my needed for complete and total silence in order to prevent getting lost, I was only capable of shrugging my shoulders and speaking in a monotone voice. I replied, “No. Must. Have. Quiet.”

    At that point, I’m pretty sure Rommie wasn’t too psyched about spending the day with yours truly.

    Thirty minutes later, we had magically made it to our first destination successfully.

    And just when I thought nothing else could possibly go wrong with my day, a chain of unexpected events occurred.

    Upon entering the facility, I walked inside 4,000 square feet of pure luxury. I was enamored with all of the beauty. There were wall-to-wall hardwood floors, high vaulted ceilings, crown moldings, fireplaces, and lavish fixtures. The bathrooms and kitchen were made up of granite and marble.

    The property manager asked us to please eliminate the construction dust covering the floors and give the place a good once over, before cleaning the real model. Rommie and I happily agreed and unpacked our supplies. I was ready, willing, and able to unleash my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and fulfill my innate need to make all things shiny.

    After sweeping and vacuuming the construction dust, I mopped the floors to bring out the shine. I was determined to make them sparkle.

    But, just as the floors started to dry, a coating of white film appeared.

    You can only imagine my unmitigated horror, when I watched gleaming Brazilian Cherry Hardwood Floors turn into Chalky Ruins right before my very eyes.

    [I could actually feel my heart sink down into the pit of my gut.]

    As I frantically paced back and forth thinking, “What The Fuck Am I Supposed To Do Now?” A panic-stricken Meleah imagined every worst-case scenario and wondered how the hell she would ever be able to fix, or restore, what looked like permanent damage. She doesn’t exactly have the twenty ba-jillion dollars it would probably cost, if she had to replace those fancy floors.

    For a split second, I seriously considered driving right back to that god-forsaken Goethals Bridge and swan diving right off of ithead first.

    Not knowing what else to do, I took a chance and washed the floors a second time. Luckily for me, my gamble paid off and the white film lifted. Apparently, the chalky residue was merely a result of the remaining construction dust mixed with cleaning solution.

    A Costly Tragedy Was Averted.

    Next we cleaned the official ‘Model’. This was the unit the property owners show potential buyers and future homeowners. The model was finished, and furnished to the hilt. It was stunning. To use the term ‘Ridiculously Gorgeous’ would be the understatement of the year. I would have to become a quick study on ‘Architectural Vernacular’ to properly describe this place. But trust me, I felt like I walked right into the pages of an interior design magazine.

    Rommie [who is a total dynamo] having cleaned these units before knew exactly what needed to get done. And I followed her lead. But, when Rommie took to the bathrooms, busy scouring the tubs and toilets, I was faced with hardwood floors again.

    This time, to stay on the safe side, I chose to use the NEW mop.

    [Side bar: Why my dear friend Nightingale prefers to use the ‘Old School, Industrial, Janitor Style, String Mops’ as opposed to using the fabulously glorious ‘Swiffer Products’ is a total and complete mystery to me.]

    Anyway, as I delicately mopped the floor, going along the grain of the wood, little white strings kept breaking off the mop. Since I did not see a trashcan or garbage bag anywhere in sight, and since I obviously didn’t want to leave white strings all over the shiny hardwood floor, I picked them up and stuffed them in my back pockets.

    With sweat dripping down my forehead, much to my dismay as the floors began to dry I saw layers of white mop speckles covering all 2,500 square feet of hardwood. The strings from the mop had deposited tiny white fibers all over the place.

    Knowing this was my friends business and that her reputation was on the line, I couldn’t very well leave the floors looking like that! And, thanks to my OCD, I would have never been able to sleep that night if those floors weren’t absolutely perfect. Even with ensuing lower back pain, I swept the floors. Again. But that still wasn’t good enough for me.

    I began diligently vacuuming the floors for the second time. I was midway across the room when I was hit with yet another shocking turn of events.

    The power suddenly went out.

    Now I wasn’t sure if I had done something wrong.

    First, flipped the power button on the vacuum off and on.


