or, 85 Miles in 3 Hours: Thank God for Donuts
The past couple days have been kind of crazy, lots of wacky things happening, sending my emotions bouncing around like one of those 25 cent bouncy balls you buy in the machines at K-Mart.
Starting at the beginning, Sunday afternoon I started gearing up for March Madness with some Kentucky beer cheese and bagel chips. The perfect snack for Easter, wouldn't you say? I settled in to my bed and watched North Carolina take down Wisconsin. A born Tarheel, I was pretty happy with the win, but I was really holding out for the BIG game, the one with my beloved Wildcats. UK went head to head with the Spartans of Michigan State, and if you saw the game you'll agree it was a great match-up.
I hunkered down with my sushi (a Rainbow Roll and a combo California/Spicy Tuna Roll, in case you were wondering. And yes, it's a perfect Easter dinner) to watch Central Kentucky's most popular religion. Tubby's diciples hit the hardwood with some beautiful shots and tremendous effort. All I have to say is: A) There was no reason for all the hub-bub surrounding that exquisite Patrick Sparks Three Pointer at the buzzer. B) Why didn't any refs call the foul on that shot, either? C) As heartbreaking as it was to lose out after a double overtime, UK has a very young team and there's no doubt Big Blue will do incredibly next year.
But Michael, thanks for the condolences.
Sunday night I left Lexington at around 10:30 PM to make it into work at midnight (yep, Spydrz, I'm still making the commute. But it's almost over!). The night was thick and black, and all of Central Kentucky was buttoned down for a veritable monsoon of a storm. And there I was, making the 85 mile trek north on Interstate 75. I was cruising down Lexington's Main Street when I hit a Grand Canyon of a pothole. The shock was so bad I practically heard the bolts flying off my bucket.
I kept motoring on and made it about 20 miles north of Lexington when I heard it. The thud-thud-thud of a flat tire.
I pulled over, pouring rain washing over my once dirty windshield, and did the only thing I knew to do: Call 911.
I started freaking out in the meantime, waiting for my knight in shining armour (or at least a cruiser with shiny lights) but was calmed and occupied by a great set of CDs I just had sent to me.
The State Police sent a Scott County Sheriff's Deputy to me, who apologized when he told me he couldn't change the tire himself. Something about workers comp. laws. The deputy was kind enough to offer to stay behind me with the lights on so other drivers wouldn't hit me, and he called for a wrecker to get my tire changed.
About 45 minutes later a little guy in a gray hooded sweatshirt showed up to do the job. His eyebrow and lip piercings were quite a contrast to me in my wool JCrew sweater and brown, wooden soled clogs.
The whole little fiasco cost me about an hour and 45 bucks from my Fun Fund.
I motored on in the damp of night when I hit my second snag.
See, Ghetto Jetta hates it when her clutch gets wet. She can drive slowly around town when Noah's cruisin' in his ark, but fast on the interstate, fuggetaboutit.
I ended up driving most of the remainder of the trip at 45 miles an hour Interstate 75. A few times I pulled over to give the car a chance to dry out, tapping my clutch while waiting, but the car only really picked up speed once the rain slowed down a bit.
I made it to work in one piece and am back to commuting. The whole move takes place Saturday, so I'm looking for a few strong arms to help out. Sorry I've been gone for a while, I hope that doesn't mean I've been forgotten! I hope the long post makes up for it.
Next up, I'll fill you in on my new apartment.