Know how everyone who thinks the 3-year-old who can read "Cat In The Hat" is a goddamn genius right up until someone finally realizes that Lil' Marie Curie just memorized all the words to her favorite literary night cap? Homegirl wasn't "reading" at all, just faking the funk on a nasty dunk.
Yeah, that's me with directions.
I've someone tricked the entire world into thinking I know exactly where I'm going, but in the end I really don't. As a non-driving professional ambulator, my body's just committed the streets of most of the major metropolises (metropoli?) to memory. From Los Angeles to New York with layovers in Atlanta, Chicago and now Washington, you'd swear I knew what's up and what's down. I so don't.
I've just so happened to live in a ton of big cities at a time when paying for a Metrocard seemed a luxury. After graduating from college, I grabbed up a primo internship AND a pretty cheap apartment. Problem was my new digs were on 128th Street in Harlem and my new gig was on 53rd in midtown -- plus, I was earning minimum wage. So unless it was a very special occasion or emergency (which did not include raining) I walked 80 blocks a day (to and from) work. This is why I know the entire upper swatch of Manhattan like the back of my hand, but don't EVER ask me where any street not named after a number is.
To this day. I still have to draw four clockwise points in the air whilst whispering, "Never Eat Shredded Wheat," to call up my mental compass. Thankfully I don't work in like math, otherwise I'd be chanting, "Please excuse my dear Aunt Sally" on the reg. It's kinda sad.
What's even more sad is the fact that I refuse (except here, of course) to admit that I really have no clue how to look at a map or be a good front seat navigator. I'm pretty much useless.
A few weeks back, I was in Puerto Rico (a lovely place by the by) for a wedding and was given the task of getting us around via GoogleMaps, which shouldn't have been too hard given the fact that we were technically in American territory and my phone had bars. I was trapped.
"OK it's going to be coming up on your right like soon," I'd proudly announce.
"Are you sure?" my boyfriend would ask, casually masking his apprehension and trying to sound supportive.
"Of course I'm sure," I'd snap back while double checking that 1) I know my right from my left and 2) the map was oriented in such a way that its left was also mine.
So anyway we missed the turn -- twice. Because I didn't get that when the blinking blue ball that is you is right up on the turn then you've pretty much missed the turn. Also I never understand the difference between a "slight right" and a right right. In the end, my orientational bumbling made us miss our flight and we had to spend a whole extra day in paradise, boo hoo. But seriously it did suck since in the end it was so my fault.
All of this makes me feel very unfeminist-y. As if I'm that Barbie Doll who says stuff like, "Math is hard!" and then busts outs with "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" in a breathy voice to a Ken Doll. Shouldn't I know how to read a map, remember my 7 multiplication tables without singing "Just like angels up in heaven, we all love our sevens" and then maybe caulk something?
I hate to admit that I'd rather kick back and enjoy the ride someone else (maybe with a penis but whatever) is doing all the figuring out of turns and what not. Is that so wrong? Lazy, sure, but wrong?
Is there anything you just too stubborn to take the time to think about? See also me and instructions of any kind.