    Then, I unplugged the vacuum and changed outlets to see of that would help the situation I was dealing with.


    I tried one last outlet and when that didn’t work, I froze like a deer in the headlights as I contemplated whether or not to tell the property manager sitting in the office ten feet away from me.

    I didn’t want her to see the floors covered in new mop debris, but, since I can’t very well create my own electricity, I mustered up all of my courage and managed to spit out this less than coherent sentence:

    “Um. Yeah. Hi.” I stammered, “I think like the power seems to be out – or something.”

    [Because nothing says ‘professional cleaner’ quite like a stuttering idiot.]

    I think the property manager took pity on me because she was very kind when she replied by telling me that tends to happen when all of the lights are on at the same time while simultaneously running a high voltage industrial vacuum cleaner.

    She asked me to shut the lights, and I obliged. She flipped a circuit breakers and the vacuum roared.


    But, I continued to work with my head down refusing to make any eye contact.

    Shortly thereafter, I did find my glory while Windex-ing everything glass [and streak free] including the dishes set out on the dining room table. After struggling all day, and facing multiple challenges, things finally seemed to be going my way.

    Then, out of nowhere Rommie came bouncing into the room wielding a garbage bag! Eureka! Where in the world she found that little treasure is a secret I may never know, but I was thrilled to dump my pockets full of dirty, wet, mop strings and wadded up paper towels.

    Rommie and I even figured out how to speak to each other.

    Sort. Of.

    There was one phrase we could both say, and both understand.

    As we did a walk through of the condominium, Rommie would say, “It’s good?” like a question. And I would reply, “It’s good.” like an answer.

    We wrapped up at approximately 12:30pm.

    But I still had two more jobsites to go.

    Rather than get into every detailed specific that occurred over the next few hours, I am going to spare what few readers I may have left, and just give you the highlights in a bullet point format.

    • The second job was only three miles down the road and there was no possible way for me to get lost. [Yes!]

    • As we drove to the next destination, I thought about everything that had happened up to that point in my day and started to laugh out loud. To myself. This is a common occurrence and people who already know me have witnessed this. Often. But, I cannot begin to imagine what I must look like to someone who has never met me. To make matters worse [for her] I proceeded to pull out a piece of paper and while still laughing out loud, I scribbled down a few sentences with an orange marker. I also could not explain to her that I am a writer, and I will forget certain details, or phrases, unless I write them down immediately. Once I pulled myself together, I stopped laughing, neatly folded the paper in half, and carefully placed it back in the driver side door. As if nothing ever happened. Poor Rommie sat in the passenger seat, clearly baffled and mystified by my actions.

    • When we arrived, at the second place, the model unit was overwhelmingly tiny. [Although after cleaning 8,000 square feet I’m sure anything would have seemed minuscule in comparison.] It only took us a half an hour to clean that place from top to bottom. [Awesome!]

    • However, when it was time to clean the sales office? We were taken back by a few surprises. Every time we opened a new door, we hoped against all hope, it would only be a closet. Sadly, every time we opened a new door, we found yet another giant room, complete with an adjacent bathroom that needed our full attention. It was like one of those crazy possessed houses filled with secret passageways. I would not have been shocked in the least, if I accidentally stumbled upon an underground tunnel.

    • By the time we finished our duties it was somewhere around 2pm.

    Now, here is when Shit That’s Not Even Funny comes into play.

    We traveled towards the last job-site when Rommie turned to me and smiled with her wide black eyes. Apparently, she knows one more English word. “Sang-witch?” She asked.

    I paused. As much as I wanted to take a break myself, I wanted to get the last job done even more. For two reasons.

    1. It was already after 2pm. I knew the ride to the next job was at least a solid thirty minuets. I was unsure if the third place would be as large as the first place, or as tiny as the second place. And, I still had to drive her back to Elizabeth, not to mention traveling an additional forty-five minutes, back to my own house. I was already into an eight-hour day. I just wanted to get the job done.

