If My Last Name Was Jones
took the cake for the "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day".
I got up early and went out to Whitesboro, where my parents have their new house. Since they gave me that van, they want me to help out more to kind of pay them back. I actually kind of enjoy helping them out with it, so it wasn't a big deal.
So when I left it was pouring rain. And navigating through torrential rainfalls with a large van isn't easy. But I made it to the house in good time. I popped a mix tape in the tape deck and had a good time with Buckcherry, KISS, Adam Ant, Fatboy Slim, and Super Furry Animals on the way there. Such perfect driving music, especially in my big van, which just screams the need to have good 70s music cranked. I didn't have much with me, so the mix tape worked fine.
I got there and my mom asked me if my muffler had been hanging off during my drive. I looked at her confused, and then took a look at my van. The muffler was broken from the tailpipe and they were both dragging on the driveway.
So we went up to Wal-Mart in my dad's truck to get some lawn stuff. I was stressing about the muffler and mom was telling me to calm down and not to worry and it would settle itself. Right as she said that the truck starting clacking underneath the hood and the engine started to overheat. So we got to a gas station (complete with a Baskin Robbins and tables and chairs with prints of Texas flags on them!) and called dad to come help. Dad got there and he and I looked at the engine and figured out that a hose had broken from the radiator (evidenced by the rusty water sprayed everywhere) so he put the proper refills in and Mom and I took off in her van for Wal-Mart.
Got back to the house and after I ripped the carpet off the first flight of stairs, Dad and I went out to my van and fixed the muffler. He got some plumber's tape and fastened it back on with a couple of nuts and bolts. Steady and secure. No problems.
I left the house around 7 pm and started back to Plano. I stopped in Sherman to get some gas and then back on the highway ... less than 1 mile down the road I heard a loud clack-clack and my car started wobbling. I pulled over and took a look, expecting to find the muffler completely gone. Nope. I had a blowout. I know how to change a tire, but it was wet, dark (no street lights!) and I was in the middle of Sherman. So I decided to call dad for help. I climbed a wet steep embankment and found a Texaco and called my parents. By the time they got there, I had the spare tire (which was an actual full-sized tire! luck!) and jack out and was trying to figure out the jack. It was a different kind of jack than what I was used to, so I couldn't get it up, but I know I could have changed it if it had been what I was used to.
Dad and I had the flat changed in 5 or 10 minutes. No big deal. He sat there saying "you do this next" and I was like "Dad, I really know how to do this" and he was super impressed with how fast I could do it. Rock! We got everything sorted out and they followed me for a couple of miles to make sure the car wasn't going to freak out. A minute after they turned off the road, my car started clacking again and the car behind me flashed their lights. So I pulled off and got out to see what on earth could be wrong this time. The pipe holding the muffler to the engine fell off. But where my dad had attached the plumber's tape was still sturdy. (go figure!) Luckily, the guy that flashed his lights at me was a mechanic, so he just cut my muffler completely off and we went on our merry way. Sure, the drive is loud, but since all faulty parts were amputated, the car drove just fine.
So I got home, showered, called my mom to tell her I was safe, and went to pick Amanda up to go to Ft. Worth. Had Three Dog Night and Ray Stevens cranked the whole way there. Rock!! We got there at the beginning of Go Metric's set which was amazingly great. They keep getting better and better. After that Legendary Crystal Chandelier were up and I love them. I stood up at the front and was inducted as an honorary Prendergast sister and watched a drunk indie couple dance beside me. And the layers of sound were so beautiful. After such a stressful day, it was nice to feel lush noise being made right in front of me.
Amanda and I watched a couple of friends argue about how was more/less drunk to drive home after the show. (Friend 1: If you just get me a bottle of water, I'll be sober. I promise. Friend 2: You know, you're trying to show me that you're serious and somber. You're not like that when you're sober. I know you're drunk. Friend 1: You anarchist! Friend 2: Mod!!! Mod's not easy!!) Take that as you'd like. But if you read the FWWeekly, this should make some sense.
I got home at 4 am. I went to bed straightaway and woke up at 9:30. Remembered it was Daylight Savings Time and I was even later than I thought, so I hurried up and got out to Whitesboro in under two hours (including shower!) No car problems. Just families driving slow because it was a holiday.
Ate a big lunch with my parents and siblings and lazed around the house for a while. Not much to do, other than watch tv. So I took Carolyn to the park and showed her it wasn't scary to slide down the really big winding slide. She busted her lip one time sliding down but I made it out to be no big deal so she didn't even cry. We wiped the blood off and back down the slide she went. That's my girl. She threw her toy lamb in the mud when I told her it was time to leave and I taught her the concept of tough love by making her carry it back to mom like that. She was pissed off at me all afternoon after that. A spoiled three year old girl really needs someone to interject reality ... sad that it's me. It's funny, I mother her more than my mother in some ways. Mom plays with her and dolls her up and gives her anything she'd like -- and that goes double for my father -- but I don't want her to grow up with a princess complex. More than she already has. I don't want her to be prissy and stuck on herself in some sort of artsy bullshit sort of way at the age of 12. I want her to climb trees and have bruised knees like I did. I want her to read books and ride bikes and not to have her holed up in painting classes and dance classes like my parents are planning on doing already.
So I learned a lot this weekend. I learned that my sister is even more spoiled than I thought. That my 16 year old sister whines more than the three year old. That I know just as much about cars as my dad, which I'm proud of. Which doesn't say much for him either (He's a programmer and he's a kick ass carpenter, but cars aren't his forte) but I'm happy. I had a friend in high school that would be proud of the fact that I crawled under the van and took a look at how it all was. That I took control and popped the hood open and identified a trouble spot by just looking at the engine.
Last weekend when Jay was here we both noticed that in a lot of ways he was more feminine than me and that I was more masculine than him. Which I think is very cool. I don't want to be categorized as a stereotypical "throw me in the kitchen and take me out to go shopping" sort of gal. I want to be able to get under the hood of a car and fix things and then get glammed up and spend all night in dingy clubs watching musicians put on amazing shows - and understand the elements of what makes them amazing ... not just the fact that it sounds pretty ... and to spout stupid remarks off to stupid people and still maintain some sort of self-respect. Yeah. I realize how nice it is to be someone you like being. Because for a majority of my life, I didn't feel that way. And I do now. So this is a great feeling.
What year did Keef make the transformation between Keith Richard and Keith Richards? Just curious. I should really know that.
I received an email today where I was on the same distribution as Steve Lamacq. Last month I was on a distro list with John Peel. Kind of neat.
Tonight I watched a special on Internet Life on E! It was mostly about porn stars that made a better living for themselves by making websites than starring in films. Maybe I should just start uploading nekkid pictures of myself. I saw what Asia Minor or whatever her name was was driving. And a Ferrari is kind of nicer than my 1982 Ford Club Wagon XLT (with the Don't Mess With Texas sticker on the bumper!!).
Anyone know what kind of mileage a Vespa gets? Is it better than 18 m/gallon?
Enough is enough. Happy damn Easter.