Driving Lessons

Mama Kat's Writers Workshop had a prompt today that was sooooo easy.

If you want to participate, click the pretty poodle button. It's fun!



I started scratching notes but the memory was coming so fast, it was just easier to actually start writing.

"DESCRIBE THE FIRST DATE YOU WENT ON IN A BOY'S CAR."

I'm not sure this was the very first date, but Mick was the first guy I dated that had a car.

It was a BIG car, and not at all cool. It was a funky vomit color - something between brown and tan with a little bit of green thrown in.

I was fifteen. And he was taking me to a dance club known for letting the "under aged" in.

I got out the Aquanet.

The jean skirt that barely covered my butt.

Red pumps.

And every bit of make up I owned.

I headed over to my girlfriend's house. Her parents were never home so no grown up was going to see the final product before I got to the club.

I got myself all dolled up with a look that said, "You should take my money and let me in to this club because I look like I could be at least 18 so checking my ID isn't necessary."

In retrospect, it was probably more of a look that said, "You need to pay me by the hour if you want the pleasure of my company."

You know my mom's heart is stopping right now.

Sorry Mom. I love you! I'll go mow your lawn now. Oh, wait, that was a different time I totally disappointed you. *Hugs*

So Mick picked me up and drove out to no-man's-land.

We pulled into the gravel parking lot and I could hear, "Boom, boom, lacka-lacka-lacka, boom. Boom, boom, lacka-lacka, boom-boom," coming from the building.

I sashayed to the door like I belonged there and got in just fine.

Not so much for Mick. He had such a baby face and couldn't convince them he was 21 even after he pulled out his fake ID.

He was such a nice guy, he said I could go in with out him for a bit. Some friends of his were just pulling up and he was going to chat with them for a while.

As tempting as it was (Come on, Walk the Dinosaur was playing!), I'm a nice girl. So I stayed outside with him.

When his friends found out Mick couldn't get in, they decided to leave. Mick & I sat on the back bumper talking for a bit, and I got an AWESOME idea!

Mick should teach me how to drive!

Never mind I was barely fifteen, had no learner's permit, and had never been behind the wheel of a car before.

Again, being a nice guy (and I think he really liked me and thought this may clinch a kiss at the end of the night), he agreed.

I started the car with a roar because I stepped on the gas while was doing it. I SWEAR, that's what my parents did.

The car wouldn't move out of park unless the brake was pressed - that was a good thing.

Once the car was in drive, I pulled out of the parking space. Thank the Lord, he had backed in.

Of course, there was quite a bit of gravel kicking up because I didn't know the power of a gas pedal. I'm sure the hussy getting out of the car next to me appreciated the parking lot dust coating her zebra print stretch skirt. She thought she was HOT. *sizzle*

Seriously though, I don't think she found all the pieces of gravel that got caught in the rats nest on her head until she took a shower in the morning. Once something penetrates the Aquanet helmet, there is no getting it out without screwing up the entire do. Extraction has to wait until you're ready for the shower to turn your hair into the inevitable melty, gooey mess that requires you to wash, rinse, & repeat more than twice.

Once we get to the driveway of the parking lot, I had the sense to stop and look for cars. And take a moment to ask how to turn on the headlights.

There were a lot of headlights on that state highway. But no street lights.

It was D-A-R-K!

Mick told me to go. But it wasn't a gentle, "It's clear so you can go now."

It was a "IT'S CLEAR! GO! GO! GO!"

I squealed, hit the gas, while turning onto the highway.

The car fish-tailed.

I screamed.

The car lost a hub cap.

And I lost my driving privileges.

Silver Lining:

1. Mick and I dated for several more months and he even let me get behind the wheel again, but only during the day. On really straight streets. With no other cars in sight.


2. Two years later, my dad "officially" taught me to drive so I could get my driver's license before we moved to "The Big City". While I'm sure I gave him a couple of scares, I passed my driver's test with flying colors. The DMV Tester Guy even said, "You are very relaxed behind the wheel." He didn't know I'd been driving for almost two years. Until he reads this, I'm not sure my dad knew that either. Sorry Dad. I love you! *Hugs*

Got Wood?

So, Sissy & I drove all the way up to Wisconsin last week (hence the week-long absence) to help Mom get her house ready to sell.

There was much to do - stain a fence, spread mulch, clean a garage, move large stuff into the garage, paint a bedroom, general staging, etc.

All this cleaning/moving resulted in several pieces of wood. Mom pulled out the trusty saw and saw horses, cut them up into manageable, carriable pieces. Since it was trash day and the trash truck hadn't been by, we hauled them to the curb.

Not the curb at the end of the driveway mind you. No, they had to be hauled to the end of the block, and she lives on the "loooooooooong" side of the block. Mom's street was tore up for complete re-paving. (Yeah, we totally had to haul all our luggage and what-not that far too.)

