Road Ragers: Type-A Wimps

Courtesy of Women's Health

KRIS WRITES:

Road rage. Let’s talk about this. I encounter extreme traffic to and from work every day and let me tell you, I see a lot of road rage. You know what I think is hilarious about road ragers? They’re type-A wimps. They would never act like that outside of their protective shell, but inside the shell, they become evil madmen. They will flip you off and roll down their windows and honk and yell and ride your ass and flip you off some more. I’d like to identify the different types of road ragers.

The Tweaker: OCD-mania man with misdirected anger.

This is my personal favorite. You know this person. They FREAK OUT in traffic. If there’s a traffic jam, they are literally going to have a hernia. Like, if they freak out long enough, God will come out and part the cars for them. They’re ridiculous. These are the people that bang on their steering wheel and ride people’s asses and check traffic radio 43587343 times in an hour. They are driving on the shoulder of the road to see what’s going on ahead. They’re holding their breath and their face is getting all red… just so they can go home and sit on the couch…

The Blocker: Pissed off and tired soccer mom.

This individual goes at the pace of a snail. BUT, if they see that you want to switch lanes they will become Speed Racer champions. There is no way in bloody Hell you are going to get in front of them. They have waited at snail speed for this spot in the line of cars and you are not taking it from them. It’s THEIRS!

The Cutter: Me. 

I’m one of them. This is probably the person taunting the blocker. Sometimes I cut for fun. They’re self righteous a-holes. They think they can just waltz on in whenever they’d like – like the road is just some public highway for transportation or something. Weird…

The Bully: Meat head from the gym next door.

Rememeber the EXTREME! guys from Harold & Kumar? Those are the bullies. They use scare tactics to get their way on the road. Seriously, I saw a guy the other day come one inch from my car. He didn’t even look because he knew I would stop. He was fearless (loser).

The Ass-Rider: Mid-30's salesman.

People, the ass-rider is the worst of the worst. You know who they are and you know if you’re one. No matter WHAT, they are 6 inches away from your bumper. Doesn’t matter the speed limit. They don’t care. Their mission in the morning is to wake up and ride people’s asses. I bet they write in their journal about it.

So, I deal with all of this with two different personalities. In the morning, I am not aggressive. I’m freakin’ tired and I just want to go to work. I get bullied left and right, but I listen to talk radio so I just tune it out. I am THAT person that gets even more annoying if you bully me. Ride my ass and I’ll go slower. Flip my off and I will smile and wave at you and compliment your awesome uni-brow. Then there’s the other side of me on the way home from work. If you go one mile below the speed limit, I seriously might chew THROUGH my steering wheel out of frustration. I’ve had a hard day. I’m like an evil villain on the road. Haha… well, sometimes. I don’t get mad easily, but I try.

TANYA WRITES:

Okay, picture the sweetest human being you have ever met. This person is your nicest, shyest, and quietest friend in the world and they have the biggest heart, well at least a bigger heart than you do. They don’t raise their voice at anyone, and they are too nice to ever be mean even if it is well deserved (I usually deserve it whatever it is). 

Now picture the most insane road rager that you have ever seen. Their passive aggression on the road turns into rage, and when they cut you off (and then slow down) they are flipping you off and screaming the most vulgar profanities that even your potty mouth can’t handle. 

This is the same person. 

I was pretty stoked to write about road rage because I have the most interesting theory about it. I believe that the worst road rager is always the person you least suspect it to be. Not your loud-mouth bitchy friend. Not the stupid frathole. Not the crazy one. You know that friend who always does the right thing? You know that friend who brings you soup when you're sick? You know that friend who does the favors that other friends won't? Yes people. That is the culprit. The profane, passive aggressive driver is the polite, quiet one. 

I actually had a friend, and I swear to you this is real, who had an all-out road war in bumper to bumper traffic. After taking turns cutting each other off left and right, my friend actually got behind her freeway nemesis, put her bumper against the back of the other driver’s car, and pushed the other driver’s car forward. When not behind the wheel my friend is the sweetest woman ever ever, but when she is driving she can’t get to our destination without cussing out a car or two or ten. 

