I've decided that my recent lack of creative juices is due to less than normal alcohol consumption, resulting in less still-drunk mornings at work in which I abandon all duties and blog.
Well wait no more kiddos!
After ingesting too many $2 vodka waters, some ice cold beer, and some luke warm tequila and whiskey shots, I am in full blogging mode.
The highlight of my night was actually eating oatmeal in my kitchen, having a conversation with my roommate, which i remember zero details of, who was eating corn out of the can.
We keep it classy.
But as I passed the canned corn, still on the counter, on my way out this morning, I was reminded of a cherished childhood memory.
But before we waltz down the road of remembrance, let me enlighten you with a tasty little morsel:
I have a very active imagination.
So much so, that I have vivid memories of things that I thought happened, but didn't really happen, and I wonder how much of my childhood is reality vs fantasy.
Bringing us to the case in point:
When I was around 5 years old, we took a little road trip to Lake Murray, Oklahoma to spend a weekend of fun in the sun with the fam.
I'm sure like most things in my childhood, I would go back and realize that this place is a dump and much smaller than I remember, but in my mind, Lake Murray was a vast lake of sparkling blue diamonds, glittering under the glowing sun that stretched out over the plush green fields of the camp ground.
Obviously, this can't be correct since Oklahoma is the armpit of America and is good for nothing other then gambling and turquoise jewelry.
I digress, any-hoozle.
I of course insisted on riding with my grandparents, because, duh, they were the coolest people ever and took me to Luby's every Friday night to get a chicken leg, mac n cheese, and fried okra, with jiggly blue jello or chocolate pie, or both, and a delicious yeasty roll.
That's not why I love them, but it made me love them more, and at a young age I decided to latch on to them every chance I got, PLUS it meant I didn't have to ride inthe car with that annoying, screeching baby that my mother would not "send back."
In reality, I'm pretty sure my little sister was one of the best babies ever, but that's really neither here nor there because this story is all about ME*.
*standard childhood belief.
While either going there or coming back, I can't quite remember, my grandfather fell asleep at the wheel.
We crossed over the median and ended up with the rear end of the car in a corn field.
I thought this was delightful and remember the story fondly!
I told it all through my youth: my silly grandad falling asleep and we drove into a CORNFIELD!! teeheee
When I was 22.
READ: TWENTY TWO!!
SEVENTEEN YEARS LATER!
I was reminiscing about this and my parents and grandparents were laughing hysterically.
I know, I know, I am a fantastic storyteller, always yuckin it up.
Turns out I had it all wrong.
What ACTUALLY happened, was that my grandpa fell asleep, crossed over the median, and we were almost sideswiped by an 18 wheeler, all while my parents watched their eldest child almost go up in smoke from a couple of car lengths back.
Not so cute.
For the visual learners:
I confused this:
So I was all:
When I shoulda been all:
Guess I thought that giant draw of the horn was just a tractor comin to plow the crops.
Yanno, cuz death knocking on my door was not near as exciting as yellow vegetables growing out of the ground.
So much for being a "gifted" child.
Effing corn fields.