Why I Hate Driving In Ohio, Unless I Have My Trusty Sackboy

It has been an interesting week, to say the least. I had Monday off of school, which gave me some much needed time to recover from the weekend. As some of you know from my gaming blog (under the Window Keeper), my Grandmother died this weekend, and I've been taking it kind of weirdly and rough. What most of you don't know, I went out with my friends that Saturday, for Jim's birthday. Due to the stress of everything, my anxiety levels were fluctuating wildly, so I decided not eat anything at T.G.I. Friday's. Instead, I order a mojito.

This was a bad idea.

I never ordered a drink from Friday's bar, or any bar, before. I have had mojitos from the six pack wine coolers they sell in the stores. Needless to say, I'm not used to the alcohol content in an actual mojito. Halfway through, I couldn't drink anymore because I was lucid enough to know that I was getting drunk. Getting drunk at a friend's birthday celebration is bad enough. Add to that the death in my family, and it's even worse. There's just one other thing, too. You know the horror project I'm working on, I Am Nothing. Well, I was designing a monster for that, which probably creeped out the waiter and the waitresses that were passing by, not to mention, possibly traumatizing a little kid. Then again, he was busy trying shove a straw in his ear, so I'm probably safe from that.

After getting back to the hub-house for Jim's birthday, I tried to sober up before having a Smithwick's. After about two hours, I had one... and relapsed. Thankfully, I didn't drive, and Jim gave me a ride home. Nothing's more embarrassing than riding in the back of your friend's car, in the fetal position, depressed, grieving, and drunk. Oh wait, something is: When that's followed by lying on your bed for five minutes (I hope), trying to get up to shower, then falling back on the bed again. I slept in that Sunday, thinking this: "Never again... Never again."

So, Tuesday rolls around. I have to get to the mall to pick up Little BIG Planet 2 to review for work (and fun). With my two friends, Binkie and Patty, and, for some reason, my stuffed Sackboy in tow, I leave to go to the mall. Since I live in Ohio, I've noticed an interesting phenomena: despite the fact that it happens at least 30 days in the winter, people still don't know how to drive in the snow. As soon as the white shit hits the ground, people forget the basic things, such as turn signals when changing lanes, or that the green arrow means you can turn. As irate as I was getting, I was strangely happy, because I knew that an army of Sackpeople would be at my disposal soon enough, and I will name them all, like I named my first one in the game (Mr. Pinkerton). As I reached the intersection to get to the mall, I said, "Soon, the Sackboys will be in my hands." I turn to see Binkie in the passenger seat, holding Sackboy (with his perpetual grin) in the air, one armed raised in victory, and her face mimicking the stuffed doll's.

I was thinking, I just caught my normally serious, short, Asian friend playing with a doll. My life is complete. This was quickly diminished by the sudden realization that it was my doll, so, to cover up my comment, I laughed. We turn into the mall, meet our forth person in our group, Jenna, and enter through the food court.

Unlike the other mall patrons, we're there often enough that the Asian cuisine people know not to bother us with free samples of there MSG-laden foods. This took years of practice, and at least one instant of catching one of the workers cussing out a customer, but it paid off. I imagined, if anyone cared, they'd see a guy in a brown leather flight jacket and a knee brace, a 4'10" Asian girl, a psychotic, pierced up, pink-haired babbling fool, and the seemingly "too-good-for-this-group-in-her-designer-suit" girl enter the mall like a slow-motion 1970's Mod Squad type group. "There goes Charlie and his angels. Huh... why is that one humping the seat while screaming at the salt to give them some privacy?"

We enter the game store, caught in a line. One guy is being interviewed by the manager (in a hoodie, no less), while the other store clerk is hitting on a soccer mom. Those are words I never imagined I'd have to type, imagine how the image looked. Captain Hoodie leaves, and I go up to pick up my reserved copy of LBP2. What normally goes smoothly went like this:

Me: I'm here to pick up my reserved copy of Little BIG Planet 2.

Manager: (Goes to get the game, then comes back.) Is that all?

Me: Yes, it is.

Manager: (Types something on the computer for three minutes.) Anything you want to reserve?

Me: Not today.

Manager: (Visibly upset by this, types in more things for three more minutes) Do you have your rewards card?

Me: Yes, right here. (Hand it to him)

Manager: (Scans the card, types more things in for five minutes.) Oh, crap, I did that wrong. (Types in more things for five minutes). The total is $64.04.

Me: (I pay)

Manager: (Types in even more things for two minutes. At this point I started wonder if he was updating his blog or Twitter). Codes on the receipt, have a good day.

I walk out, and the other clerk is still hitting on the soccer mom. Before heading back home, I decide to walk around the mall. I ended up in the movie/music store, staring at an acoustic guitar that was priced at $100, but on sale for $80. Despite it bringing me over my personal budget (by about $20), I decided to pick it up. See, my Mom has two guitars, one of which is acoustic, and I used to sneak in trying to play them when I was a kid. I always loved music, and I've always wanted to learn guitar, so why not? It's not video gaming, and I'm sure both Mom and Grandma would be happy to see me try something like this.

Apparently, I was right, because I ended up getting a discount on top of the sale. It went from $80 down to $67. The only thing wrong is that the strings seem to be cheap, but all things considered, when it's almost in tune, it sounds pretty good.

Tossing up my time between gaming and tuning my guitar, I still had to go to school. I come back, eat, sleep, and go to school all day yesterday. The ride back is what locked in my hatred of driving in Ohio. To go from home to school and back, I take a main road. The problem with main roads when no one knows how to drive is that you either end up driving like a dumbass yourself, or you go so slow to avoid the idiots trying to kill you that you never get back. Thankfully, I will never be as dumb as the guy who cut me off that day. In order to not hit him, I had to switch quickly to the next lane. As I went around him, the sight I saw will forever be burned into my brain.

He had one hand on his cell phone, held up to his head. And he was steering his car with his mouth. At first, I was in awe of both the sight, and the fact that somehow, this jackwagon managed to control his van with his mouth. Of course, my brain, not wanting to go unheard, forced it's way through my mouth to scream the first thing it thought of: "How's that taste, asshole!"

As I reached the last main intersection to my apartment, curiosity over took me. I was stopped at a red light, and I wasn't going to go anywhere for a while. I leaned forward, and placed my mouth on the steering wheel. What I didn't think of was that the last owner (who was one of my design teachers) used to smoke, and his daughter, who drove the car, used to smoke as well. Add to that, the pure sanitary conditions in the first place of placing your mouth on a steering wheel. I immediately recoiled at the taste of plastic and nicotine. As I got home, I took my bags out, and apologized to my '83 Cougar.

The moral of the story, if your car is older than you, don't make out with it. Unless there's a speed camera there. At least then you can give the police a laugh.