Friday, September 16, 2005

By popular demand

The year is 2000. The season is Fall. The driving is bad.

My brother is 16 and in the middle of a winning highschool football season. My friends love and support me, which means they also love and support my family. It also helps that the game is in Little Rock and we were all planning to go out to LR later that night anyway.

We all get decked out in our finest club duds (yep, we looked a little odd at the game) and decide that Birdie has to drive since, at the time, she's the only one with a vehicle big enough to hold us all - even if it is a little illegally. We have to have the one vehicle because we couldn't get more than one person to agree to be a designated driver.

However, Birdie is Captain Anal and Selfish (we all accept it and understand it) and won't let anyone drive her SUV while she's still sober. So she's driving to a destination she has no knowledge of. And, typical Birdie, she's driving there fast.

JA Fair highschool in Little Rock - ghetto capital (next to Central High). We are stopped at the gate by 4 young thugs who COULDNT have been more than 14. They tell dear sweet Birdie that it's $5.00 to park. Bullshit. And the occupants of the vehicle (3 females, 4 males) all yell to her "Don't pay the thug, drive! He'll move! It's not $5, it's a damn public high school!" Birdie, little skittish of Lil Bow Wow and his crew whips out the $5.

Now, we should know better than to harrass Birdie while she's driving. She already has a heavy foot, and when she's pissed it gets heavier. So we're all yelling at her about paying the punks $5 and she's flying through the parking lot. I'm on the floor of the cargo area of the SUV. Birdie fails to notice a speed bump. 7 heads hit the ceiling. 6 had FAR fewer feet to reach the ceiling, so when I slam down - I slam down hard.

It should also be noted I have LOTS of female issues. Some have been rectified by surgeries. This particular game was less than 3 months following a surgery.

So, I slam down and feel something dislodge and . . .well, um . . . . plop wetly into what were once a pretty pair of underroos.

"GODDAMMIT BIRDIE!!!!! YOU JUST MADE MY UTERUS FALL OUT BACK HERE!!!"

Car explodes into laughter, save Carol - my caring roommate - who looks back and says "Bitch, are you serious???"

Turns out, in the end, that it wasn't my uterus . . at least, I don't think it was. But the fact still remains, it could have happened.

What's sad is that that was the LEAST dramatic occurrence of the night. The VERY least.

We had a very dramatic college-hood. Full of fun and hijinks.

Damn, I miss those days.

Just when you think . . .

things can't get any worse.

I have a car. A piece of crap, 1996 Plymouth Breeze with about 150,000 miles on it. Crappy almost velour like interior, the carpets which were once a lush grey are now a very matted down black and it has power NOTHING. I've had it since I was a freshman in college. It was a replacement car for the third car I had totalled in three years (and NO none of them were ever my fault).

I have a SUV. A very beautiful, fully loaded, cost way too much, but love it love it love it SUV. Lush taupe carpet that has and will always be maintained, taupe leather interior that is soft and supple as a baby's behind, power everything, 0 miles on it when purchased, it is heaven.

But nothing says heaven like 34 miles to the gallon (as opposed to the 20 I get on my baby). So, set to start last Tuesday, I was going to drive the piece of crap - because, hopefully, it would have dropped my gas bill (remember that I drive about 200 miles a day on business) to $400 a month instead of $700.

And yet . .. .

My brother, who's truck gets about 14 miles to the gallon, borrows the car every weekend to travel the 300 mile round trip to our home town to work. I don't mind, that's why I kept the car.

Monday was Labor Day, so Ty was staying to work until Monday afternoon/night.
I wait and wait and wait and Ty never comes with my car, so Tuesday, I drive my baby to work.

Tuesday, no return of phone call and no car. Finally at around 10:30 PM (according to my voicemail), he calls. He wanted to bring the car over. I think this was deliberate. He KNOWS that I get up at 4:45 in the morning and therefore am in bed NO LATER than 10 PM.

Wednesday: 2 PM - phone rings - "Hey, whatcha doin?" "Working, like normal people who support themselves. What are you doing?" "Nothing. Hey, come by my house when you get off and you can get the car." "Alright, I'll call on my way back to Conway."

Wednesday: 3 PM - phone rings - "What? I told you I'd call when I got off." "Don't bother, I just wrecked the car."

And so, yes, he did. It's totalled. There goes my 34 miles to the gallon. Also, because it was such a piece of crap, I only had liability insurance on it. So, no insurance money to get it fixed (HA! As if they would!) or at least get a little cash out of the deal.

This is so not my year for vehicles.