I95+70MPH+Coyote=Dammit

So, there I was on I-95 at 3am on Sunday morning, driving home from Raleigh. I was driving 70 mph, talking to my boyfriend about what a great time we had that day and evening, listening to music while trying to stay awake. That's when it happened. All I saw was a shock of brown in my headlights and heard a loud thump as it made impact with the front end of my car. It was a coyote. Yes, there are coyotes, raccoons, possums and deer that cross the interstate regularly. Why a coyote decided to cross the highway at that exact moment was nothing short of an FML moment for him.

We pulled off at the next exit thinking there was probably only body damage and I would have lived with that as long as it was still running. But God decided that it wasn't going to be my lucky day. That coyote pretty much destroyed the radiator, cooling fan and mount on the front of my car, rendering it 'jacked the f*** up' just 45 miles from Fayetteville. My boyfriend, God bless him, did what every man does in situations where they don't really know what they are doing: he surveyed the damage and announced that my car was probably un-driveable and offered me his AAA card and was going to take care of me. That reminded me that I had my own AAA card and I could probably take care of myself so I decided to use it. The tow back home was free and had another, "Dang, my dad was right" moments as I crawled into bed at 3am.

It wasn't over yet, though, as I had my car taken to the repair shop early in the morning. PETA forgive me, but after finding out the cost of the damage to my car, if that coyote didn't die on impact I wanted him to. Because that plus the inconvenience of being without a car for two days and finding out that you can't rent a car if you're self-employed and don't have a credit card was making it hard for me to have a nice day. But, the damage could have been much worse, I could have been alone without AAA and paying out of my ass to get back home or I could have hit a deer and totaled my car beyond repair. I know these things.

I supposed I could list all the things I should be thankful for after I'm finished with my pity party of one: Bonita Applebottoms, the boyfriend, AAA & my dad, the car will be ready tomorrow, Jersey Shore repeats and my ability to 'take care of it and get over it.' I'm not too sure that I will be commuting the 95 when it's that dark anymore now that I know that there are suicidal furry animals ready to kamikaze my car.

Once upon a time at my Grampa's funeral

I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm still a little immature. It's what keeps me young and helps me understand my pre-teen daughter. Immaturity runs in my family, particularly when it comes to me and my middle brother who is a year younger than me. Check it:



A few years ago, my Grampa passed away. I'd never been to an Italian funeral before and it surprised me to know that after the burial, there was a reception where everyone gathered to eat, drink and be Italian. Someone suggested I should bring my camera to take pictures, which I thought was a little weird but I brought it anyway. I figured there would be a lot of family there I hadn't seen in a while or ever and I could get some shots of all of them. Well, you know how they say everything happens for a reason? There was a reason I was at that funeral with my camera and it had nothing to do with taking pics of my family.



So there I was, sitting next to my middle brother and we both notice the painting on the opposite end of the reception hall. It's an old painting of a woman with her boob hanging out of her robe. My bro looks at me, I look at him and with a mischievous nod of understanding we make our way across the hall to the painting.



"Okay, be quick," he said. "On the count of three."



1...2...3!!!



I lifted my camera as my brother turned his face up towards the exposed boob in the painting as if he were going to put it in his mouth. My flash goes off and now we are the center of attention. I've never seen my dad move so fast in my life and if you think that parents don't smack you on the back of your head after you're an adult, you are mistaken. But my dad wanted to laugh, I could see it in his face. My brother and I never had another synced thought after that day and it's as well we didn't, there was never another opportunity for such an awesome event to take place.



I'm hoping that God has a sense of humor, because I'm sure it was wrong on a religious level to do something so un-Catholic at a funeral - even if it was funny. It's not like we were in a church, it was at a banquet hall at a funeral home.



And without further ado ... the photo: