I’m thinking of switching from the subway to the GO train.

I see you over there, rolling your eyes, wondering why on earth you read this site here, seeing as I am quite possibly the boring person on the face of the planet. No really, I am. I started playing foursquare because I have heard that you can get free things and I thought, whee! I like free things! But truthfully, foursquare really just makes me feel bad about myself. I have the saddest little life. I check in at, like 4 different places. EVER. Subway stations, coffee shops, my office. Just this morning, I won some sort of badge for being a coffee addict (excitement!) and I am The Mayor of exactly one place — St. Joseph Media. My office building. This should tell me something, no? Make a mental note y’all: RIGHT, Ali is boring.

Anyway, so, yes. Thinking of making the switch.

(If you stick around, there may some interesting story about how I was a stupid asshole in high school. And how I went to a Cranberries concert. So, it might be worth the wait…I wasn’t always so dull, I swear.)

Daily, I drive 25 minutes to the nearest subway station, I pay $5 for the luxury of parking 400 miles away from the actual station, i walk and walk and walk through wind tunnels and finally get on the 30 minute ride to my stop at Queen station. Don’t feel badly for me. I live in the Toronto nosebleeds; I signed up for this. I trade it for a postage-stamp sized lot and good public schools that I don’t send my children to. I am really great at making smart decisions. Anyway, there is a GO train (express train) station about 4 minutes from my front door, where parking is luxurious and free. I could hop on a train and get a comfortable seat and read my book all the way downtown. I could do this. Don’t ask why I do not do this. It has something ridiculous to do with my being a complete and total control freak and being forced to be on the train’s schedule and good god what if something were to happen to one of my kids and I’d have to wait an hour for the next train when instead I could hop on a subway every 4 minutes.

This, though, threw me over the edge.

What you are looking at, other than the possible unintentional upskirt shot is the back bumper of my black car. The back bumper which is now white because some jackhole at the parking lot at Finch station decided to drive right into me and drive right on away. No note, nothing. And this is the second time this has happened. I guess I should feel lucky, friends of mine have had their cars stolen from said lot.

I have been in exactly two car accidents while behind the wheel, and both of them leave me with a gross sick feeling and the inability to ever eat blue raspberry coke bottle candies or hear any Cranberries song on the radio without being immediately transported to Chicago, circa 1995, while on the way home from a concert, while looking mostly like this

complete with giant father-sized denim shirt and Doc Martens, I hit the gas instead of the brake at a rainy stoplight and hit the car in front of me, and the car in front of him. The eight people who were packed into my Jeep were pretty panicked, because I probably should not have been eating sour candy and fighting over radio stations and transporting too many people to a concert that I told my mom that Naomi’s mom was driving us to.

God, teenagers are super fun. I can’t wait to have some of my own.

The second was eerily similar, as it involved me eating sour candies and radio stations and mixing up pedals and rainy stoplights. Only this time there was the extra special bonus of being behind the wheel of my father-in-law’s giant Lumina.

I don’t know what was a worse feeling—having to call my mother and not only tell her that I had lied to her, but I had gotten into an accident leaving my car undriveable OR having to tell my father-in-law, who was not excited about having me borrowing his car in the first place, that I had gotten into an accident leaving his car undriveable.

It’s still kind of a toss up.

They still both make me feel like crap.

Because of how they made me feel, though, I could never—in good conscience—HIT another car in a parking lot and just drive away. I mean, who does that? Obviously no one who has ever had to call her mother from a police station in the middle of downtown Chicago.

No, people like us, we leave notes. Or possibly baked goods.

I hear this never happens at the GO train.