Posts tagged ‘rocky road’

September 27, 2009

rocky road

by badmammy

I am propped. One of the best props ever. Piled in the middle of our big fabulous new bed on all kinds of poofy pillas (pillows) & innernetten (internetting). Amazing. Ahhhh, this is heaven. All I lack is the little man that brings the cocktails. Oh, yoooo-hoooo.

It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything. One of my “fans” complained. Haha. Told me my assignment was to write three things. I agreed. I don’t know about the three things thing. I’m just gonna let’er rip.

Big Daddy & I had a great big fun time at Corkfest 09 this morning. I had a metaphysical bead talk bonding moment with M who had a booth there at the fest. I know I’d never seen her work before or I would definitely remember. BD got tired of all the thrillin back & forth about beads & wandered away. I bought something, naturally. I wandered around. So many great things to look at. The karaoke girls were warming up. Two folks that I am lucky enough to call friends had booths next to each other. Danger, I thought, as I hugged both & we all laughed & yakked it up &, of course, BD & I bought something from each. I was throwing that money around. We had the money we made garage saleing last weekend, getting rid of crap to buy more cool stuff. Stimulating that old economy, locally, as we love to do. We decide we needed to get out of there before I shopped again. BD sort of stumbles on a tree root. Friend says “watch out for that tree”. I am cracking up “yeah, yeah, haha, watch out for that tree, hahhahahaaa”. I then turn to leave, take a step and dive facedown in the dirt, tripping over a huge scruffy dead shin-high bunch o stumps. I dove. In signature style, I flung everything that was in my hands. My precious new stuff. All I knew was that my shins & ankles were on fire & I was eating dirt. I had done it again.

Speaking from what I know, falling in public is not only extremely embarrassing &  mortifing, it is also hard on other people. They rush in, trying to help. I sat myself up, spitting dirt & assuring everyone that “No. No. I’m OK. No, no, I’ll get up by myself . . . just a sec. No, I’m fine, really I’m ok. Really.” I went into my automatic post-fall strategery. BD knows the drill & has my back the whole time. He sizes up the situation, determines what & how much help I need or will want. He scoops up my dirt covered treasures while I shake everyone off & get myself up. We try to make a hasty exit, eyes down, no eye contact, “No, no, I’m ok”, walk fast but don’t run. Near the exit a little kid jumps up, points at me laughing, horrifying his mother & me smiling at her saying “no, no, it’s ok.” No, don’t worry about it”. I was moving too fast to really stop. Now I wish I had stopped & talked to the kid. Cuz, hey, it was funny. “Ooopsie, jump up & shake it off.”  That’s what we tell them.

We make it to the car. BD gets me safely settled in & I declare that I believe I am done for the day. All I want is to get the hell home, rinse off the dirt & lay around playing Farm Town. Maybe work in a snack somewhere in there but that is it. Yeah, a big bowl of ice cream oughtta do it. I’m takin’ to the couch or the bed for the rest of the day.

BD takes off & proceeds to take the scenic route through the neighborhood instead of turning around. I try to force myself into the moment & enjoy all of the different “birgins” we pass, each more beautiful than the last. *note for the uninitiated: birgins are the Virgin Marys that usually found in folks yards, sheltered by old bathtubs & christmas lights & other unique expressions of love for her.

Blazing down the freeway with ten million other cars, all in a hurry, changin lanes. Oh goodie, there’s our exit. We made it.

“Wait a minute, did you see that guy?” “Yeah, what the heck is he doing?” “Looks like he is race walking down the side of the freeway”. “WTF, you can’t do that! You’ll get killed! Did we pass a broken down car?” “No. Well. Maybe. There was a pickup way back there.” “He’s gone way too far if he’s broke down &  lookin for help. He’s going past all kinds of businesses there on the frontage road that could have helped him. I think we may have a runner.” “yeah, an escapee from the home.” “You know how fast they walk when they get away like that. Wonder if somebody is looking for him?” “Damn, I wish we had a cell phone. We gotta report this!” “Should we turn around & go back?” “Yeah.”

Using only the finest New Mexican driving techniques, BD guns it to the next exit, spins us under the overpass & merges. We shoot to the next exit, repeat the process. We merge again & creep along looking for our guy. “There he is!”  BD whips it to the shoulder & we follow the guy, one wheel in the ditch with the other on the freeway & the hazards on. “The old guy is making good time.” We follow along behind. “Now what should we do?” “I don’t know.” “I’ll pull over, get out, try to catch up with him & talk to him & you drive”. BD walks & talks to the guy & I follow. I had told BD to try to herd the old guy off of the next exit ramp where there were at least fewer cars. They speed walk along. BD returns to the car & tells me “He says he is ok & that he does this all the time.” “Oh my Gawd, he can’t race walk down the freeway, inches from where people are hauling ass, I don’t care how often he does it. That’s even worse! We gotta report this! Get in!”