    2. I had no way of telling her the reason I stopped working back in October has a lot to do with my medical conditions: ‘Food Allergies’ and ‘Crohn’s Disease’. Those annoying conditions are triggered by any stress to my already fragile system. And since my day had been filled with one traumatic event after another, I can guarantee if had I eaten any food, I would have gotten violently ill and suffered severe adverse reactions. And I just could not take that risk, while far way from home. In the past, I have been trapped in one too many horrific and embarrassing situations. And I was not about to go out like that.

    Now, I could have stopped and watched her eat a meal in front of me, while I sat idle drooling over all of the things I cannot enjoy. But that is simply too painful for me to deal with. So what could I do? I replied, “Um. No.”

    Just as those words left my lips I felt awful. Here was this poor girl, Rommie who had to endure an full day with a crazy lady [namely me] that laughed to herself while writing on a piece of paper and driving, and would not let her listen to any music, and now, forced her to starve. Thankfully, Rommie reached into the backseat and whipped out a banana and a bag filled with some kind of chips from her cooler. My guilty conscious subsided.

    Now back to the highlights in a bullet point format.

    • On our drive to the third and final destination, after laughing to myself and taking notes again, I started to grow weary.

    • Every single street was named some variation of the word ‘Ocean’. There was Ocean Port, Ocean Drive, Ocean Terrace, Ocean Ave, and Ocean Boulevard.

    • Of course I almost had heart failure when I couldn’t remember which ‘Ocean’ Street I was supposed to turn onto.

    • It was only by sheer happenstance we landed at the correct location. Honestly, I have no idea how I found that place because even the trustee GPS did not recognize the address.

    • We were greeted by a man, which could have easily passed for, ‘Sméagol’ from ‘Lord Of The Rings’. And, he was wearing the most painfully obvious pitch-black-toupee. It took all of my will power to refrain from laugh at him.

    • The sales office and the model unit were equally large in size. They were not nearly as huge as the first job, but they were twice the size of the second job.

    • I found this building to be quite depressing. The décor’ was nothing short of dismal and dark. The walls in the hallway were painted a deep burgundy color. I was confused at the poor choices in the color scheme, considering the brand new building was located on the waterfront. I guess I just expected to see more light and feel more openness.

    • Miraculously, Rommie and I were still cleaning at full steam and knocked out that job in two hours. 100% Incident Free.

    • When we left, I decided to brave the Garden State Parkway purely to save precious time. I had forgotten how much prettier the Garden State Parkway is in comparison to The New Jersey Turnpike. I rolled down the windows, took in the fresh air, and smoked a celebratory cigarette.

    • I made a seamless transition from the Garden State Parkway onto The New Jersey Turnpike and sailed right past those drivers not carrying EZPasses.

    • I exited The New Jersey Turnpike, and this time, as I entered Elizabeth, I remembered to make the essential left turn thus avoiding any contact with the dreaded Goethals Bridge.

    • I dropped Rommie off at her doorstep, secure with my GPS in hand, and hopeful that I would make my way back home with ease.

    • And then, it had to happen. It just had to happen. I forgot all about ‘Friday Rush Hour Traffic In The Summertime’ on The New Jersey Turnpike. What should have been a forty-five minute ride, turned into an hour and a half battle for my sanity.

    • Starving, exhausted, and delirious, I made the painstaking crawl to my escape exit.

    • I had to conquer one last highway before reaching my beloved complex.

    • I dropped Nightingale’s car off in her parking space and hopped into what can only be described as a heated torture chamber also known as my car.

    • With all the windows down, and greasy, sweaty, hair flying in my face, I pulled into the front of my house.

    • I was never so happy to be home. I had no idea I could possibly appreciate my bedroom even more than I already did.

    • I was ready to collapse at 6:45pm. I had not stopped moving for twelve straight hours.

    • And yet, I still had one more obligation to uphold.

    • And that’s precisely when the weather conditions went from blue skies and sunshine, to a thunder and lightening monsoon.

    • I was totally super excited that I was able to pick up my son from his end of the school year party at 7:30pm, instead of having to wait until 9pm. However, I was NOT totally super excited about driving in such awful weather conditions.

