Crazy Girl's Monologue

Friday, November 17, 2006

SETTING: Atlanta. Thursday mid-morning. Cloudy (my friends in Buford would say the weather was a sure sign "the devil is beating his wife today" err?) Leaving the Convention Center in my favorite car... talking to myself like a looney tunes.

ME: Wow, I really should have gotten Mapquest return directions. With all these one way streets downtown, it might be a challenge finding my way home. hmmm... Kelly's at work, so she won't be able to Mapquest me home.

MYSELF: C'mon, how hard can it be? I-85 is EVERYWHERE. Atlanta is not a sign-stingy city. There'll be signs. Absolutely NO problem.

I: There's one now! Ooooh, woooooh....I can't get over in time! Oh, well. There'll be another.

ME: Crazy. I've been following this "Amy's Mobile Pet Hair Remover" van for 15-minutes. SURELY Amy is heading toward 85.

MYSELF: Wait. How did I get in a NEIGHBORHOOD? These houses are Faahncy. I'll bet if I stopped and asked for directions to 85, the butler would write them down for me with a gold-gilded ink pen. Half of these houses are under renovation....That one looks like it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. They actually have designer paper bags holding their leaves and uniformed men blowing their leaves around. Eeeek!! It's the Altanta Hamptons!! WHERE is I-85!!?

I: No problem. Absolutely no problem. Keep driving. You'll hit it eventually.

ME: Um, didn't I just pass that landscaping team 5-minutes ago? Will that Escalade EVER get off my tail? Ok, there's that cafe we went to for Kassy's birthday. This must be Buckhead. I know I can get on I-85 from here. OR I could take Peachtree...

MYSELF: Which Peachtree was it again? Old? Industrial? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!

The stats----

55 ** number of minutes it took me to get from the Convention Center to I-85 at the junction of I-75 and I-85.

3 ** number of times I drove from Downtown to Midtown to Buckhead.

25 ** percentage of a tank of gas I "wasted" cruising about.

6 ** number of times I listened to #6 on Justin Timberlake's CD.

2** number of times I thought about stopping at the Varsity (the original).

4** number of times I missed an entrance to the highway because I was in the wrong lane or was cut off by a BMrrrrr with New York plates. Dang New Yorkers. :)

5** number of ways I can think to pronounce "Ponce de Leon".

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