Atlanta. really?

i have been an Atlanta resident for almost 2 years { june 5th is my exact atlanta-versary }. and in these 2 years i have come to realize one main thing… you Atlanta people suck at a little thing called driving. the worst part is many of you have been doing in 10+ years like me. i thought if you do something everyday you get better at it not worse?! every damn day i am reminded about how much you cannot stay in your lane or merge onto highways or work a 4 way stop sign or change lanes or heaven forbid when a light goes out it debilitates you all. but most importantly, i have realized that 97% of you Atlanta drivers cannot seem to move your car forward which i think is the main point of having an automobile.

Atlanta natives bitch and moan about the traffic, but as a Washington DC native I have decided that yes Atlanta you have a traffic problem but if your drivers actually knew how to drive it would not be as bad.   most of you bitches are timid as hell.  Just get in your car and DRIVE!  If you wouldn’t be scared to switch lanes or scoot through a yellow light traffic wouldn’t be so shitty.  Drivers in DC are reckless as hell and they are not timid – traffic still sucks but at least you’re getting somewhere in the shitty traffic.  Atlanta, I am stuck in a parking lot 24.7.365.  Grow some balls and drive or I dare you to take a trip to the DC Metro area { Northern VA, DC, and Maryland } and try giving that drive a try.  You’ll either (a) die (b) cry (c) get in an accident or two or (d) learn to fucking drive.

Lets chat about the back tail lights and break lights.  What in the hell is up with 7 out of 10 cars not having 3 functioning back lights?! Isn’t that a safety concern?  How many accidents in Atlanta are rear endings because of lights being out?  In Virginia we have both a safety & emissions inspection, cops will pull you over and ticket you for a tail light being out.  No lie, this week I have been behind a car going to and from work every day that has not had all 3 lights working. One car had NONE working. WTF?! Does Atlanta just not care?

There is something about an Atlanta driver and their cell phone. If the phone is to the ear the left foot just cannot put pressure on the pedal.  They just rest it there and use all the effort to converse and no effort to even pay attention to if they’re going the speed limit. Seriously, if you cannot drive and talk … hang up and drive.

How about the douchebags who know where they’re going but think it’s a great idea to just try and zoom past in another lane and then cut people off to get over. well i hope you do not ever encounter my big black suv { commonly known as “big black” } covered in running stickers because friend, you ain’t no friend of mine and I am blocking you out.  Have some fucking patience like the rest of us and get in line.  Or what about the people who live in DeKalb County who get lost in DeKalb County. Do you know how I know you live here?? Your license plate told me so. …your constant breaking and “do i turn here… or here … no here” … that shit kills me.  Get a fucking GPS it is 2010.

Oh the pick up trucks that have been supersized and jacked up.  If you cannot control your gargantuan (spelling?!) truck then you should not be able to drive it. I want to revoke your license.  It looks like you’re not only overcompensating for your likely little man friend but you cannot drive either. Stop almost running me into on coming traffic on Peachtree.  On the topic of issue controlling your car. Soccer Moms in your vans and big suvs. If I became governor or president or head of the DMV whatever I become, there will be a driving test involved.  If you cannot control your personal school bus then get a fucking station wagon.  You can haul just as many kids and a cooler full of Capri Suns and Scooby Snacks for after soccer practice and not almost kill me. Oh and by the way, hang up the phone… the other soccer mom you’re talking to her, I am sure you’re gonna see her in 10 minutes talk then.

The pits though is how Atlanta drivers do not understand the common known rule of fast drivers to the left slow drivers to the right. If you’re in a staples delievery truck or a UPS driver or behind the wheel of a UHAUL 9 times out of 10 you do not belong in the left hand lane.  If I am riding your bumper in the left hand lane going 40 in a 45… you sir in your BMW do not belong in the left hand lane.  Yes, I do honk at you and flash my brights and scream and scream and scream and yes, I know it is doing nothing but have some fucking courtesy and move the hell over.  I wish there was some sign I could wave at people that asks them the simple question “what makes you think you belong in the left hand lane?!”.

Please. Feel free to follow me on twitter (@bamabarbie06) and I will give you more traffic and driving tips on a daily basis!!

