20070206

A Cadillac nearly landed at my house


Super Bowl Sunday was pretty forking interesting this year. All the big kids got together at Senor Q's gourmet delicatessen in League City for the best vittles of any SBP ever anywhere. That was expected. Senor Q and the missus know their way around a spoon.

The weird part of the SBS wasn't implosion of Grossman, Rhodes getting hosed out of SB MVP or even me winning two quarters on the board. The weirdness happened before the day got really rolling. In fact, the Sunday oddities started taking shape in the middle of the street on Saturday night as I was leaving Midtown.

The not-so-short story is that SMC called asking if I wanted his 1960 Cadillac Sedan Deville. "JB, I've gotta get the car out of here tomorrow. Do you want it? Can I put it at your house?" I would have jumped at the chance under normal circumstances, but Responsible Homeowner was in effect and decided to snatch control of my consciousness. Instead of "HELL YEAH!" the following bullshit stumbled out of my pie hole: "Um, I, uh, need to, uh, think about it. Let me call my Dad and get back to you in the morning."

FYI, Dad and I have talked about getting a project car to wrench on, so lock it up. He's logical and rational. And, he's usually a straight thinker unless you don't put his tools back in exactly the right spot. Then he gets a holy case of the red ass and his head spins around. Yep, Pops would be able to put things into perspective for me since all I could think about was, "I've got a house with a project list that is long and expensive, and I still don't have a couch that fits in the house yet."

Dad's input was to the point. "He's gotta get rid of it tomorrow? OK, well get him to put it in your driveway. You can always get rid of it later if you/we don't do anything with it." For the record I was kind of leaning in this direction. It just makes me feel more better to hear him say that.

Sunday morning was filled with anxious yet joyful visions. One moment I was trying to figure out how I could fit a 20 foot land yacht and the Passat in my 30 foot driveway. The next moment I was rationalizing my way into using my couch fund for footing the engine overhaul bill.

Couch or Caddy? Couch or Caddy? Couch or Caddy? Couch or Caddy?

Can't drive a couch across Texas Fandango style now can you? Fucking ay! Let's go Caddy!

I took a break from daydreaming about names for the caddy to find out where the damn thing was. SMC told me that things with the tow truck driver had been running behind a bit and that he was about to call me. I knew things were bad as soon as I heard the words "You're never going to believe this..." or something to that effect.

SMC was outside prepping the car for the tardy tow man when a motorhead drove up. Said driver inquired if the car was for sale. Bada bing. Bada boom. Driver offered $1000 for the wheels and forked over $800 on the spot. Big bada boom.

My head actually cracked as it attempted to make sense out of the situation. Clearly my ears were broken. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The caddy fandangoing through my mind from Houston to Alpine suddenly pulled a Thelma & Louise into a bottomless chasm. My head hurt, but my ass was psyched because the couch fund was saved.

Someone needs to tell my ass that the couch ain't bought yet, and it's a long way from being in the house. Anyone got an old caddy they're looking to move?

4 comments:

smc said...

sorry for the head-fake on the cadilliac on sbs bro. you still got pole position on the jukebox...

JB el JB said...

No sweat. I really need to focus on the house. A sweet ride like that would have encouraged my wanderlust. Ain't no way a couch or paint or landscaping or anything else would have gotten accomplished.

DK said...

Im devistated that you didn't get the ride. I had alread picked out your sterling white suit, white shooze, white tie, white cowboy hat, and hornz for the front of your new sled. Sorry Mr.Hogg this one will have to wait.

Trey said...

I guess we can dig up Dom later. Once a Groover, always a Groover.