My Brother-in-Law now thinks I have extremely weird tastes in music.

First of all, I feel like I need to apologize for yesterday’s post.  I was venting, and, even with more than 12 hours, and a good nights sleep between the party and all the noise and confusion and chaos, I was still quite tense about the whole thing.  Like I said yesterday, nothing good ever comes from acting in anger.

Now that I’ve got that out of the way, I can move on…

I’m going to give the oddest piece of automotive advice that you’ll probably ever get:  If you have the chance to buy a 1997 Geo Prizm, do so.  My car is 13 years old, I’ve been driving it for 10, (minus the time I was on my mission; Dad didn’t want to give it back after that) and I have never had any major problems with it.  Yes, it needs a new paint job, and the plastic bits in the cab tend to fall off at inopportune moments, and filling the gas tank involves the use of an old dog leash–but on the whole, it’s a great little car.

When I open the hood, the parts that have brand names on them all say Toyota.  Problems with gas pedals aside, my car has convinced me that my next car should be a Toyota.

I bring this up because of the drama yesterday. For a family that claims to eschew drama (ooohhh, WordPress isn’t going to like that I used the word eschew–but I managed to spell it right on the first try!) we sure have a lot of it.

Sis and the Bro-in-Law were headed home from the party, and, about thirty miles outside of town–coincidentally right at the turn off to Uncle Ornery’s farm, the new-t0-them car died.  Dad and I went on a rescue mission–fortunately, Sis knew the farm well enough to take the hyperactive three-year-old on a walk to meet the cows.  (She reports that G was quite funny with this–“Is that poo?” “No.” “Can I step on it?” “Yes” “Is that poo?” “Yes” “Can I step on it?” “No” Finally, she pointed out that some poo was dry enough to step on.  This is the first thing that G told me about when I came to the rescue.)

Their car had a leaky oil pan that was fixed over the weekend, and hopefully the problems are just because the mechanics over-filled the oil.  And yes, I know what that sentience means as long as their are no follow-up questions.

Sis and the boys decided to stay at my parents house until the car gets fixed, but the Bro-in-Law had to go to work today, so I was voted official taxi driver.  I took him home, then flipped around and drove the 45 miles back to my house.

Between my parent’s house and Nephi, you can consistently get five radio stations.  Three of them are country, one is easy listening/old people music, and the other one is top 40 and historical pop 40.  None of which I like.  So, unthinking, I did what I ususally do on the way home from my parent’s house, and turned on the MP3 function of my phone.

Yeah, my music is a lot weirder when someone else is listening to it too.

In the Bro-in-Law’s defense, he didn’t complain through the cycling Mika, Indigo Girls, Vampire Weekend, Michael Jackson, the Ting-Tings, Iseley Brothers, etc.  And that’s not even getting into stuff like Kings of Convenience and Colin Hay that I don’t like to listen to when I drive…

If you knew who all those people/bands are without looking them up then good for you.

There’s a part of me that’s saying that by singing the praises of my car, that I’m sure to start having problems with it.  Superstitions had to get started somehow…

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