A road less traveled.

A wise boy told me that opposition comes in all things...I guess that includes...blogs?! It appears I have a "non-fan" in my midst. Someone who has nothing nice to say, yet chooses to check my blog and in fact, continue to attempt to say these not nice things. Seriously folks....do you have nothing better to do?

I am not a negative person. Therefore, why should I have such negativity on my blog? I'm a pretty self aware person, and address several of my flaws on this very blog. So why do I need someone else to remind me of the flaws I am so painfully aware of already?

I digress.

Yesterday I went through one of those self serve car washes. You know. The ones that have the individual bays where you pay in quarters to wash your car down with a high pressure squirt gun and brush that appears to spew sudsy foam at rapid speed. (It could have done without so much foam, if you ask me.)




As a kid, my mom used to go through these car washes and I thought they were nothing short of phenomenal. I'll admit that as an adult, I became a sell-out to the fancy, sometimes overpriced, car wash chains that do all the grunt work while I casually sit in my leather seats with the radio and a/c still on watching the water and soap go on and come off in a quick swipe (praying that I remembered to roll up all of my windows...let's not get me started on when you realize you've left one cracked when water comes pouring in). Who can forget the most powerful dryers known to common man at the end?! What I wouldn't give to have a room like that to stand in at home to dry my hair some mornings (Is it just me or does it sometimes take too much effort to dry hair...especially those mornings when you really don't feel like getting ready, but you have too much pride to walk out with wet hair that will eventually look like a stringy, flat mess if you let it air dry).

Although I do relish in the nostalgia of old fashioned, do-it-yourself car washes, it's the part after the washing of the car has taken place that I most enjoyed. That ridiculous (but very smart and handy) dryer room does not exist at my self-serve car wash bay. You have to dry your car the old fashioned way...with a towel...or.....

drive as fast as possible. I chose the latter (clearly...because if you know me at all, you know that I like to drive fast!)

It would have probably been the best method had it been slightly warmer and sunnier, as yesterday was a decently cool autumn day (and dreary...). But all in all, it doesn't matter if the sky is blue or gray. When you're driving down a country road at ____ mph with the radio blasting, it just feels good. There's no one else on the road (and let's pray no cops on the side of that road) to get in your way. Harvested fields all around. Big farm houses. Tree lines speckled with the gorgeous autumn reds, yellows and golds. Your cares and fears subside. It's just you and the road. Just drive and sing. At the top of your lungs. It's not REAL singing unless it's so loud and so bad (and by bad I, of course, mean good...because we all sound good when we're in the car by ourselves) that you can't hear anything other than yourself and the incredible song you're jamming out to.

So ten miles later, and a couple of great songs....

your car is dry. Your vocal chords strained.

And you, well, I don't know about you. But me? I'm as happy as a clam.

Which leads me to another question...

How do we know that clams are happy? I mean..do they have lips and teeth in which to smile? Perhaps another day....or not.