Sunday, August 12, 2012

That gas station is used for only two things: picking up moonshine and getting murdered. Only two outcomes.

Here's the thing, I am hopelessly directionally challenged. I know this. I wish on every Birthday candle that I could change this. Someone, someday will have to put up with this. I'd much rather be a passenger, the one that gets to point out places to visit that aren't part of the destination, sleep, control the music, watch for police, and feed the driver Fruit by The Foot (This task is only mandatory when I'm driving).

I get incredibly stressed out when I'm driving at night in an unfamiliar location. I can not even pretend to keep my cool. Add in construction and a few "off-the-beaten-path" detours, like anywhere currently on the way to North Richland Hills, and I'm a mess. My GPS (Judy Garmin) will tell me to veer left and then a detour pops up into my real life view, not marked on my current route via GPS. My internal monologue/turmoil/rant & rave (isn't that what this entire blog is? Yes.): Take the detour down the gravel road or keep gong in this swirly loopy-loop direction that looks nothing like the road ahead of me? Or Detour? Uhhh....I ummmm.... no time to decide... Aaaaaand mistake. I'm now at the airport. Alright, back on track... another detour, this time going up and around and over to a two lane road. Oh, ok I'm officially not on a concrete road. It's OK, the highway will meet up with this road. I'm not lost... where the hell am I? Streetlights are swaying in the wind, every 3rd light is burned out... no other cars to be seen... I am officially in the setting for the movie Deliverance. Nothing good can happen here.

At this point, I've turned the radio off, and I'm basically driving with the steering wheel in my chest, somehow hoping that maybe I'll propel the car along faster. THIS IS NOT THE WAY HOME. Great, now I'm shouting to myself. I can't even control my anger and frustration enough to target the responsible party for this terrifying ordeal: Judy Garmin. And now I'm starting to think that this "detour" was part of a horror movie plot. My mind just goes there. Every time. I made it home, but I'm fairly certain that The Hills Have Eyes was filmed somewhere like Southbound Highway 114.

In the midst of all the chaos, I get the most random texts from my Dad. Like what, you ask? A picture of seals on a disco dance floor with the caption "Stop clubbing baby seals".

He might need a hobby or an intervention. In the last year, my father has discovered sending pictures in text messages. No one clap, this is not a time to celebrate. My parents have been hip and cool with the cellphone takeover since forever, so texting is not anything new. Don't get me wrong, I love that my parents text, and text like functioning members of society without all of the "c u l8tr" and "ttfn" shit, but my father has taken it to a new level. He finds memes, and sends them out in a mass attack style.

Wow, I'm at work and my phone just vibrated off my desk and into my trash can. What kind of natural disaster struck? What did Colton stick in his nose this time? Did you win the lottery? None of the above. My dad has decided that a photo-shopped picture of a child going down a slide where the end is a cheese grater or a storm trooper in the middle of a graffiti tag with the caption "Keep our Death Star Beautiful"is worth sending to me.

And my mother? She sends me email links for cooking and baking ideas and makes hair mustaches with me when the movie previews are boring. Then there was that one time we had a girls night/a few too many margaritas and ended up falling asleep watching Fraggle Rock after making an epic grocery list that consisted of Twix, Skittles, and ice cream.

Welcome to my world. It is both insane and delicious.

Mainly insane.

It's Time by Imagine Dragons I'm definitely still obsessed with this band.