After two or three trips, it was all down there, kind of hanging into the street a bit. Definitely taking up a preemo parking space right at the corner.

We worked all day in the 90 degree heat, cleaned ourselves up and headed out for the evening.

We walked aaaaaallllllll the way down to the car.

The trash was gone.

The recycling was gone.

The wood was not gone.

We left anyway.

When we got back - around 9:30 - the wood was still sitting there. Not even the rubbish scavengers were interested.

We made our way aaaaaallllll the way back to the house. After we got inside, my mom was just beside herself fidgeting.

We really should go get that wood. It's taking up a space where someone could park. I don't want anyone getting upset at me.

[Eye roll]

Mom, I don't think anyone knows you left the wood down there. We can just go get it tomorrow if it's still there.

No, someone might know I put it down there. And there isn't a lot of parking. And I'm just not going to sleep tonight knowing . . .

[Eye roll]

I looked outside.

It was dark.

No one was around.

No one was going to see us going down to get the wood. No one would know my mother left the wood down there if we went and got it tonight. If we waited until morning, we would definitely be seen and anyone who may have gotten upset about the wood taking up a perfectly good parking space would know it was her. Blah, blah, blah.

[Sigh]

Fine, let's go get it.

There was a lot of wood so we decided to take the wheelbarrow to haul it back. My mom's house is over 60 years old and I swear so is the wheelbarrow we were using. It very well could be, it used to be my grandfather's and he died almost 20 years ago. So it creaks and groans even when it's empty.

Every bump in the sidewalk (and there are many because it may also be 60 years old) makes the wheelbarrow jump. When it lands it makes that "thunder" noise. You know the sound, the one every kid loves to make it by shaking a found piece of sheet metal. It's friggin' loud!

Here we are, in the cloak of darkness, taking the wheelbarrow aaaaaalllllll the way down to the corner to pick up the wood.

Gah-gong.

Gah-gong.

Gah-gong.

For crying out loud. Get out the metal trashcan lids, pots and pans and some wooden spoons. We could have had an old fashioned parade! The neighbors would be thrilled!

So much for going quietly.

As we approached the end of the street, I noticed a beacon of light showing us the way.

No it wasn't the moon.

It was a street light.

Shining right down on the pile of wood.

So much for our cloak of darkness too.

Silver Lining:

1. On the way back, because there was some weight in the wheelbarrow, it didn't make as much noise.


2. We only had to make two trips to get all the wood back to the house. Since the wheelbarrow was so noisy, I didn't even bother taking the wood out, I just dumped it (with a loud clatter) into a pile on the driveway.


3. We are only aware of one neighbor witnessing our "stealthiness" - they just happened to get home later than we did, like while we were retrieving our contraband wood.


4. Mom's house was in pretty good shape when we left. Hopefully, she'll have the house sold and be moved down near us by Halloween.

The New Fig Latin

First off - I'm baaaaaaack!

Sorry I've been away so long. Lots going on and not all that funny, but I need to get back to seeing the lighter side of life and this is my way of doing it.

On with the story.

Recently, when asked whether or not she was going to do something, a co-worker answered, "Yah, I'm funna."

Perhaps I miss understood, and she actually said, "Yah, I'm gonna." But if not, it begs the question, what does that mean????

Funna or fonna. I don't know how to spell it, only how to pronounce it. Let's just stick with the phonetic way for simplicity's sake.

Funna.

I have a theory on this.

I think she meant, "F*** yah, I'm f***in' gonna do it!"

Since it was an office setting, I can see not wanting to use the f-word, but a simple, "Duh" would have worked. Ok, if you're talking to your foss, I suppose you don't want tell him or her, "Duh". I do, but I'm not your typical office worker.

So, to be sly, you may want to use "funna". To the untrained ear, it just kind of slides on by.

Wow, there are so many fapplications for this new kind of Pig Latin!

You're in the middle of a crowded family restaurant and you take your first bite of super hot wings, "Holy crap! These wings are fot!"

Your buddy dares you lick your finger and stick it in an outlet, "No fay!" You may add "fasshole" at the end, but that really isn't all that sly.

There is a slight problem with words that already start with the letter F. In this case you just have to stutter a little, "That was f-funny." Again, very sly.

There are really only three rules to Fig Latin:

1. For words that do not begin with "F", replace the first letter of the word with an "F".


2. For words that do begin with "F", add an extra "F" to the beginning of the word.


3. Be sly about it.

If you get to cocky with it and don't follow rule number three, you can get yourself into a wee bit of trouble. If you do get yourself into trouble, don't come crying to me. You're the fidiot who didn't follow the rules and got caught.

Silver Lining:

1. I now have a way to let my inner potty mouth sing. Well, other than getting a kick out of using "Chuck" in the Name Game song.


2. I'm in the process of testing Shig Latin. Stay tuned.