Shelle Edit: Nitebyrd rocks. She is always giving me ideas and definitely sends me fun stuff like this that makes my day. But every time she emails me, it's the quote at the end of her email that I love the the most... "I want to live my life in such a way that when my feet hit the floor in the morning, Satan shudders and says, "Oh! Sh*t! She's awake!"
We all crave a little excitement in our lives. You know, just something that makes your heart pump faster, something to give you a little shiver up the spine, every once in awhile. Am I right? Yes, you know I am. But no one needs the heart stopping excitement of facing death every time they go to the mall or to grandma’s house. This kind of thrill is detrimental to one’s health and I had it every time I got in the car with my husband driving.
Let me tell you that he hasn’t ever been (knock wood) in an accident, nor has he ever caused one (thank the Gods) but the man only knows how to drive offensively. The car becomes a heat seeking missile, locked on target the moment he turns the key. Nothing will deter the vehicle from arriving at its appointed destination at maximum velocity. Gotta pee? Hold it until the car needs gas (Even driving 24 hours to New York!). Car sick? Lean out the window. And DON’T puke on the car! Sightsee? Catch a glimpse of it as we speed by at 90 mph. The man is single minded when it comes to driving. He would have made an expert getaway driver for bank robbers.
For many, actually too many, years, I let him drive if we were going someplace. I apparently have a masochist streak that I didn’t realize. Every time we were going to travel this song would run through my mind ~
Ground control to Major Tom, Ground control to Major Tom:
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on
Ground control to Major Tom: Commencing countdown engine's on
Check ig-nition and may God's love be with you
(Space Oddity by David Bowie)
And once we got on the road, it was this song ~
No stop signs, speed limit
Nobody's gonna slow me down
Like a wheel, gonna spin it
Nobody's gonna mess me round
Hey Satan, payin' my dues
Playing in a rocking band
Hey Momma, look at me
I'm on my way to the promised land
I'm on the highway to hell ...
(Highway To Hell by AC/DC)
No matter what was on the radio, I heard AC/DC. Every. Single. Time.
I HATE the way he drives. I’ve rubbed St. Christopher off two medals, cracked a bone in my hand from grasping the console during close calls, have a bone spur in my heel from smashing my foot to the floor braking with no brake and a pinched nerve in my leg from bracing as we sped down highways and byways over the years. Finally, I refused to get in the car if he was driving because my panic attacks became so bad I thought I was having heart attacks.
My decision caused quite a few arguments but he realized, I wasn’t giving in and taking two cars everywhere was stupid. He, of course, HATES the way I drive and is very vocal about it but since I don’t have Bon Scott screaming in my head anymore, I listen to the radio or whatever happens to be going on in my brain and tune his complaints right out. This makes driving much more pleasant and less like looking into the face of firey annihilation when going to the grocery store.
Nitebyrd--(Not Always Safe For Work) She has also posted HERE, HERE, and HERE for us!
1 week ago