Love, Jimmie

This past weekend I went to visit a college friend.  Her name is Katarina Carmen Maria Rosa del Playa Garcia Patel Suarez.  I call her Bird for short.  We plan these trips every year but only make it once every seven years which is just awful.  Anyway, it was a short-ish trip, but while I was on that trip, I remembered some pertinent information that is important and felt I needed to share with you. 

You NEVER give me the map 

A few years ago, Phranke and I were on a trip in which we rented a car. She was the driver and I was the GPS.  Unlike a real GPS who can talk to you in various sexy voices and give you proper directions, I just felt like we could guess which roads went south, follow those, and eventually end up on Highway 1, which is exactly where we needed to be.  I folded up the map and tucked it away.  Clearly that was a dumb idea and Phranke, who nearly had apoplexy, told me to get that map right back out and get us where we needed to go.  So I did except I never told her I could barely read the stupid thing and kept yelling out directions like, “Turn here!” and “Yes, this is the one!”

This trip I thought I would be all crafty and use MapQuest to get my directions.  No map for me!   I would get written instructions to get me there.  I got Bird’s address, found the directions to her house, and printed them off.  Then I shut off my computer, packed up my four bags of crap that I take to work every day and took off, leaving my map on the printer.  I got all the way to the garage before I realized it, so I went back up to the 5^th floor and got the map off the printer.  At that time, I realized that only the map part printed, not the written directions.  (Plus, MapQuest sucks and rarely gets the directions right so I’m totally a smart cookie for using it so faithfully.) 

I took my fuzzy map and hit the road, remembering from seven years ago how to sort of get there.  She only lived 30 minutes from our college town and I definitely remember how to get there, so I reckoned I was alright.

It wasn’t until I was an hour past Bowling Green that she called and said, “Where are you?” and then explained gently to me that I had missed my turn 60 miles ago.  I only arrived two hours later than I had planned.  Yay! 

Kentucky is the Bourbon State

While I was lost in the middle of Kentucky, I saw the strangest thing.  Flashing red lights and glow-in-the-dark stripes ahead of me, moving rhythmically and steadily down the road.  I saw a ton of those things and then realized they were runners, running in the dark at 10:30 pm.  These people were machines.  Steady pace, no floundering, no walking, like automatons.  So of course I called Bird and asked her what the frick was going on because I had seen thousands of these people.  Literally, thousands. Turns out it was the Bourbon Relay in which participants run a 200 mile course for Bourbon.  I assume some charities were involved but the focus was primarily the alcohol.  If they would come to Nashville they would learn that they only have to run three miles for beer.  Sheesh. 

Kentucky is also a Tobacco State 

I stopped at a convenient store on my way, and that store was way out in the boonies.  Can you believe that they still sell candy cigarettes?  I was shocked!  Never mind that those were my favorite candy as a kid. Those and the wax coke bottles that you could chew on for hours.  There’s no accounting for children’s taste.

I have a love/hate relationship with 80’s music 

Every morning I would come down the stairs and pile up in the bed with Bird and watch 80s videos on VH1.  (Don’t ask me where her husband Hank was.  I have no idea.  I’m pretty sure he did not sleep the entire time I was there.  I just don’t get that.)  That music defined me and I am mortified to admit that.  Have you heard some of that crap?  Bobby Brown’s original boy band?  Red Sky at Night?  And the videos?  My word, we have improved.  Yet we were compelled to watch every single video that came on and could sing nearly every word. 

I luff my friend Bird

Part of the reason for my insisting on a visit is that a few months ago, Bird fell into a coma for three weeks.  It was medical and it was scary and we probably came closer to losing her than we know.  I won’t dwell on that, mostly because I cannot.  She’s fine now, just has to change a few things, but overall, she’s doing alright. It gives me great pleasure to report that.  The only difference I saw was that her used-to-be super curly hair is now practically stick straight and as soft as a baby’s rear end.  I love how we have not changed a single iota since college.   

While I’m on the subject, I’d like to tell my friends that if you want me to come spend the night with you, all you have to do is ask.  We don’t need to be all dramatic like Pee-tah and his appendicitis and Bird and her coma.  Seriously, I’ll come.  Just ask.

Thank you, Bird and Hank for a fantastic weekend.  Thank you Hank, for cooking us breakfast.  I’m not sure that anything like that has ever happened to me.  It was so nice.