So, I went to DC this past weekend to visit my BFF. We had planned a girls’ weekend, complete with hotel accommodations, swim-up bar with fruity beverages and plenty of books. And, most importantly, no (although I love them dearly as they are the light of my life) children. In fact, I didn’t plan to talk to my BFF at all. It was all about relaxing, reading and drinking fruity beverages. It was going to be heaven.
The trip started as it always does. Get on the turnpike. Head east. For 6 hours. Arrive at destination. Simple, right?
Not this time.
After about 5 minutes on the turnpike, we screech to a complete and utter stop. Nothing is moving. While waiting, I check my phone for Facebook updates. I update my Twitter status. I paint my nails. Nothing. I then notice some cars in front of me pulling a U-turn. On the turnpike. Where the sign clearly says, “No U-turn”. But, at this point, making the U-turn looks mighty appealing. I had to pee, it looked like there was no hope in sight of ever moving again. So… what did I do? I made the U-turn, you betcha. I'm craaaaaazzzzy! (Or? It never happened. You decide.)
40 minutes out of my way and I was back on the original route. I made my routine stop in Breezewood, PA for some gas for the car and snacks for me. Breezewood was swarming with motorcycles. They were like locusts, eating up all the available space. I stopped at one gas station, noticed the line was too long, so I inched my way back into traffic to hit the next gas station.
The light was red. I had gotten halfway out of the parking lot and into the street before I could move forward no further. And then the motorcycles came from out of nowhere and surrounded me. I was already halfway onto the street, but I inched forward a little more so the biker who had decided to cut me off could see that I was already there. His response?
“Don’t even think about it.”
Now I’m wondering where I could possibly go. I can’t go forward or this
So, I did what any
Me (in my sweet angelic voice): “Excuse me, sir. I was already here before you and your
Him (in his smoker’s gravelly voice): “So, hit me. You got insurance? Hit me.”
Me (with bluebirds tweet tweet tweeting in the background): “But, where am I supposed to go?”
Him (with George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone” playing from his bike radio): “Not my problem.”
Me (on the verge of sweet tears): “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful
Alas, the light turned green and the chivalrous biker let me out first. “After you,” he said, with a grand sweep of his arm.
I drove 2.2 inches from the driveway I was hanging out of into the next gas station driveway. (Or? It never happened.)
(I did learn later that the swarm of motorcycles was for an annual memorial ride to commemorate the 9/11 attacks. This guy sure did have a malevolent attitude for such a benevolent tribute. Idiot.)
And, because of all this, I hit DC just in time for rush hour. And a thunderstorm. And? I had to pee again.
But, the rest of the weekend was great and can be summed up like this:
- Overeating
- Meeting brother’s lady friend (I like her, which, of course, means it’s doomed)
- Unexpectedly spending a fun evening with an old high school friend
- Learning that President John Tyler has two living grandsons
- Wanting to punch sorority/bachelorette girls in the throat for being too loud at the hotel when all I wanted to do was read my book
- Actually punching sorority/bachelorette girls in the throat for being too loud at the hotel when all I wanted to do was read my book
- Remembering what it was like to be annoying while drunk on spring break (Spring Break ’99 – holla!)
- Wondering if we annoyed thirty-something-year-old mothers on a weekend away from their children
- Determining that no one goes to South Beach and expects quiet
- Reminding myself that I’m old
- Not going to jail
(Or? Did I?)
