Stop.

8 Feb

If I get tagged in even one more of these stupid facking “collages,”

I will set fire to a bum under a bridge and send his flaming stinky carcass into your living room while you watch late night reality TV.

Save yourselves the time. I am the good looking one, the hilarious one, the funny bitch, the alcoholic, the cool one, the hustler, the fun one, and the Arab. You can’t surprise me.

So last night around 6:45 p.m., I leave the coziness (also see “stench”) of my apartment to go pick up Trent from the KCI airport, as his flight from Prague was landing at 7:25. I was very excited for him to finally be back, and couldn’t wait to arrive at the terminal to retrieve him. I begin my voyage north in the untrusty old Dodge Neon as the sky ahead begins to darken dramatically. I had heard on the news that we were in for some torrential rain and some severe weather, and it became increasingly clear that I was driving directly into Armageddon. Behind me, the skies were relatively clear and blue. Ahead, an ominous, fierce black wall cloud towered above. Shit was about to happen.

So I’m driving along on the interstate. I’m exactly 5 miles from the airport when I spot a dark foreign object about the size of a shoebox in the middle of my lane. Before I had a chance to react and avoid it, I run it the F over with my car, popping my front driver’s side tire.

Great.

I pull over and get out to inspect the damage. There it was, flatter than Kate Hudson’s tits. Of course this would happen at a time like this. Fortunately for me, I have been carrying a spare tire in my back seat for the past 4 months, just waiting for a tragedy like this to occur. Unfortunately for me, I am not a big enough lesbian to know how to change it. So I call AAA. I love Triple A. They’re like a flock of angels disguised as roadside assistance. After being on hold for six minutes listening to Spanish guitar and violins, “Stella” from KC, MO informs me that a gentleman would be sent out immediately to attend to me and fix my life. I thank her and hang up the phone.

Then it starts to pour.

I sit in my car while semis blow past me, shaking me from head to toe, and dive into my latest read, “My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One Night Stands” by Chelsea Handler. Fifteen minutes or so later, just after I get past the part where Chelsea sleeps with a midget after a night of margaritas, a see a tow truck pull over in front of me on the side of the interstate. Hope had finally arrived.

The man pulls his hood over his head to avoid the pelting rain, and stumbles up to my driver’s side window. I greet him. He does not respond. I greet him again.

“There’s NO way my jack is going to fit under your car, missy,” he grumbles.

I am angered by his pessimistic attitude, but knowing nothing about how these things work, I positively offered, “….are you sure?”

He grumbles some more and returns to his car to get out the jack, then comes back, bends down, shakes his head and sputters something about my car being too low and that all he could do is tow it somewhere. At this point I am very irritated. I was feeling bad already that I had left Trent waiting at the airport, and now I couldn’t even replace my tire on the spot. The angry tow truck driver and I load my car onto his truck and hop inside his cab, intending on driving to the airport and picking Trent up, and making a ridiculous venture home. Instead Trent pays one million dollars for a cab to avoid the luggage issue, so the unfriendly driver and I turn around to make a 30 mile drive back to Mission, KS to find a place to drop my car off.

I ask the man his name in an attempt to make small talk. He mutters “Chad.” I was intent on making Mad Chad warm up to me, and started making conversation about things I loved and insisted on other people loving. Topic number one: My affinity for Mexican food. Chad wasn’t a big authentic Mexican fan, but he shared with me how much he loves Taco Bueno. I discuss my infatuation with the cheesy bean and rice burrito that Taco Bell has, and we compare menu items. I transition in to my apologies that he had to come rescue me during a violent thunderstorm, and we talk about how much we really enjoy a good storm. I knew we had really made some progress when we started sharing how much we hate non-English speaking technical support people. We bonded.

I get dropped off and take Brandon’s car over to Trent’s, and all is well. I see this really as a blessing in disguise. This incident forced me to get an oil change and get my tires realigned, so I’m not mad. Of course I’d rather not pay $160 for it all, but what can you do.

Today I slept in by accident, consequently locking everyone else out of the office for two hours on account of me having the only other set of keys to the building, so to make up for it, I brought in peace offerings in the form of Panera bagels and hazelnut coffee. I did not get beaten for my mistake.

…maybe next time, if I’m lucky.

ANYhoot, I’m off to test drive Ann’s new Pontiac G5. I can’t promise I won’t hump the center console, but I’ll try my best not to pop a woody in front of everyone. Then we may or may not be going shoppi—-snorkeling. Snorkeling at the local pool since it’s so warm out.

“I buy myself gifts all the time! And because of my drinking, they’re usually a surprise.”

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One Response to “Stop.”

  1. Molly February 9, 2010 at 11:35 pm #

    Becca! I heart my horizontal life. I’m assuming you’ve also read Hello Vodka. They’re amazing. are you aware her new books release date is mid-March?

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