Fun with Names: Shorty, Curly, Moe, Happy & BG

I'm self-conscious.

OK. I said it. You are too. Save your denial for therapy, please. Together we can move forward to this post and then maybe we, as a team, can find out why I'm self-conscious.

I say that I'm self-conscious this time around because I found out that my friends read this, like, actually. And they think it's "hilarious." A brilliant one--who is, for some reason, getting a higher degree in women and gender studies (of all things)--told me she might write her thesis about blogging, feminism, all that, and that this blog-monster I'm feeding could be her subject. Now, I'm probably ruining my chances by calling her out.

Maybe this is a good thing.

I will tell you a few stories about my day. Today, I had the unfortunate honor of attending my friend's father's funeral. Unfortunate for obvious reasons; an honor because that's what it means for me to be part of her life.

NOTE: I am going to re-name my friends with labels I find more appropriate than their actual names. I'm preserving anonymity and having fun while I'm at it.

Story #1: Hard to Drive.
En route le funeral home, I picked up Shorty in Princeton. Shorty and I had a nice cup of cawfee at some Foer-phile cafe. While we were sharing her/our soy latte, she reminded me that "five people in NJ have an accent" and that I'm one of them. Good to know.

Though we sensed its presence, Shorty and I could not find the funeral home. You know, non-NJ natives used to tell me that my precious state is hard to navigate, that the signs mislead, that all the drivers on the roads are bastards, etc. I've never disputed the temperament of my fellow NJ driver's license holders (I wonder if they have their marriage certificates handy? F*ck that!), but I've never agreed with the roadway complexities.

I retract my former statements on the matter: NJ roads make no sense. At all.

Imagine an intersection (like this one).


See how the road is clearly marked? A rare occasion. This intersection happens to be in Newark. Translation: shit better be labeled. Or else.

Unlike Newark, some of New Jersey still reminds me of the good ol' colonial days (not like Angelina's colonialism, silly!). Depicted here is the identical (or one darn similar to it!) intersection that fooled us.


Shorty and I missed the turn. Can you blame us? Where is Nottingham Way? we wondered. Is it before or after the stalled out buggy? How curious. Keeping in step with prescribed gender roles, we immediately pulled into a gas station and asked for directions. Aha! So Nottingham Way was closer than we thought, and we found the street sign. It was small (though the street was part of a four-five road intersection), and seemingly hidden by overgrown shrubs, too-tall grass, and/or a thick pole. Shorty and I made it to the funeral home, the cemetery, and the buffet safe and sound--a good thing since her Oat/Cardboard-flavored crackers were hardly holding over us (read: me).

Story #2: WhiteVan Drives Me Cra-ZaY.
On the way home, Shorty and another nice lady, Curly, joined my journey home. What a bunch! Curly's from Westfield which is only a hop, skip, and Coach bag away from my town, Screw-nion.

I'm not much familiar with Beautiful Girl's (BG) part of New Jersey, so I wasn't quite sure how to get back to Route 1. Moe, Happy's fiancee, offered to draft a route provided by his GPS, but that darn contraption told me to get on the Turnpike! Every self-respecting Jersey-jerk opts for non-toll roads over toll roads, so I was looking for another way, and then a beacon of light drove my way--in the form of a mini van, the Chrysler Voyager White Van, to be precise.


(BG) introduced/directed me toward the Ladies of the White Van (LOTWV, though I won't use this acronym, I thought you should witness my appreciation for acronyms). They knew the way, so we all said goodbye to Moe and Happy and pulled out behind WhiteVan.

Have you ever followed someone in a car? Don't do it. Find a map, ask a gas attendant (we have them in our state) and/or a homeless person, use your ol' Girl Scouts keychain-compass, move toward the North star-whatever you do, avoid following another car. I have to say, I hate when people follow me some place--it's like, why don't you get directions so I can speed on the way there? I become very self-conscious (theme of the century), and end up looking in my rearview mirror more than at the road ahead of me. So you're probably never going to drive with me now, right?

Getting back to the Legendary White Van. OK. We pulled out of the parking lot--no turning signal! Thanks WhiteVan--cutting off hostile-ready drivers is my favorite pastime! Then! WhiteVan sped ahead, sticking to the right lane, which made me think we were going to turn soon. Good thing I'm psychic because we did turn soon, and WhiteVan neglected the blinker yet again! We hit the highway and WhiteVan was all over the place! Now, WhiteVan had its right blinker on--but it never turned right! Once WhiteVan veered right onto a ramp, its left directional suddenly appeared--and wouldn't stop flashing! Didn't they hear the incessant clicking? Were they listening to Bon Jovi with the bass way up? Livin' on a prayer we were! Shorty, Curly, and I had many questions for WhiteVan but ultimatedly enjoyed chronicling WhiteVan's every move. Too bad I wasn't recording my car conversations for a change. I think you'd like this one.

Once I figured out where we was, I took off past WhiteVan whose occupants stretched a happy wave our way, and left LOTWV* in da dust. It was grand. And hilarious. You should have been there.

Some day, maybe you, too, will find a mysterious, slippery WhiteVan of your very own. Until then, I can only hope this story has inspired you to venture out into the great wide wilderness of poorly marked roads, and put up bigger, more legible and well-placed street signs.

God speed, my friends.

*So what, I used the acronym again. Big deal. Hello? It's way cooler sounding than LOTR, and just ... cooler. Rock on WhiteVan!