You see, I didn't learn from the last time I tried to use it to get me to the freaking Philadelphia International Airport, when it insisted that what appeared to be the off-site parking lot for super duper long-term parking was where I needed to be, rather than, I dunno, someplace crazy, like arrivals.
I also didn't learn from the time it took my family into a residential neighborhood and insisted some dude's house was Denny's.
It's haunted, that GPS. This is the only logical explanation for its behavior. It's the only reason I can fathom for why it told me that a major hospital was located in a business park well about three or so miles down the road from the destination at which I was yearning to arrive. It didn't take too long before I yanked that impish gremlin away from its power source and decided to pull over and make a phone call to my friend.
I was in the right lane, and impulsively decided to pull over into a parking lot, using my turn signal. I could only assume that my quick deceleration had caused some irritation because I heard the blaring of a car horn and saw another car right up my car-butt. I chanted to myself, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." before I saw the vehicle as it passed by me, and a woman nearly leaning out her open passenger window screaming, "Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch!" All I could do is lift a palm skyward and shrug at her.
What did she want from me? Some sort of screeched agreement, 1-1/2 seconds of fervent contrition, or maybe for me to throw my first-born from the car as some sort of offering to pay for my sins?
Ten years ago, someone bellowing at me on the road would have rattled the hell out of me. But now, I am merely curious as to what could possibly be going on inside the head of a person who feels that honking their horn aggressively is not enough of a punishment for someone executing the minor infraction of slowing down suddenly, yet not causing an accident. Sure, my bad. This shit happens on the road. But really, lady - calm down. No need to roll down your window and lose your mind on me. It wasn't personal.
Other than eliciting wrath from my fellow commuters, most of my day has involved trudging away at the same thing I've been working on for several weeks - setting up the online store for the AirLARP/Zombie Apocalypse/MilSim site. There had been some noise about how I was meant to also write a blog for the site, and I've recently learned that a big portion of what I'll be doing is ... you know, it's almost hard to type this, because it's a combination of two things I never thought I would remotely be involved in.
I'm going to be writing a fashion blog for post-apocalyptic/fantasy/military costumes. I mean, what? Anyone who knows me well, and/or in person can tell you that I never use the word zombie unless I'm referring to my mental state after some intractable sleep-deprivation, and there's not a person on this planet who would connect me with fashion, ever. For any reason.
Even the guy who put me in charge of this sees me during virtually all Skype meetings in the same red hoodie I've been wearing since my grandmother gave it to me for Christmas. If he's able to see the shirt under it, he invariably suggests I change it, because he's seen it too many days in a row. Another popular suggestion: wash your hair.
So, if I'm less productive with writing something like the Sims story or a movie review, it's because I'm busy trying to figure out how to cram my scuzz ball into a fashionable hole. That's disgusting.