You Drink, You Drive, You Spill

"Eyes on the road, asshole."

I say don't drink and drive
You might spill your drink
Before you get behind the wheel, just stop & think
You can take your chances
But there's so much to lose
Another bumpy road,
There's so much wasted booze


I'm not so worried
About how many I kill
I'm much more concerned
With how much beer I spill


~ NOFX

First off, I wanted to say thank-you to everyone for your lovely comments last week. I really appreciate all of your encouragement and support; you guys mean a lot to me. I have contacted the hospital again and have asked to rejoin the e.d. program.

As for the anonymous commenter who suggested I shit-can my pity party and that if I were really sorry I would apologize...I did. I wrote letters to both those girls and sent them to their homes when they were no longer in hop-sital. And no, I do not have any stupid little brats running around to screw up, so get bent. After all, we can't all be as perfect as you, now can we? I do appreciate your right to voice your opinion and that it may be different than mine, but you don't know fuck all about me or the things I've been through. Perhaps do some research before you come and shit on my blog? I have carefully considered the words you wrote; perhaps you will consider mine.


Now then. It’s time for some good news here at SSS. Too much solemnity makes Kagie a boring-but-still-incredibly-pretty blogger. BOO.

So. Something miraculous has happened. God has chosen to poop rainbows on me (or whatever). After realizing that I was risking my life on a daily basis (I didn’t realize it actually, you guys told me), I was suddenly and inspirationally smacked in the face a few days ago with an viable alternative.

It all started with an automated call from the library, to inform me that a couple of my holds were available for pick up. “Sweet!” I cried, and skipped happily to Trent-the-Tracker to haul ass to the library. But when I arrived, I was in for a terrible shock.

I approached the holds section, and searched for my name on the various bits of paper protruding from books. I lit upon my first hold: “Eva Braun: Life With Hitler”, a selection that was inspired by my personally being compared to a concentration camp victim last week. Strangely enough, what I garnered from that hurtful statement about my gaunt appearance wasn’t so much, “Am I too thin?” as it was, “What do I really know about Eva Braun's fashion sense?”

I plucked the book off the shelf and searched for my second hold. I wasn’t sure what it was; I had several books on order, and the automated system doesn’t bother to tell you which books had arrived. It just said, “Get your lazy ass to the library, fuckface,  or we’ll fine you $2.50”.

I found the slip of paper with my name printed in bold black letters and pulled out what I assumed would be a book. But, strangely, it didn’t look or feel like a book; it was a lightweight, black plastic rectangle that snapped open and closed on one side.

“Auw-dee-oh book?” I read from the sticker on the front of the box. “What the fuck is an auw-dee-oh book?”

I checked the shelf, but there was nothing else on it for me; clearly, I had ordered this abomination, and was obliged to check it out, lest my family starve from the crippling fine.

When I returned to the car, I pulled the box out again and inspected it closely. I tugged it open, and squealed when three CDs plopped out into my lap. “What the fuck?” I wondered aloud. I picked up the first disk and crammed it into Trent’s CD player.

“A Complicated Kindness,” a woman’s voice rang out loudly from Trent’s speakers, “by Miriam Toews.”

“My God,” I breathed. “It’s a BOOK.”

Turns out, some sad lonely woman decided to grab her T Pain Microphone Recorder and recite an entire book onto a cassette tape, which then magically converted itself into a bunch of CDs and called itself an “Auw-dee-oh Book”, or “Audio Book” for the Non Retarded.

As I sat there listening to this woman read, I was reminded of the blog post I had written a few months back, in which I had admitted that I drove to and from work (and everywhere else, for that matter) with a book in my hand, so that every time I was required to take my eyes off the road for more than 2 seconds, I wouldn’t have to waste that time making pointless conversation with myself. I could spend those valuable seconds reading my precious books instead.

And that’s when I remembered all of the concerned readers who had, upon reading that particular blog entry, kindly pointed out that driving and reading at the same time was a pretty good way to die in a fiery crash. I suddenly realized that I held in my hand the magical solution. I had found the key to saving my own life and the lives of my loved ones, plus the lives of anyone driving within three lanes of me.

I didn’t have to stop reading while I was driving! I just had to stop reading with my eyes, and start reading with my ears instead.

And now I can’t help but wonder...why all the secrecy? Why have they been kept from the people, these so-called “Audio Books”? They should be called “Watch The Road While I Tell You Shit” Books. Duh.

To make a long story short, cuz you’re prolly driving while you read this blog entry on your iPhone, I wanted to make it known that I am no longer a menace to society when I am on the roads.

Except, of course, when I’m driving and the book runs out.



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