i have a story

This story is about how Lauri is retarded and impatient, but not as retarded as the roads in Atlanta. It is also about how her bladder is smaller than a thimble.

I made one wrong turn on the way home from taking my cousin to the airport. Although I realized my mistake within 6 blocks, the entire ordeal took over a half-hour to reverse, though it was about 7pm, which I quickly discovered is NOT - contrary to logic - too late to be stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic! Reasons for the wrong turn include the streets in Atlanta all looking the same, and none of them proceeding in any one direction for longer than 3 blocks. Instead, they loop and meander in convoluted knots, through thickly forested land, intersecting with themselves (it's true!), and twisting into an unnavigable maze. Plus, some street names are SO GOOD that they use just one for an entire neighborhood! For example, a whole region of the city exists with "Peachtree" in the name. ("Dudes... Peachtree sounds so good in front of 'Road,' let's stick it in front of 'Terrace' and 'Circle,' too! Yeah, and we should call this one here 'Peachtree Drive.' Oooh! We haven't used 'Court' yet... but we'd better identify it with a 'West' so people don't get confused...." I seriously believe that that was an actual quote by some stoned city planner decades ago who was at the time obsessed with Steve Miller Band.) Also, sometimes one street will have four different names within a half-mile. No joke. (You only thought you turned on DeKalb Industrial. Silly goose, that was a block ago! You're on Arcadia now. But only for another four seconds... after that bridge, it's Sam's Crossing. Pay attention!) It truly helps that there is a church on every corner, and they all look exactly the same! Such an exciting place to live! Really keeps you on your toes!

Ok, back to the story. I had also just (an hour before) consumed two cups of coffee, and despite making a visit to the loo right before getting into my car, was in a stupid amount of pain, that special kind of discomfort from having to pee so badly the whites of your eyes are beginning to jaundice. (Side Note: I am beginning to think that instead of having a tiny shrunken bladder, my problem is that my kidneys are secretly addicted to cocaine and filter my blood super! alarmingly! brilliantly! fast, so that my bladder has to constantly run to keep up. That seems like the more reasonable explanation.)

After these events occured, I have realized that other than being in a state of acute hunger with a puzzlingly rapid onset, as per usual, when my blood sugar drops below the "give-the-bitch-a-string-cheese-or-risk-having-your-eyes-clawed-out" status, I am also ridiculously and unforgivably impatient when I'm dying for the bathroom. No matter how good my iPod is shuffling those indie hits, or how beautiful the sky is, or how lovely the breeze feels floating through that sunroof, my rage knows no bounds at times like these.

That being said, you can imagine that it might be understandable for one to SCREAM IN THE CAR AT THE TOP OF ONE'S LUNGS when one is trapped in a bucket seat inside twelve square-feet of metal, stuck on the same block for twenty minutes with a full bladder. Because really, what else is there to do?

In sum... I have no sense of direction. Atlanta's roads are fucking impossible. And my kidneys are hooked on crack. The end!