Justin and I did a seriously grown up thing: we bought a house. It’s amazing to think we might actually be in ONE place for the rest of our lives–or at least longer than 3-6 years. This is not an adventure in homeownership.
We all drove down Thursday. Friday we closed on our new home. Sunday, Justin had to head back to Kentucky to meet and hang out with the movers, and to clean our house and turn it back over to housing. He’s pretty awesome, because I am the absolute worst when it comes to any of that stuff.
While Justin headed back to Kentucky in my van, I waited until way too late to take the kids to get food. I should probably mention that we bought a house in Alabama, but even though our phones and watches tell us we’re in central time, this place runs on Eastern. Which is not such a big deal, until it’s 6pm CST and you have to drive 30 minutes to get Taco Bell for your children. I’m awesome like that.
Fast forward this adventure to after we go through drive through. We’re driving down a major road that, 13 years ago, was not a place you’d want to be alone after dark. Today it’s much more pleasant, but I would still prefer to not be stranded anywhere after dark.
And then, BOOM. Oh crap. My tire definitely blew. I park in the entrance to the Dolly Madison Bakery. Which is nothing like the Ashley Madison website, even though that’s instantly where my head goes (but more like, if Dolly Parton ran a sex site: big boobs and big hair and a lot of “howdy y’all!”).
While I stare at the sign that says “no parking between the hours of 7pm-6am,” I debate over just driving the rest of the way home on this flat. But upon inspection, and a quick dose of reality (no, Sammi. Flat tires can not be driven on), I called AAA for the third time in 2 months. They basically know me know.
“Are you in a safe place?” Well, I’m parked in front of a sexy bakery run by buxom blondes, so, I guess?
And then, at 7:30pm, the young man informs me that someone from Pop-A-Lock will be out in about 30 minutes. This is when I realize that my current outfit consists of a T-shirt, no bra (which is hardly a big deal, since I don’t have the boobs to work at Dolly Madison), and booty shorts. I had been painting all day, and before I left the house I thought, “it isn’t like anyone is going to see me.” What a foolish thought to have. No wonder why my tire blew!
Technology is pretty awesome. Where you once had to sit and wait and wonder when AAA would arrive, now you get a text from Mark at Pop-A-Lock, with a GPS tracker, so you can stalk him all the way to your location. Which is honestly helpful, because when the minivan pulls up next to you and you think, “this guy must be lost,” your GPS tracker points out that Mark is sitting 5 feet to your left.
Now, while keeping my Mom informed of everything going on (Justin was driving, and I try to limit texts to him while he drives, because I can be a bit of an obnoxious texter), she informs me that she thought my reference to Mark’s pop-a-lock shirt was some type of hip hop: pop and lock. Honestly, when things this ridiculous happen, you have to laugh. A lot. On the side of a road nicknamed “VD,” not just because it’s the initials for Victory Drive, but because you’re most likely to get a VD if you pick up a lady down that stretch of road (again, I’m still thinking about 2006 Victory Drive–your venereal disease chances are probably a little less likely now that there are fewer ladies on the corners).
Mark couldn’t do any hip hop dances. Although, maybe he could. I didn’t ask. Mark, can you pop and lock while you pop-a-lock. Or change my tire?
By 8:15, we were on our way back to Alabama. Let this be the first southern adventure (and the last adventure that requires AAA)!