Wig-Out Wednesday

I know this will shock absolutely none of my five readers (especially since one of you follows me twice) but I. Am. A. Terrible. Driver. Which is ironic considering my own wrath directed at other drivers on the roads in Atlanta but I figure being a bad driver just goes with the territory of having a life in shambles. Along with having the misfortune of being in the wrong place in the wrong time and panicking in the wrong fashion thus making bad situations worse. In my defense, I at least know the basics of green means go, red means stop, yellow means get the fuck out of the way, the left lane is for people moving fast (as in faster than you so get the fuck over), blinkers are used to let other drivers know your intention to move through traffic in a horizontal fashion and just because you want to be in a lane doesn’t mean you get to be in said lane if someone else is already there.

But sometimes, my own misfortune -and inability to judge distance when in panic mode- gets the best of me. Take for example this past Saturday, when I tapped another car in the parking lot after some dickhead almost backed into me after I pulled out of my spot. I immediately pulled into an empty spot and jogged over to look at the other parked car. I didn’t see any damage but just to be on the safe side, I went to my car to look for a pen and paper to leave a note. Below is said note:

To Whom it May Concern:

I am very sorry to have to say this but I tapped your car as I was backing out of my spot. I am unsure of what damage I may have caused so here is my contact information. Please call me if we will need to file this with insurance as I would like to be sure you and your car are properly taken care of.

Thanks,
Berryfine
XXX-XXX-XXXX

I know this is what the note says because said note is still in my possession. Why would I write a note and not deliver it you ask? Well, because the asshole whose car I had the misfortune of tapping turned out to be sitting right there on a patio watching this entire episode. Below is the letter I would like to leave instead had I the opportunity to go back in time:

Dear Dickhead Who’s Car I Bumped,

Unfortunately, I am hung the fuck over and panicked after some asshole almost hit my car. In my haste to ensure my car was not hit, I accidentally hit the gas and reversed my car into your bumper going the insane speed of 1 mile an hour. Lucky for me, your car is a piece of shit.

Knowing you car is a piece of shit, I had two options. I could have been a bitch and driven off. Or I could be a considerate person and try to determine what damage, if any, I caused. Then, I could leave a note with my contact information so that your car could be taken care of. I chose the latter course of action and BOY. DO. I. REGRET. IT.

What the fuck was I thinking going inside a restaurant to get a pen after I was unable to locate one in my car? This, of course, is after I opt to pull into a spot and even take the time to leave you a note in the first place. After borrowing a pen from a woman who doesn’t even speak English and writing you a note explaining what had happened and how to reach me, how dare I think I should put this note on your car? What a bitch I am!

Then again, I never reached your vehicle to leave my apology. The minute I cleared the door, your punk ass yelled “Did you just hit my fucking car?” Well Captain Obvious, considering you were sitting there enjoying your $6 Panda Express with your fugly Carvel shirt wearing girlfriend and saw the whole thing, did I really need to answer that question? Furthermore, why didn’t you pipe up the minute you saw me park and move to check the damage of your car? Were you waiting to see what my next move was? Well, I imagine if I didn’t speed off pretending it never happened then the plan was to leave information for the owner of the car. So you could have saved us both some time and stepped up to the plate immediately at which point I would have handed over my insurance card for your perusal.

Instead, you and your 19-year-old, I-think-I-know-everything-ass, decided it would be far more productive and beneficial for both of us if you belittled and berated me for what was clearly an accident. Upset I can understand. But going bat shit crazy over what amounted to absolutely nothing and scathingly asking me if I did damage to your car is a bit overdramatic. It’s not like your car was totaled and I drove away. Your car had nary a scratch that hadn’t previously been on it and I still made sure I was making necessary information available for you. So dial your attitude down a notch. Trust me when I say your 1986 Toyota what the fuck ever it is ain’t worth the money my insurance information is printed on.

Throughout this entire ordeal, I was nice enough to apologize and repeatedly offer you my contact information and insurance card. You were so pissed you cut off your nose to spite your face and said “Whatever.” Whatever? Well, whatever right back at you buddy. I tried to behave like an adult and you behaved like a 5 year old who got pissed when he went to the store to pick out a toy and couldn’t narrow it down in the allotted time so went home with nothing.I'd also like to thank you for your sarcastic "Drive carefully." when I walked back to my own car. I think what you meant was, next time you hit a car in the parking lot, don't dillydally, drive the fuck away. The best part about this whole situation? You waited until I drove away to get your scrawny ass out of your chair and amble over to even look at your car. At which point you started pointing out imaginary damage that my plastic bumper caused your steel car at a whopping 1 mile an hour. I hope like hell I was wrong and there is a shit ton of damage to your car that you cannot afford to fix, you douche bag.

Sincerely,
Berryfine

PS. Get a fucking haircut.