    • I went back to my car, and drove for one last time, through flooded roads and blinding rain.

    • When I returned home, there was no way in hell I could even consider cooking a meal. I decided to spend my last thirty dollars and ordered up some Chinese food. Oh how I craved salty, greasy goodness.

    After The Longest Day In My Life, came to an end, the only person I wanted to talk to was, Amy The Bartender. And man, am I glad I decided to take that phone call.

    Amy The Bartender had been in a car accident the night before, while I was on the phone with her. But, since we never had the chance to discuss what happened, I needed to make sure that she was really okay, and, I was dying to hear the details.

    I was happy to hear this particular accident, was the ‘nicest accident’ Amy The Bartender had ever been involved with. She could not believe how fast the medical teams and the police arrived on the scene. And, she was equally impressed with total strangers so eager to lend a helping hand.

    Then, Amy The Bartender explained to me what it was like to be sitting curbside, at 2am, in the middle of downtown Lakewood NJ, with her sunglasses on, because they were the only prescription glasses she had at the time, while counting her money. Amy The Bartender also mentioned this was the first time in her career as a bartender that she did NOT count her money before leaving work that night. She tried separating wads of singles, fives, tens and twenties, to ensure she would have enough money to pay for the tow truck. When she could have just easily simply checked to see if she had her debit card.

    That was more than enough to send me into feverish laughter.

    Amy The Bartender admitted to incessantly checking herself in the reflection of the car windows [in the midst of the crime scene] just to see if her hair was still pin straight after paying a pretty penny for a special treatment. Amy The Bartender was shocked to find that even as sticky and humid as it was that night, her hair remained in perfect condition, as if she had just stepped out of the salon.

    Imaging Amy The Bartender more concerned about her blond locks, made me laugh so hard, I could barely breathe.

    After the crime scene had cleared and her car had been being taken away, Amy The Bartender, went with the tow truck driver to a nearby Wa-Wa where she could wait for her husband to pick her up.

    As she tried to get out of the tow truck, Amy The Bartender proceeded to ‘fall’ approximately 12 stories out of the vehicle, when she mistakenly slipped off of the metal step. The impact upon landing uncontrollably jolted her bladder and she may or may not have peed a little.

    Being able to visualize that scene from the tow truck driver’s point of view, as Amy The Bartenders blond head suddenly and mysteriously vanished from his sight, sent me into hysterical fits of laughter.

    As she patiently waited for her husband to come and pick her up from the Wa-Wa parking lot, Amy The Bartender saw a car full of guys drive by. There was one passenger in particular hanging out the side window and throwing up.

    In a sick and twisted kind of way, I was almost truly happy to hear her tale of woe. It was nice to know that I wasn’t the only person who had managed to survive such an unusual and stressful day.

    And that my friends, concludes:

    The Longest Blog Post In The History Of The World.

    [Now if ya’ll will excuse me, I am going to sleep for the next hundred years or so.]

  • I’ll be honest I didn’t read the whole post! Don’t be mad at me. I skimmed through it. lol

    My daughter is much like you. She loves to clean! She just doesn’t want to be told she must do it. She likes to get up and do it on her own. She’s a master organizer too!

    I haven’t experienced the turnpike so I have no comment except I can’t imagine the frustration that thing causes everybody!

    One last thing…the fact that you can gather this many thoughts and keep them flowing in a smooth line is an exclusive “Meleah Talent”. Be proud of who you are! 🙂

  • My dear, me thinks you may have found your calling…with the economy in slow recovery, perhaps you might consider going into business yourself…

    And I hate the GPS. It gives me the wrong directions or takes me to places where “coon hunters” are out in Alabama. Not even kidding. The 4 of them combined had less teath than I do and the orthodontist ordered 4 of my adult ones pulled for space.

    But even though it was a long ass day, it seems like an ok one.


  • I’m still confused why this post didn’t start:

    “Call me Ishmael…”

  • This?

    Is EXACTLY why I am so very, very thankful I don’t drive anymore.

