Tag Archives: mid-life crisis

I’m a Grown Ass Woman

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Yes.  It’s another trailer story.  Hang in there with me a little longer and I promise, the excitement will change to some other Crazie subject.

What’s happened so far:

  1. Contracted a severe case of Mid Life Crisis-itis.
  2. Became obsessed with finding a Canned Ham (vintage camper).
  3. In one day’s time, flew to Denver – purchased camper – tucked it into a storage facility – flew home.
  4. Spent several days trying to figure out how in the heck I was going to get the thing from Denver to Kansas City, finally deciding to pay an anonymous man named Kevin to bring it to me.
  5. Anonymous Kevin has since had more truck trouble than the Detroit car companies, so my little 1955 Aljoa is somewhere in Frontier, CO.

I recently began a campaign to rescue my Aljoa by calling every friend and relative I could think of to drive out with me and pick it up.  Although many, MANY people offered to help, the timing was never quite right.

One night, while I was whining to my friend, Mary, she said, “You’re a grown ass woman.  Get in your car and drive over there to get it yourself!”

I hung up the phone and paced around the house.  You know what? I thought, I am a grown ass woman.  I can drive 1,000+ miles by myself, towing an unfamiliar 2,400 pound object behind my car.  I went to sleep, confident in my ability to accomplish anything.

Then I woke up the next morning and thought, You know what?  I am a grown ass woman!  A grown ass woman who’s smart enough to figure out she doesn’t want to drive 1,000+ miles by herself, towing an unfamiliar 2,400 pound object behind her car.  

So, it’s back to trusting Anonymous Kevin, who promises to deliver the little Aljoa to me FOR FREE, because I’ve been such a sweet little patient angel.

Of course, if it’s not sitting in my driveway when I get back from out of town, I’m driving out to Frontier to put some serious whoop-ass on Anonymous Kevin.

KILLERS DON’T WEAR FLIP FLOPS

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Tuesday, my mid-life crisis reached Code Blue status as I boarded a plane for Denver to check out a vintage camper I’d seen on-line.  Yes, you heard me right. A vintage camper.

Who am I you ask?  I can’t honestly answer that anymore.  For example, it wasn’t until I was all the way through airport security before I realized I’d walked on the floor with bare feet.  Can you imagine?  BARE FEET!

This mid-life crisis is pulling me forward, out of my rut, faster than I can think, because here I was with $5,000 cash in my purse ready to drive up to a remote cabin to meet a strange man to buy a 1955 Aljoa camper.  Sounds like the beginning of a bad slasher movie doesn’t it?

Reason returned to me before I boarded the plane and I made arrangement to meet him at a storage facility on edge of town. Except then I realized he could kill me, stuff me in the camper and store me away for eternity.

I walked down the aisle of the plane in a stupor, wondering again who I was and what I was doing. I came across an entire row of empty seats and climbed over to the window.  A little towheaded face popped up from the seat in front of me.

“Peek-A-Boo,” she shouted before disappearing.

I was pretty sure I’d figured out why this row was empty.  The piercing scream that made my ear drums vibrate in pain, confirmed my conclusion.

The little girl emerged again. I grinned and waved at her.  Most people are turned away by a screaming child, but not me.  In complete contradiction to my OCD ways,  I gravitate toward them like a fly to honey.  I love kids and everything about them.  From their chubby toes to their drooling mouths. I mean, who wouldn’t smile when a two-year-old looks you in the eye and asks with the seriousness of a nuclear scientist, “Do you have a penis or a vagina?”

But I digress.

Part-time Murderer

We landed in Denver.  I got off the plane, rented my car and headed out to meet up with Ed, the part-time vintage camper renovator/part-time murderer.   I drove straight to the storage facility (also, as it turns out, not a very good place to be carrying $5,000 in cash.)

I huddled in the corner of the office wondering which way I was going to die when the camper came into view.  As Ed emerged from his tinted windowed black pick up truck I noticed he was wearing flip-flops.  I sighed with relief.  Everyone knows killers don’t wear flip-flops.

He gave me a quick tour of my new camper.  I said it was deal and rushed him through the paperwork.

“What’s the big hurry?” he asked.

“I have a flight back to Kansas City in a couple of hours.”

“Wow.” He looked at me with admiration.  “You’re an adventurer.”

I grinned and stood up a little straighter and said “Yes.  That’s exactly who I am now.  I’m an Adventurer.”

Me and Ed-Not-A-Part-Time-Murderer