So you know how last week I was all like, "I can't believe I never blogged about that horrible experience where we almost died..." Well now I can. (Believe it, not die. I mean I guess technically I could die at any moment, but that's morbid and also irrelevant.) I was reminded this weekend of how when something sucks really bad, my natural reaction is to avoid thinking or talking about it at all costs, not to sit down and think about how to put a witty and lighthearted spin on it for the reading pleasure of 45 of my closest friends. (Ooooh, selfish! That's a Hail Mary.*)
ANYWAY, Sarah and I almost died on our drive home. Ugh, even now, a week later, I feel it - the feeling that I DO NOT WANT TO TALK OR THINK ABOUT IT because it sucked so bad. But I will because I love you guys and also I sorta feel like there's no point in going through a horrible experience if no one gets the chance to laugh about it and thank God they're not you.
We usually go down through New Mexico to get home, but Raton Pass closes at the drop of a hat** so we decided to go out east to Lamar and then down 287 from there. The drive to Amarillo usually takes six hours; it took us nine and a half GRRRAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHFORTHELOVEOF - sorry. It's still kind of a touchy subject. Everything was fine until we got to Lamar and suddenly it looked like someone had spilled four inches of cement all over the road, except that it WASN'T cement, it was solid ICESONNNNOFAAAAA - excuse me. And the only way to not die was to keep a steady pace of about twenty miles an hourWHYYYYYYYYYYYYUUUHHHHHHHHH and that didn't stop until we got to OklahomAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHH.
Now I'd like to take a moment to make a public apology to the state of Oklahoma. I couldn't be more sorry for all the mean things I've said about you in my life. That joke about how you're the reason Texas doesn't float off into the Gulf of Mexico because you suck...that was just cruel. I never would have repeated it if I'd known you then the way I know you now. Like a freshly laundered blanket still warm from the dryer, you were there for me when I needed you most and I shall never forget your kindness.
And now for the lighthearted part! At one point during the drive, Sarah got yelled at by a cop dressed like a Canadian Mountie. We came upon a jackknifed semi in the middle of downtown Springfield, CO. The southbound lane was completely obstructed, so the semi in front of us just rolled right over the four-foot pile of snow in the median and started driving the wrong way on the northbound side to go around the accident. We followed suit, operating under the assumption that since this guy drives trucks for a living, this must be the customary method of dealing with a situation such as this one.
Apparently the police officer on the scene did not agree. He got out of his truck, slammed the door and started yelling at the truck driver so forcefully that his feet were coming off the ground. Then he turned and headed toward our car. Sarah rolled down her window and he yelled at her in a similar manner, violently motioning to the five or six cars that had followed us into the wrong lane and blaming her only slightly less than the first guy who did it. She turned on her how-could-you-yell-at-me-I'm-just-a-small-innocent-child face and muttered an appropriately shame-ridden apology. I was afraid for a moment that she might cry, but as soon as he stomped out of earshot, she shrugged her shoulders, threw them deuces up and drove away, eyes gleaming with ferocious triumph at having avoided getting stuck behind that truck for who knows how long, or as I like to think of it, a nightmare within a nightmare.
And that is what happened. Now please don't ever make me talk about it again.
*You might not know that I was raised Catholic. In the Catholic church, when you go to confession, it's customary for the priest to assign you a certain number of prayers as penitence for your sins, so I developed a running joke with my friend where anytime I did anything bad, she'd lick her finger and draw an imaginary line in the air and say, "That's a Hail Mary." If what I did was really bad, she'd lick all ten of her fingers at once and give me ten tally marks. IT WAS FUNNY.
**A hat, fifteen feet of snow...same diff.
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