Road rage.

I find that I become a completely different driver driving from Connecticut...

Grandma.

into New York.

Asian Invasion, Speed Racer.

I live about ten minutes from the Connecticut/New York border. The second I cross it, I start speeding up, the cars start honking, and everyone's road rage starts kicking in. (The speed limits I have up in my pictures are accurate. It almost doubles just by passing the "Welcome to New York" road sign.)

If you've been in my car with me, you'll notice that my road rage is rather polite.

"Excuse me, um, sir or madam. Um, I don't think you should be doing that. Oh, okay, I guess I'll let you through even though it's my right-of-way."

Illia, on the other hand, has heard different things. At different volumes.

"SLOW DOWN CRAZY! THERE'S A STOP SIGN IN FRONT OF YOU! AND YOU! GET OFF THE ROAD MORON! YOU ALMOST KILLED ME!"

I can only imagine what me yelling looks like to other people. I mean, I am confined by pounds of metal and glass so anything that happens within the walls of my car becomes a game of charades to drivers.

I'm no good at charades.

Illia has also been with me when I was in weird moods in the car.

Left: Illia; Right: Eden
Parks and Recreation

On a completely different note, I've developed an addiction to these ice cream bars. My mom got these WeightWatchers "GIANT Cookies & Cream Bar" and I've been eating them like crazy. (It defeats the purpose, I know, but hey, I was never on a diet in the first place. My mom thought they looked good and got them.) The ice cream just melts in your mouth.

It's manna from heaven.