never leaving the house again: part 1

I am never leaving my house again.  

I mean it.  I plan to become a hermit.  I see only a few drawbacks to my plan.  I'll need to learn to make sushi and if I don't leave the house my chances of meeting Andrew McCarthy will be virtually nonexistent.  

When I leave home things happen.  I know things happen to everyone, but as you know, I'm special.  Because I'm special, crazy ass things happen to me.  I would pull out the KBF Crazy Ass Archive and reminisce, but there are new stories to tell.  And so, here's most of the story — because I don't care anymore.

October 10th was supposed to be the date of my dad's wedding.  A couple of months ago the wedding was postponed because my aunt was diagnosed with ALS and the ex-husband of my father's fiancé died suddenly. It was understandable that they would choose to postpone the wedding with all the family drama, but I still planned on making the trip to the hometown to visit family and friends because it was a good weekend for me.  

The drive up was fine.  Lunch with Hillary in Baton Rouge — had a great coconut and lemongrass soup, laughed a lot, spilled some sauce on the boob shelf which is my chest — whatever.  It was good.  On the way, I noticed that all but one mile of all three interstates I travelled on were being mowed.  It was at this time I realized that when I switched purses, I hadn't put my inhaler in the bigger raspberry satchel.  Don't worry, I ended up not needing it anyway.  

When I got to the hometown, I went to my grandfather's house, said my hellos and went to dinner with my mom who told me she hates my Facebook profile picture.  Hates.  No reason for the hatred given.  That's okay, there is plenty of hatred to go around, I suppose.  We went back to my grandfather's, watched tv, then I left to check into my hotel.  Of course their computers were down at the hotel and it was 30 minutes before I could check in.  The front desk lady apologized several times and I thought "what would I expect – this is me, this is what happens when I leave home."  On my hotel room door was a wet paint sign.  Still, I'm not surprised.  No, I'm jaded and know the universe fucks with me to see just how far I can be pushed before I hit my head against the freshly-painted door repeatedly and the men in white coats come to take me away.  

The next morning I ripped the coffee packet thingie open and coffee went everywhere.  I said "I give up" out loud and went on about my day despite not having coffee.  I put on my new cute gray mary janes and dared the universe to beat me.  Ha.  My plan was to go the Red River Revel arts festival to see my friend Will perform. The Revel did not want me to go.  I drove around for at least 20 minutes looking for a place to park.  I accidentally drove over the Texas Street bridge because I was in the wrong lane at one point.  So, I'm not good with the parking, fine.  I parked in a casino parking garage, noted that I was on the second level, and walked approximately 42 blocks to the festival.  It was at this point I remembered that the last time I'd worn new shoes on a day I would be doing a lot of walking I'd said that was the LAST time I'd do that.  Obviously, I'm not good with the learnin' either.  But the Revel was great.  Will's wife Molly, their son, and I walked to the parking garage afterward, said our "see ya laters" and I began to look for my car.  It was not on the second level.  I could see my car below and walked down the ramp, cursing my mary janes and my bleeding ankles.  

I was downtown at a red light when there was a knock at my passenger's side window.  A heavily-tattooed ZZ Top reject on a motorcycle was making the international sign for "roll down your window" despite the fact that no one has the rolly things anymore and we push buttons now.  I figured it was daylight and he might not kill me, so I put the window down.  He said "yer back tire's going flat."  I said "thanks" and put up the window and got on the interstate headed toward my grandfather's house.  My grandfather put air in my tire and told me to go to a tire/tune-up place he goes to, so I did.  At the tire place, Mr. Tire Man told me it would be two hours before they could get to my car because one of his guys was on vacation and one was out sick.  I didn't have much of a choice, so I waited.  And waited.  In the big waiting room there were two tvs.  One was playing CMT, the other (by the coffee machine) was playing Gangland.  I sat by the coffee machine.  The show told the story of a gang member named OMG.  I decided I was changing my name to STFU.  After Gangland, Mr. Tire Man switched the channel to the Andy Griffith Show.  It was the episode where Andy opens the first coin-operated laundry in Mayberry.  Yippee.  Then Good Times came on.  It was dyno-mite.  Then The Jeffersons.  We were movin' on up.  Mr. Tire Man told me my car was ready and I was "all good."  I asked him how much it would be.  He said I was "all good" again.  I asked what that meant.  He told me they changed the inner liner and it was no charge.  I wondered how they make any money and left.

That night my mom and I took my grandfather to dinner for his birthday.  It was nice.  Afterward, my grandfather wanted me to drive by his church to show me the new building, so we did.  After that he asked if I'd like to go by my grandmother's grave.  Well, sure, because that's the way I like to end my evening and no meal is complete without stopping by the cemetery.  

End of Part 1.  Part 2 will be up soon.  I need a margarita.