Baby you can drive my car

I'm so over the Paul is 64 thing by the way.

I went to NYC last Friday to meet my new sweet baby niece. (and the beach Sunday, so life has been crazy nuts cuckoo---ergo no posts.) Let me tell you, my sissy-poo is tremendously spoiled. Not only did she have an easy pregnancy and delivery, but this child is an angel. All she does is sleep and coo. Ok, she did cry a little, when it was bottle time, or "hold me I am tired and want you to settle me" time. But I had so much fun holding her. This is the first chance I have had since my own have grown now to have a newborn at my disposal to cuddle with abandon, and I loved every minute of it. I even got a burp, so I haven't lost my touch. Sissy said the baby is so good because she ate lots of berries while pregnant. "That's what all the old Jamaican women told me." I tried to find documentation for this, but you try Googling Jamaican + berries + eat + pregnant.

Anyway, despite the fact that I could drive to Queens in my sleep, the kids and I decided to have fun and play with the new car's navigation system. The cool thing about it is that it tells you miles to go, and approximate time to get there, so when I program in the destination, I don’t have to listen to: "Are we there yet?" or "How much longer?" Now I just get nagged to take it off the audio menu to put the map back on the screen.

So I program in Moma's house, and we shoot off down I 95 South. All is fine and dandy until having had enough of 18 wheelers and such, I take the exit for the Merrit Parkway.

Bill does not like this.

You see, Bill is what we named the nav voice. Bill dutifully recalculates my route when I go off the designated directions, but he isn't happy about it. He desperately tries to get me back on 95 south by taking local state roads across, but there's no way I'm going down some back road I've never tried, even with a bleepin' map in front of me. Besides, don't you know Bill? This is the best way to go.

Bill finally acquiesces to my will, and we continue to follow 15 south. Just to make sure I don't make any more surprise route changes, Bill reminds me to "Stay on 15 south," in his soothing, very human-like voice at every other exit. Hubby, who sadly was back at his office, suggested I actually follow Bill's directions. How ridiculous! As if. I wonder if it has anything to do with some deep seated aversion to being told what to do by a man? And since when do men want to follow directions? (that was sarcasm and stereotyping in case anyone missed it.)

Then Bill wanted me to take the Bruckner Expressway to the Triboro Bridge. "Bill, are you freaking nuts?" I exclaim. "Do you have any idea what the Bruckner is like on a Friday afternoon?" They should program these navigation systems area specific, knowing all the factors that play into a person's decision to take certain routes, like traffic patterns. Can you imagine; what if Bill had A.I. and decided to give me bogus directions just to fuck with me since I always blow off his routes? (which by the way gives me a great idea for a story and no one better steal it!)

On our final approach, (airplane metaphor intended as I drive right past LaGuardia Airport) Bill directs me to take Astoria Blvd, which as the name implies, a boulevard, complete with many lanes of cars, intersections, and traffic lights. Why on Earth would I take that when I can scoot across the Grand Central Parkway, my parents house just minutes away that way? Why on Earth indeed, I think, as inbound traffic is bumper to bumper in front of the airport.

Maybe Bill does know best.

I'm going to Fenway tonight! Whoo Hoo! Look for me on TV, I'll be in the pink tee and ball cap. LOL