Hot Dogs and Slim Jims!!!!

I have several handicaps. You might as well know them so that some of my antics make sense in this very logical world.

Let me be totally "PC" when I say that: I am severely "Directionally Impaired".

I know you are concerned about me and want to understand this mental condition, so I will explain it to you.

If there is a way to take the wrong turn or veer off onto an obscure- State Road-County Road-Your just screwed Road- I will make that vehicular steering adjustment. If the trip is supposed to take an hour - I will take 2 hours. If you say right: I will go left (unless you say turn next to the Sephora Make-up emporium of happiness- I will find that one EVERY time- just thought you should know, I have an internal mascara and lip gloss GPS system).

I learned how to drive late in life. My very first driving lesson was with 3 cute boys and a fidgety Drivers Ed teacher who wanted a hot dog. I could not let on that I had never driven before in case I were to romantically conquer one of the boys or the teacher (kidding, his orientation was questionable, but choice in hot dog condiments - spot on!). Two minutes into the journey he said sternly "This is your FIRST time driving isn't it?" I had been busted, the laughter ensued. He did not let me drive again. I think he enjoyed life and hot dogs too much for the gamble.

I had more money than driving skills when I decided to buy my first car. I was working at a Credit Union making really good money and receiving roses, beer and romantic cards through the drive-in window. The beer came just as my 102-year-old Branch Manager walked by. It was sent as a joke and somehow the air in the tube was strong enough to send it through. The accompanied "WOMP" at its arrival had everyone turn to face me. The cute construction boys flirting with me had left laughing hysterically, leaving the guilty look on the face of an old man who was next in line. Mrs. Opal Jay was not impressed with the alcohol offering, I was 18, I WAS impressed with the humor and sad the beer was confiscated (TOTAL diversion of story, I am sorry, back on task .....1..2...3...... NOW!!!!!!).

I took my dad with me to look at cars for the first time. He would have to cosign. I saw a car and a salesman I wanted promptly after arriving. Under heavens glow sat an '86 Toyota Forerunner. It was jacked up and beautiful. Tan leather interior, running boards and KC lights with smiley yellow covers on them graced this vehicle. My dad said "Nikoshema!!!!!! (My nick name, too embarrassing to reveal what it means) you have NO BUSINESS even LOOKING at a jacked up truck!!!! You are 4 foot 11 inches tall for God's sake!!!!".

I moved on with the search with friends.

I knew when I saw it. My first vehicle should be an '85 Thunderbird V-8. It was slate blue with blacked out windows and nice rims. It was righteous. My dad fell in love with it as a car not as a smart purchase (smile, GOTCHYA!!!!!!).

I did not have my license when I bought it. I sat in it every night dreaming of driving it. When I moved out, I went for my license.

My instructor said:

"Watch out for that...............". DAAAAA-DUNK!!!!!!!!! "Pot hole!!!!! Stop the vehicle ma'am - loooong sigh".

We hadn't left the parking lot and I had failed. Crying cute teenage girls do not woooo driving officials into getting their licenses (who knew????).

I got my license in my friends Toyota Corolla. I then drove my 2000 foot long Thunderbird with a hairpin gas pedal and a rumble that impressed all the boys (winkitty wink wink) as recklessly as I could. I was intelligent enough to know that it was not the right vehicle for me and traded it in for a little sports car with cooler rims and a spoiler (see, I AM a clear thinker!).

When I dated they drove as I entertained them with fun antics and music. When I got married he drove EVERYWHERE, I paid no attention to direction. When I got divorced I had to take over as primary driver. I realized I was a decent driver but that I sucked at finding places and would cry like a baby when I was lost.

I actually had to go to Orlando not too long after the break up. It was then I realized that I had never even gone through a tollbooth as a driver. Someone being nervous GOING THROUGH A TOLLBOOTH-------REALLY???? YES!!!!! It's your Superhero of insanity...Can you mess THAT up.....YES..... Yes you can.

Yesterday I had to meet a friend in Palatka or Welatka (WHAT THE HALIBUT?????!!!!). It is in the middle of nowhere and almost 2 hours away.

Wanna hear about it? Of course you do!! Here I go:

First of all when you people make fun of me know this: If the Government thinks there is a reason to put up signs warning you of Black Bears - there has to be a reason. AT some point there HAVE been Black Bears ON that friggerin' road!!! So me worrying about that (with my luck deficiency issues) is totally NORMAL (for once, agree I am normal- awe come on man, really??? There's no support here??? You are officially out of my cell phone circle!!)!!

The drive up was OK. It was daylight and I only cried once.

The way back was in pitch black with my minds vision of beady glowing bear eyes all around, not so nice. I turned my stereo volume up to "38" and rocked out to AC/DC (because a little "Bedlam in Belgium" goes a long way to calm me). There were deer everywhere. Death wishing.

The veers and the turns were invisible. I would drive on these desolate two lane roads for hours, tears in my eyes, seeing this:



And:





And:















But alas.... I did make it.... Even stopping into a Kangaroo so that I could potty and "SNAP INTO A SLIM JIM!!!!!"

I heart happy endings!!!!!

There were no Circus Peanuts harmed in the production of this blog. The "Kiss your Ass Goodbye Princess" road sign is fictional. Beer should not be sent through the tubes at Bank drive-In's. If beer IS sent through the tubes of Bank-drive In's: the underage teller should be able to consume the beer. The preceding was the opinion of the blogger and does not represent the beliefs of the Blogger site. All rights reserved.