I have road rage no and then, but honestly I don’t get it often. Occasionally I’ll have to teach someone a lesson or two if I don’t think a cop will come around, but I’m usually too busy rockin’ out to mah jamz, ya feel me? Apparently this helps me not have road rage. According to Newton Hightower,  “you can DO things to change your mood. Take action. Drive slower. Sing. Distraction is one of the best tools to change your angry mood.” 

Dude, I do that! As soon as I get in front of the guy who cut me off, aka taking action, I drive slower! Then I sing loudly and dance in my driver’s seat….. and it really does change my mood. No wonder I don’t have road rage!

 

Dancing Machine

TANYA WRITES:

 

Non-verbal communication is probably the most interesting part of human interaction in the world. Have you ever seen the TV show “Lie to Me”? It’s based on Paul Ekman’s study of facial expression to interpret emotions. I shat my pants when I found out there was going to be a show based on his research. Yes, I am that much of a nerd that I knew about a phsychologist’s research before in was referenced on a FOX drama series. Anyways, non-verbal communication is so cool because you can’t fake it. I mean, let me put it this way: Men can’t fake a boner, I can’t fake a stomach growl, and you can’t fake your mouth dropping when I pull an Usher move on you. Well you can, but humor me will ya?

Dancing is my favorite form of non-verbal communication. It’s a beautiful form of human expression because it feels good AND it’s entertaining. I mean, even bad dancing is entertaining.

Hipster Ninja Sex Moves

Hipster Ninja  is really bad, well his ninja moves are dead on, but his dancing is… bad… at least according to this article. See, most dancing these days is iconic. That means that the dance moves have a resemblance to the thing that they symbolize, which in this case is sex. This is not unusual.

Now drunk guys dancing is… whatever whatever, I don’t care. They are gross and thrusty and touchy and ewie. BUT, drunk girls dancing = awesome. One time one of my best friends Bobbi, who never ever drinks, was absolutely smashed and came over to one of my house parties ready to tear up the dance floor. She thought she was so sexy, dancing all slow, but in reality she looked… just ridiculous.

Who is ready for a dance off? No thrusting allowed. Thank you and good day.

KRIS WRITES:

Sober Dancing:
Oh, man. This is like techno central for me. This is a little embarrassing (I don't really get embarrassed, but I try), but I must admit I spend about 30 mins to an hour dancing in my room each night. It's good for the soul. I have these awesome noise canceling headphones and I send myself into another dimension. Techno and pop are the two genres that can keep up with my heartbeat. On these nights, my hips move to the rhythm (apparently I have trouble spelling 'rhythm'). Honestly, I can dance so fast and accurately it's scary. I move to the beat no matter what challenge my iPod brings me. Any song - you name it - I'll take it! On those nights, sometimes I'm tempted to call up Rihanna and tell her I can totally be one of her fly girls. 


Weekend Dancing:
Everyone, please keep a safe distance. Like, honestly, keep a really safe distance. In my mind, I am on So You Think You Can Dance. Everything I taught myself in my bedroom comes back... from the dead. One these nights, I look like a marionette puppet... with a drunk puppeteer. Bouncing all over, head bobbing, arms flying, hips swinging. One night when I went to some dance club in SF, I literally thought I was like the star on the dance floor. I remember trying to make friends with groups of people on the dance floor... and I was totally creeping people out. Like, I remember people were looking at me like I was some hobo off the streets. Then, I tried to get on the benches and dance. I got in trouble. Only Rihanna could get away with that.


As a side note, I don't enjoy dancing with other people - at all. When I'm dancing, I'm not here to show you what I can do. I don't need to prove anything to you about my womanly abilities. I'm here to lift my soul. I'm here to move. You go do your thing and I'll do mine. Sober or not, my dancing is unpredictable. Don't get in the way. Go sexually harass some other chick... 'cause I'm in another dimension when that music plays.