Giddup lil ponies

Ahhh, Roadtrips. In college, they were awesome. A few friends crammed into a piece of shit junker, a cooler full of Icehouse (or Boone's if we were rolling high class) in the [backseat] trunk, loud music and stupid stories. First one to fall asleep got a face full of lipstick artistry. It was always to someplace fun like the beach. Somehow we managed to drink enough alcohol to kill a small animal, and survive for three days on a bag of Fritos and 2 dollars; a feat which would earn me a one way ticket to the morgue if I attempted it now. And since I just found out my mother reads this blog, don't worry Mom, we never ever ever mooned other cars on the highway, ever. Honest.

There couldn't be a more stark contrast to the roadtrip I'm about to embark on this weekend. I'm about to load the minivan with all our possessions, 3 kids and a dog and travel for 10 hours. Thank goodness for the car DVD player, but if I have to listen to 'Go Diego Go' one more time, my head will explode. Although actually, the cartoon version of Go Diego Go is a kagillion times better then the LIVE version. Holy Hell, for two hours my eardrums were bleeding I wanted to scratch out my eyes. Next time, kids, just waterboard me, it will be kinder.

It cracks me up that people are all worried about drivers talking on cell phones. The real danger on the road is a mother with a minivan full of kids. I might accidentally take you out while I'm reaching back to hand the kids their 5th juice box, or trying to drive with my knees while I open their bags of snacks, or ram you while I purposefully try to hit every pothole in the road to soothe the screaming baby in the backseat. And road rage? Please, you've seen the way minivan drivers look on the highway. We're haggard, frustrated, tired and one second away from CRASHING THIS CAR INTO THE NEAREST TELEPHONE POLE IF YOU ALL DON'T SHUT UP! I bet you didn't know my head can rotate 180 degrees. I'm like an owl, baby.

I can only hope that this roadtrip will be a little better than last years. That was the one where the kids had a nasty stomach flu and we drove with Hefty bags taped to their chests to catch the puke. Except the Hefty bag idea only partly worked, and so we basked in the aroma of vomit for hours. Actually, we're still basking. It's like the Glade-Plug in for minivans. Vomit, with a little crap mixed in to spice it up.

And don't worry, Mom, the only mooning we'll be doing is when somebody has to take an emergency roadside dump in the travel potty.
Good times...