…to blogging!

Maybe. Probably. Hopefully. Possibly.

Who cares. Everyone who used to read this has forgotten about this blog anyway.

Gr, the thing I hate about coming back to writing after being away for a while is that I feel obligated to get everyone caught up on my whole entire life. But, as I mentioned above, no one’s reading so I don’t have to. I know. I’ll pick 5 of the most important things going on/that have gone on.

1. I’m a senior. Yessiree bob, this is my last year… well, at home.

2. I have a driver’s license. Clear the roads, children.

3. I have my own car. It’s a 1992 Honda Civic that I bought for $900 in cash. Now that Evan and Dad fixed it up, it’s worth a bit more.

4. Well, it’s been so long since I’ve written that this is news: Alex + Emily = <3. 'Nuff said.

5. College is rearing its intimidating head on my horizon. My chosen major: Music Education (instrumental emphasis). My short list: University of Arizona, Northern Arizona University, Azusa Pacific University, and Westmont college. I’ll be visiting them all next month, as well as Embry-Riddle in Prescott. Because that’s where Alex is. <3 (Did I mention the "<3" part yet?)

Yep. That about sums up my life. Other than all my musical activities that are fun for me but boring to read about (so I'll spare you). I will now pick a random event that happened to me the other day and write about it. Because that's what my blogging is supposed to be about.

My dad recently discovered that two of the tires on my car were not safe to be driving around on. So, off I went to Ron's Tire Service to get my tires replaced. I brought Evan, to translate for me into man/mechanic language.

Oddly enough, Ron's Tire Service is run by a guy named Sam. Sam is a nice guy, and reminds me of an uncle of mine, if that uncle changed tires for a living and were more inclined to profanity. As soon as he recognized Evan and I from our previous visit, he told us to have a seat because it would be a while.

It was a while. A very long while. I read a couple of chapters of Ivanhoe before completely zoning out.

Then, a white Chevy HHR pulled up to the place, one of those mini/spare tires in place of the left front wheel. A minute or two later, a man resembling Jerry’s dad from Seinfeld, only fatter, came hobbling up to the door with a cane. Breathing heavily, he came in and sat down at the counter, directly behind the couch where Evan and I were sitting. He was there a few minutes before one of the employees came out of the garage and asked if he could be of assistance.

“Yeah,” said Fat Mr. Seinfeld, “is Ron here?” He had a sort of high voice and spoke very rapidly.

“Ron? No…”

“He’s not here? Are you sure? When will he be here?”

“I don’t know, I could call him… but maybe you’re looking for Sam?”

“Oh yeah! Sam! Sam! That’s his name! Tell him Frank is here. Frank Pierce. We’re real good friends.”

“Oh. Okay,” said the guy. He disappeared back into the garage.

Sam came out a few minutes later; Frank greeted him loudly from across the room.

“Hey! Sam! How are ya? How’s it going? Remember me?”

“Yep. I remember you, Frank,” said Sam, coming around to the counter. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, good. How about you? How’ve you been? Good? Good? How’s the missus? Mean as ever?”

“Yep, yep,” said Sam with a false laugh.

Eventually, Sam got around to asking what the problem was, and Frank launched into the story of his tire woes. He had apparently gone elsewhere first to get a new set for the HHR, but the person selling wanted to charge him more than he wanted to pay.

“Can you believe that, Sam? Can you believe that? For a set of tires! That’s why I came to you. You always treat me right, dont’cha, Sam? Dont’cha? Dont’cha?”

“Yes I do,” said Sam.

They talked for several minutes and worked out a price for a brand new set of tires. The entire time, Frank spoke with a hilariously annoying rapidity, and Sam with remarkable patience. By the time they reached a deal, I was so close to laughing that I burst out the moment he stepped outside the door. Evan and I watched him waddle back across the parking lot, his crinkled wife beater slipping out of his equally wrinkly brown corduroy pants.

I had to go back to straight-face mode when he turned around.

“Hey Sam!” he said, standing halfway in the door.

“Yeah?”

“Those tires, are they snow tires? Mud tires?”

“They’re all-season. You don’t have to worry about ‘em going in snow,” said Sam.

“They’re snow tires?”

“Yeah. All-season.”

“They’re all-season?”

“Yeah.”

“They’ll go in snow?”

“Yep.”

“And mud?”

“Yep.”

“All seasons?”

“Yep.”

“Good. Because my wife always slides in snow and mud. I don’t, but my wife does. All the time. HEY MARIE! They’re all-season! Snow and mud!”

I have no idea how I managed to not be laughing at this point. Finally, he thanked Sam and left. About an hour later, my car got its new tires, plus an alignment, and I was on my way as well. But not without a funny story to tell.

Hopefully it’s as funny as I think it is. It could be boring. I don’t know.

Well, that’s all for today, folks! I’ll try to be writing more from now on (no promises though). Bye!

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