    (And so is the rest of the world…)

  • wow!! what a day.. but i am thrilled to finally find out where you were and what all happened that day.. and let me tell you i am impressed that you made it thru that whole day and can laugh about it!!!

  • Meleah

    Heather OSB:
    Girl, I could NEVER be mad at you!

    “the fact that you can gather this many thoughts and keep them flowing in a smooth line is an exclusive “Meleah Talent”. Be proud of who you are!”

    And that is what makes me a writer! And why I should STICK to that!

    Cute Ella:
    Eh. Maybe. We’ll see about me starting a cleaning business. Im not sure running a company is something I can or want to try and handle! I’d rather stick to figuring out how to make money with the written word ONE OF THESE DAYS!

    Im so sorry your GPS sent you to crazy places. I guess I was lucky to have one that led me in the RIGHT direction!

    I think I just peed in my pants.
    That was HILARIOUS
    And that was a perfect example of why I love your comments [and blog posts]
    So Very Much

    Please tell me you hate bridges too? Please tell me I am not the ONLY person who is TERRIFIED to cross over a narrow, two lane, unstable bridge WHILE 18 wheelers are flying past you!
    And, I wonder if you share my same affliction?
    Fear of getting lost?


    I have to find the humor in the situation.
    Its either THAT,
    Drive OFF of the very bridge that gave me such a panic attack!

  • wow – I am going to have to come back, only got half way! Choi

  • dcr

    What do I win for reading the whole post?

    I don’t like bridges either. I won’t tell you about the occasional nightmares I have about bridges.

    Many years ago, I had to drive to a client’s location that was in the next town. Went there ahead of time to be sure I would know where it is. When I went there for the appointment, I took a wrong turn somewhere! I had to drive pretty much all the way back to my starting point to try again!

    I used to know a clean-freak around here too. Her house reminded me of a museum, like when someone famous has their house made into a museum so you can see what it was like when they lived there? Her house was like that.

  • cmk

    I am driving less and less these days–even in the summer when I don’t have to worry about snow and ice! Thank goodness K is pretty good about driving me all over the place.

    We LOVE our GPS. For the most part, it gets us right where we want to be–and if not right in front of our destination, we get in the vicinity, and K figures out how to ‘get there from here.’ Although, we do have problems if we try to find our way to some of the rural areas of the UP–NO ONE, not even a Native American scout could find some of the places in these parts! Thank goodness we don’t have too many situations like that–just the occasional Family reunion. 😉

    Glad to hear everything worked out okay in the end. Keep writing even the longest posts in blogging history–they sure are fun to read!

  • You crack me up girlfriend…By the first wrong turn, I would have gone home and stuck my head under the covers and said forget about it. I too have had “issues” with GPS – especially out here in CA where the neighborhoods change every other day and new roads pop up out of nowhere.

    You deserve a medal for the day – and some much needed rest…

  • Meleah

    No problem!
    This is a very long post!
    See you tomorrow.

    “I won’t tell you about the occasional nightmares I have about bridges.”
    Oh C’mon! Do tell?!!

    I don’t like houses that are like museums or that are cold and uninviting, yanno like how they make you feel all uncomfortable and scared to touch anything?
    But, I do need absolute clean!

    YAY! I love LOVE my GPS too. It really worked and got me EXACTLY where I needed to be. Now, I just need to get me one of those husband/boyfriend types to drive me all over and I’d be set!

    “even the longest posts in blogging history–they sure are fun to read!
    THANK YOU for saying that.

    I’m glad someone FINALLY appreciates the HUMOR in this long ass post!
    I love me some GPS. I guess the one we have is really good because it was the ONLY thing that got me UN-LOST!
    And, yes I do deserve a medal!

  • I don’t know about this being the longest blog post…but you’d surely win in the title department.

    I used to be terrified of bridges too. Finally my mother had to force me to drive over one into Philadelphia, on a rainy day to boot. But it worked. Now bridges don’t really bother me, though, I still kind of refuse to drive into big cities.