BD jumps in & I tear out, take the next exit & come to a screeching halt under the check-in carport of some kind of Holiday Suites or something like that. I go into the lobby. A bunch of folks are hanging around the check-in desk but no workers in sight. Three or four great big guys are on couches watching “the game”. I stand there while they all look at me & we wait for some service. Finally I say to the crowd “Anyone of you got a call phone that I could use?” A guy hands me a big wide phone with 10 billion features. I hand it back to him “could you dial it for me or what ever? I don’t know how it work it. I need to call the police. It’s not a screaming emergency but I need them to come out here. What’s the number for police non emergencies?” I am met with wide eyed blank stares. “I know it won’t be 911, try 311, that’s all I know” I say. He fumbles but finally hands me the phone. The 311 guy was very nice but can’t dispatch so we need to call 242-COPS. I give the guy back his phone & ask him to call 242-COPS for me. There is a full keyboard on that phone. He has no clue how to use it & won’t admit it, I can see by his face, & he pokes around on it while his wife drones on “No, its 2-4-2-COPS” then says to me “well, if he does it all the time what is the problem?” At this point I lose my mind & say to the woman (rather loud but crazy calm) “Are you out of your mind? People CAN NOT jog on the freeway. Besides getting yourself killed, it’s against the law. You can not have pedestrians on the freeway. That’s insane.”  Her eyes bug & this comedy routine goes on until finally a young worker comes out of the back room. “Excuse me, do you have a phone I could use? I need to call 242-COPS?” “There’s a public phone in the lobby.” I cross the lobby past “the game” to the public phone & start trying to figure out how to get an outside line. Finally Young Worker hollers across that she will dial for me from where she is then I can talk. I am shaking at this point, scared shitless for that old guy on the freeway.

Yipee, it’s 242-COPS. “There’s a old guy jogging on I-25”. We go through the entire scene twice before I have to (again, loudly & sarcastic) say “He is jogging on the freeway. He is going to get run over”. “OK, a dispatch is on the way. You say he’s on I-25, headed north?” For some reason, this strikes me as funny. I start laughing. “yes, northbound on I-25”. I leave my name & phone number & hang up. When I turned around the lobby was totally empty.

BD, who has parked & come in to join the fun, & I go out &  hop back in the car. BD is back behind the wheel. He thinks its “best” if he drives. I look at him & say “OK, so we got it reported, we’re still not going home yet, are we?” “nope” “goodie”.

Back onto the freeway. “There he goes, way up there!” “Now he’s going into the culvert between the freeway & the frontage road.” We follow along up the frontage road, flashing.

We kind of leap frog along. Watching, pulling up, stopping to watch, pulling up, waiting for Albuquerque’s finest. “Here comes a cop car” BD announces at last. We stay where we are. The cop pulls over behind the man & gets out of the car. They begin to talk. “Welp” I say “shall we leave him to God & the cops?” “Yep.” “Get me home.”

“Get me home. My legs are stinging like heck.” We both look down at my knees & shins, me for time first time since the quick glance when I jumped up. “Oh my Gawd” we sing in unison. Blood has run from some of the scrapes & left dark, prominent skid marks on my shins & ankle. It is actually not as bad as it looks but still bloody. “I can’t imagine what those touristas must have thought! They must have thought I was crazy, running in the lobby, bloody & wanting to use somebodys phone. Shaking & raving about an old man on the freeway.” Oh, ha ha, we go back & forth until we get home.

Home. Home, sweet, home. I pray that Sweet Baby Jesus takes care of that old man. Now, get me in this house.

So what do I do first? Stop in the kitchen to wash off my beads & dust off the other treasures. Only then do I go into the bathroom to check myself out & rinse off the dust. I look in the mirra. I screech again, louder this time. “Oh, my Gawd, why didn’t you tell me I looked like this?” “You mean you let me go racing into a lobby of strangers lookin like this? bleeding & my face & nose covered with dirt??!.” “Oh my Gawd” “OMG”. “oh em gee” “Damn, no wonder the lobby was empty. I bet those touristas unchecked themselves in a hurry, repacked the car & left Albuquerque vowing to never come back.”

So, now I am propped. The shower was great, painkilling neosporin was slathered & I had a salad with a left over from the root canal hillbilly heroin pill & cheesy garlic bread on the side. The pillows are fluffed & life is grand.

I’m headed for a bowl o Rocky Road.