Virginia is for Commuters or The Traffic, My God, The Traffic

So, I’m in Virginia.

First thing to note: At any given time, there are more people on the roads here than at Disney on Gay Day. It’s not that I don’t like people, it’s just that I don’t like them all in front of me when I’m trying to get somewhere. I know I’m not the only one who hates it when those people with SUV’s squeeze in front of your teeny-tiny environmentally conscious compact in the middle of bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Perhaps if I were less Type A, I’d be okay with the whole experience of not having any idea of what’s going on in front of me because I can’t see through the tinted windows of the giant eight-seater some soccer mom desperately needed to haul around her 2.5 kids to practice in. But I’m extremely Type A, so I’m just not okay with it. Been pricing Suburban’s just so I can compete. Is that wrong?

To be fair, the pace of traffic isn’t all that bad, unless you’re driving on I95 on your way to somewhere other than the DC suburbs. Then, it’s unbearable. It took me an hour to go eight miles yesterday on my way to North Carolina to pick up Dog’s Cat from my sister. An hour. Eight miles. For comparison, I drive fifteen miles to work. On the outer loop, it takes – ta-da – twenty minutes. Go figure.


The move was surprisingly stress-free. I’m still in boxes. Well, boxes and stacks. Apparently, selling off half my possessions wasn’t enough as I still have waaay too much. My kitchen is spread out over two rooms while I search for the cabinet liner that’s still in one of the boxes I haven’t opened yet. The movers put all these vague labels, like “Garage” on the boxes. And “Tupperware.” That one contained one plastic bowl and the contents of my desk. It’s a little like Christmas… If Santa had a sense of humor and the Elves did their online shopping at Salvation Army.

Wish me luck!