Hi, 1979. Um...You Suck.

I went to the gas station today to fill 'er up, which means, I got three quarters of a tank of gas. I had cash with me and I couldn't pry more than $30 from my paws. I noticed that the person who had used my pump just before got five dollars in gas; a mere 1.2722 gallons of gas. When I got my license gas was seventy-four cents a gallon at Thornton's on Industrial Road. Don't believe me? Watch Die Hard. It was made in 1988. Look for the sign at the gas station. French toast! Here I go again. Acting all old and stuff. Last time I went to the movies I was appalled at the price of one ticket. I told the kid at the window, "You know when I was your age...." That's about as far as I got before she walked away.

I went inside to pay, because I could. Baby was with grandma and I didn't have to leave her in the car while I hung out inside the air conditioned gas station to cool off with in front of the beer cooler opening the door and fingering all my favorite six packs I never get to drink anymore. I glanced over and spotted the fountain drink machine. Ooh. I loves me some fountain drink. On my way over, I noticed this particular fountain offers a choice of fifteen different drink options. But right before you reach the counter, the sneaky little shop owner installed an Icee machine. Holy moly! I haven't had one of these since I don't know when. I got a small one, stuck my giant straw that's nearly as wide and tall as me into the cup and took a huge gulp. And boy...did it ever taste like yesterday's finished toilet paper roll. Good gravy. (If yesterday's post didn't tip you off, I've taken to replacing all swear words with food items. Think of it as culinary sabotage for baby.) I got up to the counter and said, "This isn't as good as I remember it being when I was a kid." The woman said, "It's better with vodka." I'm sure it is. I told her I'd pay for it but that I couldn't drink it and went and got a fountain Mug root beer instead. She was very nice. Didn't make me pay for the Icee. I wanted to tell the woman that one day I'd most likely be back with a child who would be screaming her head off to have one of those Icees and for her to please remind me it's better with vodka then, too.

On my way to pick baby up from grandma's, I drove on the highway behind a Blazer with its back window rolled down. (I didn't know they still designed them that way, so I'm thinking it was about as old as it looked.) Five kids were piled in the back, without seat belts, jumping around and waving to cars. Good gourd, people! Have you no sense? My cousins and I did this when we were kids, reenacting murder scenes we'd planned out for the cars driving behind us. My aunt had something with a hatchback. Was it a station wagon? I can't remember. Anyhoo, we'd stab each other and fall over and then crawl around to change positions for our new characters. I'm sure it wasn't the least bit distracting for my aunt and uncle, and whoever was driving behind us. What did we know? It was before 1980, when the world was just lucky to still be populated.