  • And I thought I wrote longs posts! LOL! That takes the cake Meleah. Took me all day just to get through and by the time I reached the end, I forgot what the top half was all about … hahaha …

    And I have to be the second person in this world who just loves the smell of Clorox and Fabreeze … hehehe …

  • Meleah

    Driving over a bridge in the RAIN would have given me a heart attack!
    And, I am with you on the no driving into big cities as well!


    YES! Someone else who loves the scent of cleaning products!
    Now I feel NORMAL.
    And yes, you usually write the longest blog posts!

  • amythebartender

    that was worth the wait. what a hysterical blog. even though i had heard most of it immediately(your part), i could relive all of it over again. my favorite part is picturing rommie’s face as you laughed,out loud, & then proceeded to write down what you were laughing about, while driving. also, i can’t wait to see “nightingale”, to see what rommie truly was thinking about your “outbursts.” anyone who frequents khcc can attest to these outbursts, that quite frankly trouble some people, but they are by far the best parts of my day. hearing you laugh is contagious, and it doesn’t matter to amythebartender what you are laughing about, it’s just plain fucking funny!!! can’t wait for you to read this blog, outloud, at the bar, maybe 6 months from now. this will just always be funny.

  • You win, I think that was the longest blog post ever!

    I was laughing when you said you need quiet to drive. It reminded me how I always turn the radio down when I’m looking for a certain street or address…like turning it down is going to make any difference.

  • When it comes to the love of cleaning, I think you and my hubby must have been soulmates in a past life! lol!

  • Meleah

    Meleah loves Amy The Bartender so very much and LIVES to make her laugh.

    I also can’t wait to see “Nightingale” and find out what “Rommie” truly was thinking when I had my “outbursts.”

    And I am CRACKING the fuck up at this sentence:

    “anyone who frequents khcc can attest to these outbursts, that quite frankly trouble some people, but they are by far the best parts of my day. hearing you laugh is contagious, and it doesn’t matter to amythebartender what you are laughing about, it’s just plain fucking funny!!!”


    Employee No 3699:
    I really do need silence. I cant have any music on when Im driving and I dont know where I am going!

    I am NUTS about clean!

  • you sound so much like me it is scary! I am a clean freak, I clean when I am stressed and cleaning always makes me feel better when I am feeling bad for any reason (I think it is because it is productive and you get immediate gratification). And, I too, get lost everywhere, even places I have been before, and I do dry runs all the time! And, and, and, I am terrified of bridges, I hold onto the wheel with both hands and stare straight ahead and turn off the radio and refuse to drive in an outside lane if possible, I picture myself going right over the rail and falling. I also hate driving next to concrete barriers, I drive tensely the whole time afraid I am going to smash into one of them if I accidentally turn a fraction of an inch too close to them. With the bridges and barriers, my main fear is the other people driving, that someone will do something to make me swerve and then crash/splat, I am a goner! All these years I thought I was the only crazy person with all these driving “issues”!

  • By the time I read all of this post yesterday I was out of time to respond (I had to do some work while at work 😉 )

    I picture you driving along refusing food to Rommie much like the soup nazi from Seinfeld. All the while laughing indiscriminately and writing down notes and listening intently to the GPS.

    “No sandwich for you!! *Maniacal laugh* *Write that down* Turning left.”

    Glad you made it through the day without any real harm. 🙂

  • Meleah

    Um. HELLO!
    I think we must have been separated at birth.
    I love that I am NOT alone in my insanity, and, now I have someone to share my ‘issues’ with!

    Oh my god. That poor girl. She probably hates me! I can almost bet on the fact that she never wants to ‘work’ or ‘drive’ with me – EVER again! And what you ‘pictured’ is totally what went down! Ahahahahahaah

  • Wow, Meleah, an epic blog! Very entertaining and I’m sorry I laughed at your pain, but I can Identify with days like that. I too am terrified at driving over bridges and that section brought a chill to my spine. Maybe you could turn this into a play!

  • I laughed at you stuck on that bridge because I’m the same on the Sydney Harbour Bridge – it’s like the bridge of no return if you get in the wrong lane. I always get myself in a state when I’m on it. And I ALWAYS need to go to the loo.

