Right Now

I’m sitting in my bunk on orange sheets typing with the Hold Steady running through my head, and my roommate is blasting Jesus music while on the phone with “Bree”.  Yeah. 

Into You Like A Malibu

So, today I caused an accident.  And not in a cutesy “I’m so hot that when I walk down the street, cars slam into each other while trying to get a look at me” way, but in an “idiotically and blatantly turning out in front of someone” way that will get you near T-boned.  I don’t really want to talk about it, mostly because I’m embarassed and heartbroken because my beloved car is probably totaled through my own damn stupidity.  All I really want to say is that whenever I think about it, my mind automatically pictures the last panel of this.

Pedals

If I were to make a list of things I love to do, which, let’s face it, I’ll probably get around to one of these days, driving might very possibly be atop said list.  I cannot explain to you the way I feel in a driver’s seat.  I love the total control I have and the idea that in a moment I will be speeding along with my hand out the window and the wind in my hair.  I remember thinking shortly before I got my license that I would miss being driven around all the time, miss staring out the window at the world passing me by.  All I have to say to my 17 year old self is: Fuck no, girl.  I’d much rather pass the world by now.  I am a chronic speeder and make no apologies for it, although sometimes I need help in getting all the people out of my way (hence the highway boyfriend, because when people don’t get out of my way, I develop ridiculous road rage and spew curses at old men in hats.  I’ve been working on not riding people’s asses this summer.  Really.  No, I swear.)  ANYWAY, as you may have heard, I went to New York for a week, and when I got back, I found that my darling little 1990 Honda Accord had been decked out with a new stereo.  While all of you out there are sitting there rolling your eyes and saying “Pshhhh, 1990 Honda Accord?  With no radio or stereo?  Whatever, broke-ass”, let me just assure you that, while I am a broke-ass, Shonda is a hand-me-down car that I proudly drive as the third Rinehart owner and operator.  And my sister broke the radio.  So there.  So this whole “music whil I’m driving” thing is new territory to me, and at one point I stupidly thought driving could get no better and I can’t believe past me could not have imagined this.  Driving + music= sheer paradise.  There is nothing that will ever measure up to speeding down Riverside to John Mayer Trio, or rolling down Needmore at sunset listening to “Chinatown Bus”.  I’ve been able to discover and re-discover some of my favorite bands simply by popping in their CD and listening to it on the rides to and from work.  And I’ve developed this little habit, usually late at night on the way back from work, where I get the urge to just drive fast.  i make a loop down Siebenthaler, through DeWeese, and up Riverside to Siebenthaler again, and then home.  Some nights it’s mostly because I simply am not done driving yet and still feel the need to be out of the house, speeding.  But mostly, lately, it’s been the need to listen to more Craig Finn or Regina Spektor or whoever.  And I’d be lying if I told you I’d never taken an extended driving session through downtown while absolutely wailing along to Jewel.  Not that that’s embarrassing or anything!  Right.  So.  Bonus!  As if I didn’t love music enough, it also is like a little tell-tale sign that my period’s coming soon.  When you tear up at the sound of “I’m Your Man” by Wham! and the title Anyone in Love With You (Already Knows) all withing three days?  You generally know what’s up.  Naturally, this all happens days before I depart for Florida and the beach.  And I won’t even have the consolation of driving and blaring my music all the way there to comfort my cranky ass.