Thursday, March 02, 2006

Hybrid Holla

Sorry I haven't updated in a couple of days. I've been....busy. And muy distracted. So here is (belatedly) the story of my trip home from Dantobindantobin's 30th birthday party. First of all, the thought of going to Dorchester (Dot) made me giddy inside. I'd never been there, although I've lived in Boston for about eight years. Eight years ago, if Dan Tobin was having a 30th birthday party in Dorchester I still would have gone, but I would have worn sexy kevlar and packed some heat. Yay for gentrification! The Trifecta was on the scene: Ninja Sloth, Fashion Explosion Emily, and Warrior Steve. On the way there, as we drove through every single neighborhood in Boston in vain attempts to find the mythical land of Dot, Warrior Steve expressed a great deal of interest in Emily's hybrid car, from which emerged this fascinating bit of foreshadowing: "Yeah, I love only filling the gas tank once a week but the problem with it is that if you leave anything on even for a short time - headlights, wipers, whatever - the car dies really fast." After a somber, "Hmmm, really..." we promptly forgot this vital, potentially life-saving piece of information. Toonces: our designated driver. After driving (unnecessarily) through the Back Bay, Jamaica Plain, Beacon Hill, Ontario, and Nevada, we finally found Dot. Thepartywasgreat, icecreamcake, drunkDanTobin, etc. Oh, and there was this cool music remote control gadget thing that I wish I could explain better but it confused and intimidated me and also Warrior Steve hogged it the whole time. So then it was time to go home. In the horizontally blowing snow. And off we went, the Trifecta, pleased with successful party attendance and fortified with sushi and cashews. Did I mention the horizontal snow? The magical realm of Dot where feeling sad will cause you to sink into the mud with your horse and die. Driving down a busy road, Toonces was momentarily distracted and the stupidfuckinghybrid hit a stupidfuckingcurb and got a stupidfucking flat. It was scary and we were nearly hit by a bus. Toonces pulled over and faster than Emily and I could say "Where's the AAA card?" Warrior Steve was leaping out the door into a) traffic and b) horizontal snow with a casual, "I'll change the tire, it'll just take a minute." After a brief discussion about the so-not-obsoleteness of men and how feminism can go fuck itself when there's a flat tire involved, Emily went to join Warrior Steve and help him by hollering girlish words of encouragement into the driving wind, leaving me in the car. With the radio on. And the headlights on. And the wipers on. Warrior Steve changed that tire, alright. Oh, he sure did. And fast too! Maybe 10 minutes? Juuuuuuuuuust enough time for the stupidfuckinghybrid to turn into a worthless pile of dark, silent metal, mocking us. No, really, there was mocking. (Gutteral voice) "Looks like the triiiiiiifecta is triiiiiiiiifuckeda...." So. Driving snow, dead car. Emily, nearly hit by another bus, was attempting to flag down passing drivers with the power of her sexy fuzzy hat, which wasn't working because said hat was covered in 10 inches of snow. No one stopped. No one. Until, FINALLY, thank the baby Jesus, three gigantic black men smoking blunts in a stolen car decided to help us out. This was right about the time I went from being Ninja Sloth to Holy Shit We're Going To Get Jacked And Taken To A Disreputable Part Of D.C. And Forced To Smoke PCP And Maybe I'll Just Pee My Little Pants Now Sloth. Warrior Steve was unfazed. He happily chatted them up while unfurling the jumper cables from the stolen car and after a brief interlude the Trifecta was on its way home. Men, worry not about turkey basters and cloning. Lots of women know how to change tires and wrangle jumper cables. But those of us who are too lazy to learn things like that; we will always need you.

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