Life Is A Highway

Today I woke up, alert, relaxed, and genuinely ready to start my day.  Outside my window was a gray film complemented by droplets of rain covering the Friday morning.  Typically, I wake up groggy and unwilling to accept that it’s not a weekend so the mere peek outside would have set my depression into overdrive.  Not today, nope, I was up and ready to shake a tail feather.

Time was on my side as I leisurely got dressed, my hair dried to a radiant shine, and walked out the door as the sun appeared through the grim sky to greet my face.  Pulling out my sunglasses, I had a short skip to my walk and hopped in my car turning on the newly replaced windshield wipers to clear my view so that I could gracefully drive to work.  Without a care in the world and not running late for a change this week (road construction stress is the worst especially on a NJ Turnpike), I listened to Q104 (NY’s Classic Rock Station) tapping my steering wheel with an enthusiasm of a newly licensed driver as Billy Joel sang about tie dyed jeans (Captain Jack song).

Every green light danced as my car approached, and the weekly traffic on the NJ Turnpike due to construction parted so that I could veer off at an exit to avoid gridlock.  The normally busy Jersey City street was desolate allowing me to bypass the traffic woes of the turnpike, which pumped my smile to a full grin.

Cars lifted in the air as I looked for a parking spot in the usually hard-to-come-by parking lot in Weehawken.  Within a few steps of the bus stop, I parked my Honda and gathered my things jumping on the Jitney headed to Manhattan.  I sat alone and could breathe without the two overweight stranger’s bodies I usually get sandwiched between, and I got some work done courtesy of my iPhone.

The air was light, my soul felt bright, and it’s a Friday– Believe It Or Not!?!?

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Going Up Norde, eh?

We drove to Montreal, Quebec (Canada), for the UFC 97 fight card.  We were excited about seeing UFC superstar Chuck ‘The Iceman’ Liddell during his pivotal fight (win = come back, loss = retirement) and the wife’s favorite, Anderson ‘The Spider’ Silva.  We soon found out, after crossing into Canada, that our high school French was beyond rusty.  It didn’t take long for us to figure out basic French like that ‘Norde‘ meant ‘North’ after driving back toward the U.S. border.

Shortly after getting back on track, we started passing cars left and right following the speed limit (Max. 100, Min. 60) before the light bulb went off.

“Ah, yes,” I realized.  “The metric system.”

I rarely speak in full sentences anymore since I am mostly only required to do such in 140 characters or less. The idea of a maximum and minimum speed limit was great, but I’d much rather it be mph rather than km due to time constraints.

Once we finally arrived at the hotel where parking was not included, our New Jersey tagged Honda pulled into a makeshift parking lot with only a French-speaking attendant.  After finally finding someone to translate, we paid $32 CAD in USD—overpayed.  We immediately found a currency exchange station.

We went to the Centre Bell for the UFC 97 Q&A with George St. Pierre and without a doubt I became a huge fan of GSP right then and there.  By the way ladies, he wears a size 11.5 shoe (just saying).

The Weigh-ins gave us a closer look (since we were in the 4th row) at the fighters and a sense of their personalities.  Not to mention, it was fascinating to see my wife–the most unaffected by celebrity person out there and the one person that just ‘doesn’t get’ celebrity gossip–starstruck by Dana White.  In some self-satisfying way, I wanted his autograph for myself to hang above my Life & Style collection in the bathroom (the same collection she rolls her eyes at my purchasing).

By the time we made it back to our glorified hotel room (pretty convinced it was really a hostel in disguise), we thought our experience couldn’t be topped until we watched The Simpson’s in French and could actually watch Music Videos 24/7 on Much Music.

Last but certainly not least (part II posted manana), in a true Twilight Zone moment we watched Ashton Kutcher and P Diddy on Larry King Live talking about Twitter. Ashton should win an Emmy for his acting as someone who has nothing to gain from the success of Twitter (I’m convinced he sat in too many Twitter board meetings and will see an investment on his return–his use of ‘content collaboration’ sounded all too familiar like I was in one of my MTV meetings).  I only have followers to gain–so follow me @alisaben05.

Merci Beaucoup, Canada!

The factory warranty on my car ran out a long time ago, so stop calling me.

The area code may change on the screen of my cell phone, but the message is always the same, “Hi, this is the second notice that the factory warranty on your vehicle is expiring.”

Apparently, most of NYC’s factory warranties on their cars are running out because everyone I meet and talk to lately has been cell-phone spammed (with this message).  It certainly seems like they have picked the wrong city since according to the 2000 U.S. Census, more than 75% of Manhattan households do not own a car.

Maybe they should just stand at the subway turnstiles and try to sell a Metro Card swipe instead?

How To Get Rid Of These Calls


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