Thursday, September 16, 2010

The GPS.

My husband bought a GPS for me after I had a complete breakdown trying to get my daughter to a softball tournament a few weeks ago. It wasn't pretty. You know, the whole sarcastic conversation with construction that goes something like, "Oh this is fucking brilliant. ANOTHER road closed. Maybe next time we could have the tournament on the fucking moon. Unfuckingbelievable."

My poor kid in the backseat had a look of sheer terror. ARE we going to moon? She's obviously crazy enough to do it. Christ. I don't want to go to the moon, I'm kickin' it old school at a slumber party tonight.

So I have the GPS. It's great, but I can't help thinking we should take it a step further. I've already changed the voice to a masculine british accent. That way, if he leads me in the wrong direction, it's not his fault. He doesn't even live in this country.

Well, he doesn't live at all, but that's beside the point. I'm desperate to have this voice do more for me. I want to change it to a voice similar to Queen Latifah and have it shout out, "Oh, Mrs. Nordstrom, you lookin' damn fine today! Yeah, you go get 'em girl!" That would make me feel like a million bucks.

I want to reprogram it so when I drive more than 10 miles, it tells crude jokes to entertain my boring drive. I want it to ask if I've lost five pounds. I want it to adore me, dammit.

I fear I may be liking my GPS more than it likes me, which is an unhealthy relationship. I know this, but I can't stop. I've always been attracted to stoic men.

I worry about its feelings when I purposely ignore its command. "I know you said to take a left, but I need coffee first. You know this. We've been through this millions of times, you and I. Just hang in there." In fact, I don't even put this device on the dash anymore, I set it on the passenger seat like it's an actual british man going for a little holiday with me while I run errands. I haven't belted him in yet, but if it comes to that, I may need to commit myself to a padded room.

The point is, there's room for improvement. Look, I'm not saying anything crazy like having it arrive in the form of a blow-up doll, I'm just asking for positive affirmations for people like me who'd enjoy some compliments sprinkled into their day.


  1. Hey Kelly,

    Based on your blog from today (9/29/10) maybe you should have a custom white coat made for your "passenger" too. Life might not get any better than that :-)
    See you soon,
    Jen Schierman

  2. The white coat AND the british accent. Now you're on to something!