Although Sacky Kevin and Sacky Christi only make up 20-25% of my readership, they are amongst my most frequent emailers. They write with possible topics for posts, funny stories, or made up words (see "frumptable") and leave me to use or not use them as I please. Recently, Sacky Kevin wrote in with a possible topic. He wrote, "Every group had that one friend that had 'the car.' Usually it was older, had a funny smell, but it was the car that you and your gang took everywhere - concerts, beach, parties - pretty much everywhere." While no car that I can remember completely fits that description, it reminded me of a car that I should totally write about.
Late in our senior year of high school, Dusty bought an older Jeep Wrangler. This thing was very cool because in a summer full of beach trips and hanging out, we could have the top off, the windows off, and the whole doors off. It only had one problem: starting. I can't count the number of times Dusty and I would start pushing the car before he'd run and jump in to turn the key. Still, it felt very cool to ride in. I once wrote a poem in college about the feeling of riding in it with my close friend and not feeling quote as cool or confident as I potentially looked.
We took that car almost everywhere that summer, and we were out and about a hell of a lot. It was also the summer before college for many of us, so those preparations were simultaneously going on. I knew I was going to UCSB and rooming with my friend Rockabye. We were close in high school but didn't really hang out much outside of it, so we were doing some of that during this same time. He and I once rode our bikes for miles around town in the Valley heat before going back to his parents' house and watching old NBA highlights. Drained from all of the activity, I fell asleep for a little while.
When I woke up, I realized that I should've been on my way home already, so I called my parents. My mom answered, and after I said hello, she asked where I was. I told her, but she seemed very suspicious that I randomly fell asleep at Rockabye's. I explained, but then I became the confused one when she asked, "What the hell happened to your pants?" "Excuse me?" "Your pants. They have a bunch of holes in the butt area like you poked them with scissors," she replied. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said. "Peter, you have no idea how there are holes in your pants?" "No!" I said, "but I'm coming home right now so you can show me what you're talking about."
When I got home, my mom held up my pants. As she explained, there were numerous little holes in the butt region. And as I had explained, I had no idea how that happened. She was getting more and more incredulous (and I really can't blame her in hindsight) until my dad came in and said, "That looks like you sat in battery acid." Aha! The night before, I had been in the back seat of Dusty's Jeep as we went to Planet Hollywood for our friend Pam's birthday dinner. He had a battery back there the day before and it must've been leaking. It was all starting to make sense.
I talked to my friend Lisa the next day, and she had a similar story to tell. One pair of underwear had disintegrated in the wash, and her favorite pair of jeans was now unwearable. That is, if you consider no ass left and just the seam down the middle unwearable. I do. The closest she had come to a reason was when her mom said it looked like she sat in acid. I told her about Dusty's car battery and cleared things up. "I bet that's what happened to Pam too," she said. "What do you mean?" I asked. As it turns out, Pam had taken the dress she wore out for her birthday back to the Gap because "it suddenly got holes in it." They actually let her exchange it, which gives me new respect for the way they treat their customers.
After weighing all the facts, Lisa's conclusion is that she went somewhere with Dusty shortly after he changed the battery. Her ass sopped up the majority of the acid, thereby causing the most damage. The rest of us got in later and sustained comparatively minor damage. Still, when assless jeans are all the rage, she'll have Dusty to thank.
When I woke up this morning, I didn't foresee myself writing the sentence, "Her ass sopped up the majority of the acid," but then again, the road to blogdom has many twists and turns. Have a great day, gentle readers, and make sure your pants are intact if you're out in public. It could get chilly otherwise.
Got any bizarre clothing mishaps? Send 'em to ptklein@gmail.com and let's have some fun with them.
Late in our senior year of high school, Dusty bought an older Jeep Wrangler. This thing was very cool because in a summer full of beach trips and hanging out, we could have the top off, the windows off, and the whole doors off. It only had one problem: starting. I can't count the number of times Dusty and I would start pushing the car before he'd run and jump in to turn the key. Still, it felt very cool to ride in. I once wrote a poem in college about the feeling of riding in it with my close friend and not feeling quote as cool or confident as I potentially looked.
We took that car almost everywhere that summer, and we were out and about a hell of a lot. It was also the summer before college for many of us, so those preparations were simultaneously going on. I knew I was going to UCSB and rooming with my friend Rockabye. We were close in high school but didn't really hang out much outside of it, so we were doing some of that during this same time. He and I once rode our bikes for miles around town in the Valley heat before going back to his parents' house and watching old NBA highlights. Drained from all of the activity, I fell asleep for a little while.
When I woke up, I realized that I should've been on my way home already, so I called my parents. My mom answered, and after I said hello, she asked where I was. I told her, but she seemed very suspicious that I randomly fell asleep at Rockabye's. I explained, but then I became the confused one when she asked, "What the hell happened to your pants?" "Excuse me?" "Your pants. They have a bunch of holes in the butt area like you poked them with scissors," she replied. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said. "Peter, you have no idea how there are holes in your pants?" "No!" I said, "but I'm coming home right now so you can show me what you're talking about."
When I got home, my mom held up my pants. As she explained, there were numerous little holes in the butt region. And as I had explained, I had no idea how that happened. She was getting more and more incredulous (and I really can't blame her in hindsight) until my dad came in and said, "That looks like you sat in battery acid." Aha! The night before, I had been in the back seat of Dusty's Jeep as we went to Planet Hollywood for our friend Pam's birthday dinner. He had a battery back there the day before and it must've been leaking. It was all starting to make sense.
I talked to my friend Lisa the next day, and she had a similar story to tell. One pair of underwear had disintegrated in the wash, and her favorite pair of jeans was now unwearable. That is, if you consider no ass left and just the seam down the middle unwearable. I do. The closest she had come to a reason was when her mom said it looked like she sat in acid. I told her about Dusty's car battery and cleared things up. "I bet that's what happened to Pam too," she said. "What do you mean?" I asked. As it turns out, Pam had taken the dress she wore out for her birthday back to the Gap because "it suddenly got holes in it." They actually let her exchange it, which gives me new respect for the way they treat their customers.
After weighing all the facts, Lisa's conclusion is that she went somewhere with Dusty shortly after he changed the battery. Her ass sopped up the majority of the acid, thereby causing the most damage. The rest of us got in later and sustained comparatively minor damage. Still, when assless jeans are all the rage, she'll have Dusty to thank.
When I woke up this morning, I didn't foresee myself writing the sentence, "Her ass sopped up the majority of the acid," but then again, the road to blogdom has many twists and turns. Have a great day, gentle readers, and make sure your pants are intact if you're out in public. It could get chilly otherwise.
Got any bizarre clothing mishaps? Send 'em to ptklein@gmail.com and let's have some fun with them.
3 comments:
And let me assure you - when I sendt you this as an idea for a blog, I had no idea this would lead to me reading about some girl's ass sopping up ANYTHING.
Sacky Kevin
Is that the story you decided to tell your mom? I guess she'll never know what really happened. What a memory...all of us playing pin the tail on the dawg. Good thing for those tranquilizers.
jdl
I know, I can't believe she fell for the whole "battery acid" line again! Silly Laynie.
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