Sometimes when the phone rings you just have to answer it, you know? It might be a long lost friend inviting you over for cocktails and a cheese tray with that kind of cheese you’re too scared to buy at the grocery store because you think it might be the bad stinky kind of queso.
Sometimes it’s the good stinky type of molded mass of pressed curds so take a chance once in a while.
Last week during my giveaway (whose idea came to me in a flash and within minutes of posting I had three people emailing me offering me MORE STUFF) I realized that I needed to slow down, embrace my inner 1985, and groove out with some Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam. That’s a pretty good destination for one of many Happy Places. Last night I had to go there again after getting worked up about this stupid makeover series (not ONE Black woman! Hey, NBC! DO YOU EVEN KNOW ANY BLACK WOMEN?). The whole thing irritated me enough to write them last night. Again. Do you suppose they have me on some list where when I write them they stop the office, invite everyone into the conference room, and laugh and jeer at my email which they display on the wide-screen while yelling, “Oh! There she goes again! Ha ha ha! Man. She’s SO stupid.” ? Do you? I am sort of hoping they do.
I’m looking at you, too, ABC. Your GMA track on “the worst hair in America” featured four women, three of whom were ethnic and had frizzy hair who needed to be fixed by straightening their hair. That’s THE WORST HAIR? That’s YOUR SOLUTION?
Well, thanks.
I don’t know where I get that complex about my hair. NO. CLUE.
Let’s move on because I could talk hair all day and there’s free gas to give away and I’m getting so worked up again that I am heading to the corner of my closet to rock myself in the fetal position as I chew on my hair and listen to Lisa Lisa croon at me some more.
Complete aside here (yes, I’m taking full advantage of my Close Proximity ADHD) (there is no medicine I could take to help with this) (you either think this is annoying or charming and I like how you’re thinking!): I loved all those comments from yesterday and I didn’t get to read all of them until just now because yesterday was such a busy day.
I’ve just now
1) chosen a category for this post
2) hit “Save”
3) hit “Preview this Post” and read it aloud to myself
4) wondered if anyone thinks that I’m taking my granny’s prescription medication because I sound completely whacked out
You still with me? Good, because I want some good comments today after last week’s “Hi! Enter me!” ones left me feeling sunk. How will I ever visit all those blogs? I don’t have time to change my own sheets right now.
Another aside: thanks, Mom, for coming over to cook last night and thanks for the plantains you’re going to cook for me today. (I hope you remembered)
Let’s get to gas, shall we? I figured I could make some fart jokes since the inner adolescent boy in me can’t stop letting one go near my kids and then swiftly leaving the room OR simply uttering, “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry for this.” and letting them discover on their own that I busted a grumpie.
It’s hard to make fart jokes when there is the seriousness of premium petrol to be discussed. I’ll break down my test driving of the Premium 93 Invigorate from BP for you by giving a glimpse of what my brain did.
First, the gray matter was just excited to get some gas for free. Then, it wondered if the “truck light” (that’s what my car is classified as, though I’d just call it a “small SUV”) would reject good gasoline since it’s been drinking the cheap Kool-Aid for so long. Finally, it let in some memories of when I first got my driver’s license in and we all remember what that was like.
You must prove to the world entire that you can drive fast and also like an idiot, preferably at the same time.
The idiot driving notwithstanding, I was on highway 55 right outside of Chicago when I decided to floor it and pass several cars (right before all the construction, I swear) (there is an abundance of parenthetical statements today for which I’m truly sorry). Normally, Trudy (that’s my car’s name) sounds like the tranny’s dropping and she takes her time to actually speed up but this time SHE KICKED INTO GEAR AND STRETCHED HER LEGS.
“Nu uhhhh” I said to my mom who was in the passenger seat. “Did you feel that?”
“Yeah. That didn’t do that thing it normally does.”
So, you see? I had a witness and she makes fantastic fried plantains so you must believe her even if you’re skeptical about me.
The point is this: it was a really smooth drive and I could actually FEEL a difference in Trudy. It’s like using cheap shampoo your entire life and then trying out something with some conditioner and your hair feels better. As a performance result, yes, the BP Invigorate worked much better on my car and I don’t need to get technical in explaining that my driving experience was good while using it.
God love you if you’re still reading and also if you’ve picked up your phone book to find me some psychiatric help after this post, but you probably want some free gas from BP, so here’s what you have to do:
Take me back to the 80s and leave me a comment about your favorite songs from way back in the day because I’m looking for music to introduce to my teenage sons who haven’t experienced such magnificent music.
Four winners will be chosen to get $25 Gas Cards from BP and I will mail them out next week so you can remember your teenage driving days.
I hope your car has a name. If she does (like ships, cars to me are all girls) let me know her name, too.
(How did I start out writing this about answering phone calls and move on to cocktails and end up with music from the 1980s? It’s a mystery, I tell you.)
*Comments Closed! Good Luck!*