cloud of weird

I was heading to Austin to go pick up my sister from the airport. As I was getting gas, a late night Taco Bell craving overcame me. Lucky for me, it was right across the parking lot and I had left my house early enough to stop. Or was I lucky? About 2 miles and 5 bites into the drive, I realized this grilled stuffed burrito might have been a bad idea. A very bad idea. First the little devil of a burrito started to drip all over my hands. And because it was on my hands, it also got onto the steering wheel. I reached down to get the bag where I might find some napkins. Make that a napkin. Actually, make that a mild sauce covered napkin. I did my best and buried the wrapper and now totally burrito soaked napkin into the bag and was thankful that was over.

My satisfaction quickly subsided when I started to feel something wet on my crotch. I looked down and saw a giant blob of burrito guts in my lap and all over my phone. It looked like I had diarrhea of the who-ha. Awesome. I stupidly reached into the Taco Bell bag to get the napkin and in doing so, my hand got covered in burrito once again. Now I'm digging in the dark (no light in my car), with gooey hands, and who-ha crap all over me frantically trying to find something that will work to clean up the mess. No napkins in the glove box, but I found a notebook. I ripped out a page and tried scooping up the mess. Not very effective. Then I found an empty Zip lock and used that to scrape and wipe away the burrito insides that were seeping through my under-roos and onto places where no burrito should go. All of this is happening while I drive at 11 pm with truckers staring down into my Corolla.

Like a sweet little oasis, there was a toll booth. *Please, Lord, let there be a nice lady in there who has napkins. Please.* And just like that, I asked the lady at the toll booth and she had napkins! The mess had started to dry so I put a finger over the straw of my water and went to work. Ice cold water right on your crotch isn't comfortable, but it had to be done. I scrubbed and scrubbed. Now it looked like I pissed myself, but I decided that was better than the alternative, who-ha crap. So I drove the rest of the way sans AC and hoped to all things good and holy that it was dry before I got to the airport. And then out of nowhere some demonic creature leaped out in front of me. From the smell of things, I'm pretty sure I hit a skunk.

I got to the airport where I parked and was able to get a slightly better look at the damage. I had really missed some spots. So in a crowded airport parking lot, I was rubbing my crotch, sweating, and cursing to the gods of Taco Bell. I was just waiting for security to apprehend me. They were never going to let me leave this airport with a child. That was going to have to do until I could get to a bathroom and in better light. A quick hike and a trip through creepy, AIDS-infested stairways and I was in the airport. I walked into the bathroom and looked down. The cheesy, sour creamy-ness had dried into a white, crusty substance right on the money maker. I'll let you decide what that might look like. So once again, I'm scrubbing and swearing. A lady walked in while I was strategically placed under the hand dryer whispering "please, please, come on!" There was nothing else I could do.

Somewhere between the initial discovery and the skunk, I called my mother. I pretty sure she was in tears from laughing so hard. Right after we hung up, she texted me "Be careful. You seem to have a 'can things get any weirder?' cloud hovering over you." Story of my life, mom. Story of my frickin' crazy, silly life.