There I sat, embarking on what was to be the longest journey I'd ever traveled without Ma-Ma or Da-Da. There I sat, mentally prepared (due to a consumption of Red Bulls that should be deemed illegal) as well as physically prepared (shades that block the sun and well as make me look just plain awesome) for this dangerous, death-defying, terrifying, nerve-wracking, insane in the membrane road trip all the way from Nashville, Tennessee to...
(a city in coughCOUGHKentuckyCOUGHcough)
That's right, folks, there i sat, ready to risk my life for 5 hours of freeway in order to see one band, one band back from the 90's. (Screw Nirvana and their desire to be raped, screw Green Day and their food dishes involving human organs, I'm talking about a suicidal and a lord of alcohol. I'm talking about...Third Eye Blind, baby.) I had to go through a lot for permission for this trip. It went from me asking to see Third Eye Blind in Ohio...
To me asking if I could see them in Kentucky...
"ABSOLUTELY NO DRUGS IN THE CAR NATASHA YOU ARE 18 AND INTERSTATE TRAFFICKING OF DRUGS IS 5 YEARS IN JAIL MINIMUM."
But permission was eventually granted, therefore I knew there was one thing I could NOT do: fuck it up.
I started by making sure I had all the necessary essentials a road trip feeds off of.
-full tank of gas (despite the fact that while getting that gas the little door to my gas thing just FALLS OFF and I still am not able to get it back on)
-CD's (despite the fact that my stereo makes every song skip, and yes it is not the CD it's the stereo because I've tested them all on other car stereos and guess what? No skipping. So while I'm trying to jam out to some Landon Pigg, and it's a slow and beautiful love song, all I get is "I TH-TH-TH-TH-TH-THINK THAT POSS-POSS-POSS-POSS-POSS-IBLY
MAY-BE-BE-BE-BE-BE-BE I'M F-F-F-F-F-F-F-F-ALLING FOR Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-O-U-U-U-U-U-U-" which totally ruins the romantic effect since if someone was telling you they were falling in love with you, you don't want it to be a I-think-that-possibly-maybe-I'm-reminding-you-of-Porky-Pig-kinda moment
-glasses in order to see better should it rain (despite the fact that one of my windshield wipers is torn and so it looks like I have the normal two wipers and then they got busy and had a deformed baby wiper that tags along. Or maybe the male wiper just grew a third arm. The point is it ruins the whole point of wipers since once they both wipe and return to their original positions, the third straggler-outcast-over-achiever wiper is still trying to wipe my windshield and therefore I still can't see. There's a reason windshield wipers go BACK AND FORTH, they don't just GO and then STAY right in your line of vision so you're forced to stick your head out the window as you drive which can one, cause a wreck and two, cause a bug to fly in your mouth which would one, cause you to choke and two, cause you to wreck. It's a lose-lose situation, people.)
-a sister to read road signs out loud to me, a.k.a. a sister to blame should/when we got lost (despite the fact that on her side of the car it is difficult to look out the windshield to read signs since there are three giant cracks running down it that only seem to be progressing along with their attack with the purpose of making my whole windshield look like it has veins, which all started due to a Crab Apple In Storm Incident that I'd rather not explain)
-a male amigo to tell us NOT to ask for directions (despite the fact that, according to my father, my dashboard is "falling off." Okay sure, that wasn't relevant at all, but since we're on the subject of Things Wrong With My Car, I thought I'd throw that out there. Maybe get a couple answers to my questions? Such as: HOW DOES A DASHBOARD FALL OFF A CAR. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN.)
So we were all set. Covington, here we come! The three of us pull out of my driveway...
"WOO HOO ROAD TRIP!"
Take a right out of my cul de sac...
"THIRD EYE BLIND HERE WE COME!"
A right out of my subdivision...
And get pulled over.
"You were going 55 in a 40 mile zone blah blah blah I'm a cop because I get off on having my crotch in people's faces through their window cause I'm too cool to bend down and look them in the eye so suck it bitch here's your ticket."
First ticket of my life. 104 freaking dollars. Traffic school, here I come. But once that douche got back in his undercover cop car...
"LET'S GO TO COVINGTON!"
Three cups of coffee, one pack of gum (advice quickie: if you're going to chew a whole pack of gum in one day, DON'T CHEW BIG RED. I did that one time, and my tongue was swollen for 14 hours, swollen to the point where I couldn't speak.) (another advice quickie about Big Red: don't lick the wrapper and stick it to your forehead. it burns very badly and you will have a giant red rectangle on your forehead for the rest of the day.), zero directions mishaps, (props to the driver, man. oh wait...that's me. Thank you so much!), and the most intense automatic hand dryer I've ever used in my entire life (this thing made it look like an unidentified flying object was about to land on my palm), we finally reached Covington.
"Excuse me? Could you tell us where the Madison Theatre is?"
We were driving through downtown, the obvious hotspot for nightlife. We had rolled down the window and asked some men on the sidewalk for directions.
"Yeah, it's just down that way!"
"Stellar! Thank you!"
"Should we just park now and walk?"
"Yeah, we seem really close."
"WE MADE IT TO COVINGTON WOO HOO!"
So we paid 4 dollars. Parked. Walked. And soon found ourselves in the midst of the downtown crowd, with 5 minutes left until the concert started. Perfect timing.
"Should we ask someone for directions again?"
"Okay, Male Amigo. You guys stay here and I'll ask that woman."
So I walk up to some random woman.
"Excuse me? Could you tell me where the Madison Theatre is?"
"Hmmm...I think...I think that's in Covington..."
"Covington...right. Um thank you..."
"I think all we need to do is walk down that---"
"---street and it's probably down there some---"
"You know that woman I talked to?"
"Yeah, what'd she say?"
"She said, 'I think that's in Covington.' "
"Well then where the hell are we?"
"EXCUSE ME, PIZZA MAN!"
"Hi. Um, could you tell me...uhh...well just...what city is this?"
"WE'RE IN OHIO."
"HOW THE HELL DID WE END UP IN CINCINNATI, OHIO."
"We're supposed to be in Covington."
"We're supposed to be in Kentucky."
"HA! Okay, BACK to the car!"
Lucky for us, we still made it in time for the show. In a venue with a disco ball and chain smokers galore. One opening act, one amazing show, and one dancing blonde chick who kept bumping into me, and we were done.
"NOW ALL WE HAVE IS THE DRIVE BACK!"
Pops didn't want us spending the night there. Ten hours total behind a wheel. All on the freeway. No plans on stopping. I. AM. JACK. TRAVEN.
Got home at 4am. Woke up the next morning to a shocked but proud Pops of me for traveling the longest road trip of my life and living to tell the tale.
I have yet to show him the speeding ticket.