You know how when you’re on the way to the work joint and you’re just not feeling it and you wish you didn’t stop and get that breakfast taco because now you’re going to be all gassy when you get there and you have run out of co-workers to blame because they’re on to your game and your crap and you’re like all, “Damn…wish I had a colorful post it note so I could jot down a reminder to myself to not forget to actually get out of the car when I get there.”
And then there is the time you’re feeling all hippy-ish and Woodstock-y and you’re donning your best pair of bell-bottoms and you find yourself belting out “FREEDOM IS JUST ANOTHER WORD FOR NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE!” with Janis Joplin on an oldies radio station and you hate the fact that you’re old enough to actually BE listening to anything classified as an “oldies” station, but you have to admit there are days when Janis, Jimi, Jefferson Airplane, The Doors, The Who and the BeeGees are needed?
And you wonder if you’re the only person alive that loves that generation of tunes and all the peace signs and smiley faces that go with it?
(But not the armpit hair.)
(And I get it. The BeeGees aren’t hippy-ish OR Woodstock-y, but I love me some “J-J-J-Jiiiiiive Talkin” and secretly you do, too.)
And what about when you’re on your way home from the hair salon from getting your wig trimmed and your driving along in your car and your hair is wet because you’re too cheap to pay to have it styled because you’re not going anywhere anyway so you can just do it yourself at home for free because you like the way you do it better than the way anyone else does it so why pay when you’re not going to like it anyway? And you start hoping and praying you don’t get stopped because you’re going well beyond the posted speed limit with a wet head and then you start getting nervous because, well…WHAT IF ZOMBIES START CHASING YOU AND YOUR WIG IS WET AND YOU’VE NEVER REALLY HEARD HOW ZOMBIES REACT TO WET WIGS??
Again. Again. Voila. Voila.
So, thank you Austin drivers.
I curse you every day of my life while sitting on your parking lots you refer to as freeways.
But it’s because of you I can make myself a reminder to dry my wig when I get home while feeling perfectly at home crooning “Coo, coo-cachoo, Mrs. Robinson…” and not be concerning myself with Zombies.
And what they think about wet wigs.
Yep. Uh, huh.
All this is real.
Tooken (or taken…not sure which), by me.
(I know there’s no such word as ‘tooken’.)
(Or is there?)
In my car.
On Austin streets.
(You wanted to go there, I know.)
(You sure there’s no ‘tooken’?)
(I kinda like it.)
(So, as of today…it’s a word.)