    What a day you had. I’m glad Amy is OK and that you didn’t damage those floors. This was so funny. Meleah Rebeccah at her hilarious best!

  • TOOOO FUNNY. MELEAH. we were totally separate at birth. i love to clean. can’t say i love the smell of clorox, but i love seeing the organization of it all after it’s done. my favorite scent is anything lavender.

    2. i get lost going around the corner, in my own neighborhood, wherever. got lost with a GPS, ended up on a dead end street. sometimes it’s hard to drive and read signs when you’re going way too fast. i used to cry…no more.

    i know exactly how you feel about being on that bridge. it’s like where did this thing come from? lol

    what an eventful day, at least you survived without a meltdown. i would have to stay in the house for 2 days to get over this one.

  • You had me at Goethals Bridge.

    Great post! 🙂

  • Bee

    I do dry runs when I’m driving to a new place too! My sense of direction sucks.
    I hate cleaning but once I get going I want to dust, wipe, declutter, bleach, even paint every nook in cranny of my house.

  • Meleah

    Marty Wombacher
    Its better to laugh at my pain
    then cry in the corner sucking on my thumb!
    This could totally be a short play!

    Amy falling out of the tow truck and looking at her reflection in car windows in the middle of a crime scene to check on her hair is the funniest thing in the world to me! Im so glad you laughed!

    Bridges= Nightmares!
    Lavender = Heavenly
    Driving & Crying = Common Occurrence for moi!
    I DID stay in the house for TWO days after this!

    he he he

    I have NO sense of direction whatsoever!
    And if you’re gunna clean..do it all the way!

  • Amy

    I love long posts, long songs, long movies… long underwear? Useful in winter.

    I love cleaning too, but I don’t have as many mishaps. Or such a delightful turn of phrase.

  • Jay

    Ahahaha! I have a friend who feels just the same way you do about bridges, especially bridges over water, and even especiallier (if that’s even a word, and if not, well, it is now) narrow bridges over water. Knowing what I know from here, I think you’re very brave. If it hadn’t been for TJ I would be scratching my head and wondering what your problem was! LOL!

  • Meleah

    Why thank you for complimenting my usage of phrases!

    Well I am thankful TJ feels the same way I do,
    so you don’t think I am a complete nut.

  • Rod

    O, no…¡Pobre Meleah! 😉

  • Wow. That is a long blog. I need a nap just after reading it. You sound like the energizer bunny with all of your shennanigins.

    You spin a great yarn. Almost spit out my coffee on the keyboard from laughing. BTW – my wife feels the same way about bridges, so you are not alone. I think there is even a medical term for it “gephyrophobia”. Look it up.

  • At the end of the 45-minute ride, did the Limpieza Senorita smell your molasses??? (wink, wink)

    Since I don’t smoke, I would need a few shots of Baileys Irish Cream to celebrate and erase a day like this! 😉

    P.S. Did you submit this post to the Guinness Book of World Records? 😉

  • Meleah

    OMG! What?

    I am the queen of shennanigins. And I LOVE that I made you laugh so hard! And thank you for the ‘medical’ terminology! YES!

    And, I like the way you celebrate!
    “Did you submit this post to the Guinness Book of World Records?”
    Oh, maybe I will!

  • Hooray, I finished reading this 🙂

    You find cleaning exciting? You’re one true domestic goddess my friend. I, on the other hand, can’t stand any cleaning products, at all. I feel suffocated when I go near one, haha.

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  • I’m confused. Why is part 2 hiding in the comments section?

    For some reason, I really feel the need to go potty now… and I didn’t even have 2 cups of coffee and some water….

  • Meleah

    Really? I love the smell of cleaning products!


    Oh I decided to do that because people fled my blog when they saw long LONG my post was. I guess some people don’t have the kind of time to read all the words I used in this particular post?

    Or they are just lazy assholes.

    THANK YOU for taking the time and reading ALL of my words.
    You are awesome

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