So Sunday night Carlos had a gig in Bakersfield. Why on Earth they booked a gig that far away on a Sunday night I-do-not-know.
Thing is, he sucked me into going. Wednesday he says "hey babe (first sign one should run in the opposite direction, at high speeds) I got a gig Sunday night. I was thinking it would be perfect for you to go with me". A, ha. When he thinks it's perfect, I already know this is not a good thing. But being the sucker I am, I agreed to go.
Part of my wanting to go is that the gig was with a group where the female singer is married to the trumpet player and they're a great couple. I mean GAArate! She's pretty, he's good looking, they are both so down to earth, sweet, honest, wonderful people. You know, the kind that remember all your family's names three weeks after meeting them. Whoaaa...I almost thought I was talking about me! NOT.
Anyway, later on in the week Juan Carlos delivers the bad news that the gig is in Bakersfield but I've already committed to going so....it's a done deal.
We leave the house at about 7:15 p.m. and head out to Palmdale to drop off our 23 year old son who'd just spent the weekend with us, and will wait up for us to pick him up on our way home because, well, who wouldn't want to spend a week in the house of the insane? The gig is supposed to start at 10:00 p.m., a little late for me but I'll be darned if I'm gonna admit that to many people because the quiz I took on Facebook say's my real age is 39. It also said that if I were an instrument I'd be a clarinet and if I were a Barbie, I'd be "Trailer Park Barbie" (stupid test!). So now that I'm 39 and not 54, I'm in a real predicament. I'm almost forced to stay up late even if I do have to be up early in the morning.
So, as I was saying, we drop Matthew off in Palmdale and speed our crazy selves off to Bakersfield. It's dark, it's late, it's far and I'm dumb. I'm sitting there in the dark, listening to Salsa because Carlos is "getting into the mood", and I'm thinking, "what the heck was I thinking?". See, as soon as my loving husband said the gig was in Bakersfield, I knew why "it would be perfect for you to go". He didn't want wanna drive there and back alone. Well, can you blame him?
Ok, the trip takes about an hour and a half from Palmdale. We get there at 10:06 p.m. thinking everyone is waiting for Carlos. We grab our stuff (his stuff) and make a run for it. Walk through the door and down the hall to find the D.J. has everything under control...in his opinion. Again, I'm 39 so I'm not complaining BUT, if I were, it would be because the music was soooo loud, the D.J. was louder yet and at that time, there were only four couples on the floor. So glad we could haul...booty to get there on time. And I'm not exaggerating when I say loud. Seriously, I could feel my eardrums vibrating. I realize that, that is precisely what they're supposed to do in order for one to hear tones but for crying out loud, it felt like I was in the movie "Fantastic Voyage". If you've never seen it, you should, even if it's just for the laugh. When I was a kid and saw that movie (1966-11 years old...unless of course I was FB age)....ok, I'm getting off subject because...because I can.
Well, the fact of the matter is, if it took that long to get there and have our ear drums blown out, it's gonna take that much time to get home, right? So the gig is done and over at 1:15 a.m., Monday morning...and yes, we're still in Bakersfield. We high tail it out of there and about mid-point to Matthews in Palmdale we both start getting sleepy. I cant' fall asleep because I don't wanna die yet. If I fall asleep, Juan Carlos is going down with me, I'm sure of it. So after a while we stop at a truck stop and get some really bad, weak, watered down coffee. First sip and I know I'm making a mistake. Coffee makes me wanna tinkle. But you know, what else can we do? Wet pants or death? I'm opting for peepee pants...at the time.
We pick up Matt and it's my turn to drive. Of course the two of them, I know, are down for the count. So I gotta, somehow, make it home with bad coffee and peepee on my mind. All that way and no room in the car for the peepee dance. I'm getting desperate, almost at the point of rabid. It's "interesting" what a little night chill and coffee can do to a person.
10 minutes from the house and I'm sure I'm gonna go blazing mad. By this time Carlos is awake because he probably heard me gritting my teeth and the water sloshing around in my bladder. In fact, I think I had water coming outta my ears because suddenly the windshield is clean. He started to laugh but after one look from me, decided it wasn't such a good idea. He played it smart and tried to massage my neck, head, leg...anything to make up for the laugh but I'm not yet ready to forgive......Luckily for him we come upon a Denny's. I make a run for it...I'm not kidding either. I'd already undone my pants 45 miles back cause I'm thinking if I gotta jump, I'm jumping! I will not be caught with peepee pants. I get to the front door and take a quick breath, not to deep, it could be dangerous. I open the door and try to walk in as cool and casual as if it were a spring day in the park. That walk must have been one of the longest I've ever taken and all that's left to say is Thank you Denny, thank you!
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