what i will not post about NOW UPDATED with violence and bazooms!

I will not post about not having anything to post about on my blog.

I will not post about not having anything to post about on my blog.

I will not post about not having anything to post about on my blog.

I will absolutely not post about not having anything to post about on my blog, even though it has been four days since I posted, and I have to go on a day road trip tomorrow and the air conditioning is broken in the car, and Sophie always gets car sick when she gets too hot, so there’s possibly, probably, puke in our future, but we’ve got the last Harry Potter read by the amazing Jim Dale on CDs from the library, so maybe it won’t all completely suck balls.  We can always hope.  Therefore I will not post about not having anything to post about on my blog.  Instead I will post about hope.


UPDATE: Sunday, post trip….

SO.  Google maps on Paul’s iphone sent us on all the back roads to the coast, but that was okay because we like seeing all the old towns and the beautiful historic districts tucked away at the center of all the stupid strip malls.   Paul says he’s going to write an app that syncs with the maps-app to bring up little historical information nuggets as you drive past cool places.  “And then,” he said, “it could read it all out-loud to you in a nice voice.”

“Don’t you have a wife who does that for you?” I said.

He frowns.  “Depends on how tractable she’s feeling.  An app I can turn on and off.”

Oh, ha ha.  Very funny.

Did you know there is a whole chain (do you call it a chain?) of churches called COWBOY CHURCH??  I swear, its true.  I don’t really know what to make of this.  Is it that some people are living the story of cowboy life so deeply that it appeals to them to have that flavor/metaphor/set dressing in all that they do?  Could there be Steampunk Church?  Or Church for Singles?  Or Yurt Church?  Or something?  Maybe those already exist.  I have to admit Cowboy Church sounds fun, even though I have no idea what it means.  I wonder if you get to handle snakes?

Just one of the many interesting things we saw on this journey.

ANYWAY.  What I really wanted to tell you is how we pulled into this tiny po-dunk gas station in a run down town that google thought we should drive through, and Paul hops out to buy some ice for packing around our overheated selves, hops out and dissappears into the store while the kids and I are sitting in the car, dying of heat—when suddenly, I become aware that this huge dark-skinned dude is walking towards our car shouting the worst stream of horrible swear words I have ever heard directed at another human.  Uh-oh.  I spin around in my seat to see who he’s yelling at and see a woman in short shorts and a scowling expression, and SHE starts shouting back, a horrible string of words describing how horrible he is in exact and vicious terms.  Another man in flip flops and a pair of cut off sweat pants is walking away from her and another woman with gigantic, and I mean gigantic, bazooms barely contained by a straining halter top, is walking towards him, also swearing but muttering instead of shouting.

In other words, Sophie and Luc and I are sitting in our car, surrounded on all sides by tremendously angry, swearing people with hate in their eyes and bolts of boiling rage surging out of their shifting eyes.  I mean, I’ve got nothing against some good swearing, but this was pure meanness pointed at other people.  It felt horrible and scary to be in the center of it.

But before my brain has even gotten through the shock of this first part, the big dude has reached sweat pants man, where he takes hold of the guy’s head and bashes it into the back of an old Chevy parked there at one of the gas pumps.  Sweat pants dude starts screaming more horrible words and bleeding all over the place, while short short woman starts crossing the parking lot, shouting and waving her arms—

–all while Paul, oblivious, chats with the register guy.  I can see them through the glass door.  I’m totally freaking out.  I want to get Paul, but I don’t want to get out of the car and step into the conflict, much less leave the kids out there by themselves.  I want to drive the fuck away, but I can’t leave Paul behind.  I want Paul to hurry the fuck up, but he seems to be in some slow-mo mode, probably lingering in the air conditioning. I try waving at him through the glass, but the motion gets the attention of the big guy who is now stalking off behind the station, and I want to throw myself down over the kids for cover.

A cop car comes slamming into the parking lot and a young white cop hops out, not closing his door, lights flashing.  Short short woman has gotten a wet rag from somewhere and is pressing it against Sweat Pants’ head wound.  Big Bazooms has disappeared along with Head Basher, and finally Paul comes sauntering out.

“GO, GO, GO!!!!” I’m shouting as Paul gets into the car.  I mean clearly the conflict was over at that point, but my adrenaline is at maximum and we’ve GOT TO GET OUT OF THERE NOW NOW NOW.

Paul pulls out and is a bit…underwhelmed by my frantic description of what just went down.  The kids don’t have much to add and I realize they hadn’t really been paying attention.  Telling my story, wild eyed and still looking around, as if Head Basher or Big Bazooms are going to pop out and attack our moving vehicle, I realized I looked a little…crazy.  Like, did this whole thing really happen?  Surely I’m exaggerating a little?  I have been known to do that.

But no!  I’m not some hysterical woman!  This really happened, there were large angry people spewing verbal death rays at each other!  Actual heads were bashed!  Blood was spilt!  Shorts were short!

Nothing more happened.  We drove on.  The ice was nice.  We listened to Harry Potter.  Our lives were innocent and pleasant, despite the heat.  None of us had any desire to eviscerate anyone with enraged words or violence.  After all that fear I felt so…weird.  Sad?  Those poor people.  I mean, they were having a really bad day.  B. A. D.  We were just hot.

So.  That happened.

The moral: Beware google maps.  It shows you things.

4 thoughts on “what i will not post about NOW UPDATED with violence and bazooms!

  1. Shannon

    If you haven’t left already. Take a small cooler with ice in it. Put wet bandannas on ice. Tie one around Sophie’s neck and change out as needed. That should help. Does me. 🙂

  2. Michele

    When people are angry, even if it’s not directed at me, I want the earth to swallow me up or discover I have the power of invisibility. It causes me such anxiety! I would have been wild-eyed and frantic right there with you.

    On the note of Cowboy churches, I clicked over to their website and noticed they had a link where one could “Become a Partner.” Hmmm, shouldn’t it be, “Become a Podnah”? Just a thought.

  3. Tracie

    ROFL>> and hurting.. I tell ya you have the best true stories EVER.. Phew my sides are hurting..
    I AM VERY happy however that you only got to witness The Event and not get sucked or pulled or pushed.. or tugged or .. any thing else..into The Event.

    Good idea for staying in car…
    on a side note……
    You can always come back for Paul…
    (great names by the way!!)

    1. maya Post author

      Glad you’re laughing Tracie, don’t injure yourself!
      I know, Michele, I feel the same way. I’ve got to remember that my kids probably feel that way when I lose my temper, too.


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