So last night, well, yesterday afternoon, I went to visit my cousin and his wife. So I start out okay, with my cute little GPS taking me along the highway to his place. And I go to shift lanes, to get from one highway to another.
There's my first problem. It seems that every time a guy driving a minivan encounters a girl driving a red sports car, he finds that he has something to prove. And this guy was no different. He was next to me, in the lane I needed to get in. Every time I sped up to pass him, he sped up too. Every time I slowed down to get behind him, he slowed down too. After doing this for a minute or two, I got bored. So I decided "Hey. I'm an annoying teenage girl in an annoying red car." And hit the gas. And left Mr. Minivan behind. So I got to my cousin's just fine.
On the way home, the darling GPS decided it didn't want to go on the highway. Instead, it took me deep into downtown Cleveland. At night. And then, into the most sketchtasticly shady neighborhood as I tried finding my way back to Suburbia. It flat out refused to take me to the freeway. So I puttered along in my twelve year old sports car, in a very frightening place, alone, at night. Shrinking into my very little self. I sing when I'm nervous, and I was pretty much belting out Boys Like Girls' entire "Love Drunk" album.
At one point, this guy was crossing the street, jaywalking, duh, 'cause he's that gangsta, and he waves to his buddy on the other side of the street. What happens next? Oh, his pants met the ground. Got very personal with the ground, if you ask me. He was wearing orange and red plaid boxers, if you're interested.
But I made it home okay. It took me a while, and I'm slightly scarred from the experience, but I made it. And then I went to a bonfire. Which was made in a grill. It was fun though.
Heart, me.
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