|Not my Mom|
When I lived in Florida I made sure that I called mother at least once a week. Now that I'm in Chicago I try to visit her every week. Usually Mark is with me and we bring Mom some barbecue ribs from her favorite rib place, Mickey's on Oak Park Avenue. This week I changed it up a little bit. This week I got to Mom's house a little early, I didn't bring ribs, I brought her a vanilla milkshake, and I left Mark at home. Mom enjoyed the milkshake and I enjoyed driving without Mark in the car. Mom said that the ice cream is so much easier to eat, and I say that driving without Mark in the car is also much easier. Without Mark there is no sighing, no cringing as I pass trucks, no screaming that a car two lanes over is going to hit us. There is no hissing between his teeth as I actually drive the speed limit. I don't hear him repeatedly call for the help of Jesus (Who he doesn't even believe in) to save him from my driving. And the best part of not having Mark in the car for a whole hour, I get to listen to what I want to listen to on the radio. No bubble gum music, no disco music, no Justin Bieber or Justin Timberlake, and none of that girly music that is so popular now on B96.
So I had my nice afternoon with Mom and it was time to go home. Again, I was enjoying my ride and listening to my favorite station, WXRT (I know, I'm old). Now I really should have listened more closely to all the chit chat between the songs. Because just as soon as I hit the giant traffic jam on Lake Shore Drive, I realized, It's goddamned Lollapalooza weekend. They were talking about it all day on the radio station I was listening to.
|Lollapaloozer of a traffic jam|