I went to St. George to visit with some of my old friends including Erin McDonald who came all the way from Australia, and my half little brother, Dylan Hatton. While waiting to meet them at the temple, I decided to cruise around the little streets and get some candy at Maverick and ended up buying the most disgusting candy. I still don't know what it is...but it smelled nice. Anyway, on my way back to the temple parking lot, a big "whoosh" of air penetrated the karaoke party going on in my car, and I jumped in fright, feeling my car tilt to the right and start bumbling along. Yippee! Another flat tire... now, let me put this into perspective. This is my third flat tire in about 2 1/2 months. Yes they were all different tires. Anyway, I was totally bummed. Luckily Dylan and Erin found me and helped me change my tire. We popped on my rusty old spare and headed off to get some delicious cupcakes. We ended up talking at The Sweet Tooth Fairy shop for about 4 hours while the cashiers whispered about us behind the counter. Alright. I guess we were laughing a little loud. By the time I decided to do something about the flat tire, it was about 10:00pm and just plain too late to get it fixed. I didn't dare to drive home on the freeway, or even to my great grandma's house in La Verkin because my teeny little spare was fighting for its life under the massive weight of my car. That certainly would have been a tragic undertaking.
Ok...long story short, I ended up staying in the hillbilly motel overnight by myself. It was pretty much scary but also very cool. True, there were probably people around in St. George that would have taken me in for the night, but how could I resist the challenge of finding somewhere to stay all by my loser? I couldn't, that's how. Striving for independence much? Yeah. Most likely. At the unnamed (honestly can't remember the name...) motel, there were a bunch of big, gnarly guys walking around carrying grocery sacks. It was a bit intimidating, and I'm pretty positive that most people staying there were there for the long haul. You know? Long-term tenants. Luckily my 72 hour kit from when I was 14 years old was in my car (coincidence?) so I had p.j.s, toothpaste, underwear and a little stuffed gorilla. It was nice. Sleeping was a little difficult. I was a bit nervous and had to really concentrate to ignore the projected snoring of the man in the room next to mine, but was eventually able to fall asleep to the soft lulling of canned laughter from "Friends".
I woke up in the morning, turned on a strange and violent Gwyneth Paltrow movie, took a shower, found out that my 14 year old underwear was a little too small, and got the heck out that place. I got my tire fixed (replaced) at Walmart, bought a yummy banana, danish, and quart of Sunny D (can you believe that was smallest size they had?) for breakfast and went to visit my grandparents in La Verkin. I'm not sure what made me want to go for a visit, but I'm stupendously glad I did. My grandparents (this includes my Great Grandma) are so fun to talk to. They're quite amusing and I'm glad I got to see them once without my 30 billion other relatives around.
Good times. Good times (name that movie).
