Two Divided by Zero

Woodstock is one of the most beautiful towns in the entire state of Vermont. It’s quaint, it’s perfect for antiquing and it’s … well, it’s idyllic. It is. You should go there.

But OMG, YOU GUYS. It is also home to a Mobil gas station where I witnessed an employee named Tanya exit the restroom after a lengthy stay (I was waiting desperately. Thanks, Tanya!) with an US Weekly in her hand, all wrinkly and pored over and dog eared. And then … and then she PUT IT BACK ON THE SHELF. Leah warned us of this behavior in bookstores a while back, where it’s bad enough, but at a GAS STATION ON ROUTE 4. NO. NO, TANYA. EW.

Also, why is Tanya wanting to take that much time in the gas station bathroom? I know she works there, but OMG, TANYA. SO GROSS. POOP AND RUN, TANYA.

Anyway, High School Musical was as advertised: Confusing, hilarious, a little bad and all around wonderful. I’m pulling an auntie and swearing that my nephews were the best actors in the whole bunch (THEY TOTALLY WERE) (AM NOT BIASED). Granted, it was a bit uncomfortable even for the brief hour we sat there, because we were crammed into seats designed for elementary schoolers. I guess I should be grateful that I didn’t have my dad’s seat, however, for apparently he was stuck next to a kindergartener with a flatulence problem.

“Her legs were up on the seat for maximum dispersion,” he shook his head sadly. “It got worse every time she sang along and I think the guy in front of us thought it was me.”

Nothing is worse than being accused of a fart you didn’t commit, I agree.

My dad also, by the way, in a futile effort to prove that he is still hip, defended against our assaults and announced Sunday morning that he knows PRECISELY who Angelina Jolie is, he just “can’t think of any of her songs right now, but I’ve heard her on the radio!”

For a few brief hours Saturday, my ATM card was AWOL, and I had absolutely no idea where I’d left it. Despite retracing my steps, I could NOT figure out where it could be (Trader Joe’s? The play?), and every second that I paused to think about it to say, tear apart my purse and/or car, my mother stood in the background piping up, “Ka-CHING! That’s someone using your card for illegal porn! CANCEL IT NOW! KA-CHING!” which resulted in my sister and me whining “Mo-OM! Sto-OP!” in tandem for the first time since we all lived under the same roof.

(“Ka-CHING!”)

(ARGH! Mo-OM!)

Incidentally, I’d left it at the Taco Bell drive-thru, a trip for post-baseball tacos for the kids that I’d forgotten I’d even MADE. Also, the manager almost didn’t give me the card back when I insisted that my name was Jonna R-, and he had a card for JOANNA R-, which of course he didn’t, he was simply reading it wrong. And what are the chances, Mr. Taco Bell Manager, that TWO Jonna/Joannas with the same not-totally-common last name left their Citizen’s Gold Mastercard CheckCard at the Taco Bell Drive-Thru that day? SERIOUSLY.

And with that, I’m exhausted and it’s almost time for bed. I like road-tripping by myself, if only so that I can stop to pee without any argument (“But you JUST WENT!”) and have the entire bag of Combos (Pizzeria Pretzel is my flavor) to myself. I can also blast whatever music I want, and play a little game with myself, wherein I refuse to skip any tracks unless they are TRULY abysmal, which meant I listened to the entire Pet Shop Boys’ album, Please, along with some ancient New Order and yes … John Cougar Mellencamp. I also wished more than once for a bullhorn so that I could announce “Yes, I have Florida plates, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive in Massachusetts! SO BACK OFF, ASSHOLE!”

(I still totally have Florida plates. And license. I have to fix it, I know.)

I hope you had a great weekend. Happy new week to you! Who’s excited for a week of boob-stabbing and (new!) gynecologists (who might have drugs and tests and help!)? WHOOO?

*PSB. From Please!

12 comments May 4th, 2008