Riley and I left The Cuz’s house today a little after noon and drove to Sedalia, where I’ll be spending the next week… or however long I decide to stay. It’s anywhere from a three to four hour drive, depending on how many times I stop and how many speed limits I decide to ignore. There’s usually very little of the first and a whole hell of a lot of the second, but ended up being the exact opposite this time.
I think the most accurate way to explain the drive is to explain my Twitter activity for the afternoon. I figured it was the most accurate way I’d be able to remind myself what I wanted to write about, short of taking notes while driving. Then again, it’s probably not much different then texting while driving on an Interstate.
I just made my own energy drink at a gas station. I love Moto Mart, even if they discontinued the big ‘Mo.
When I was in St. Louis this summer, The Cuz told me Moto Mart (a gas station chain in the area) used to sell drinks called The Big Mo, and she knew I needed one. As my bad luck would have it, Moto Mart no longer offers such an ingenious product. I can’t imagine why. I just really want a cup that says Big Mo on it. No reason.
Instead, I made a visit to the fountain machine where I could put Dr. Pepper, vanilla flavoring, and shots of energy drink into one up. ALL WITH MY OWN RECIPE. I may not be able to cook worth a shit, but mixing fountain drinks at a convenience store? I think it’s my calling.
I always feel a little empty inside when I sing along to Journey without my BFFs screaming along with me.
Shortly after I made a stop at Ozarkland, which had been distracting me by giant billboards for miles, in an attempt to find souvenirs for my BFFs (mission: halfway successful), Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin'” came blaring through my factory speakers. I sang along as the top of my lungs, because there’s no way more appropriate to sing such a masterpiece. But, without my BFFs bellowing along with me, complete with hand movements, it just didn’t feel the same.
Aaaand I can always tell I’m getting closer to my hometown by the # of roadside “adult superstores”.
I really wanted to take pictures of all the signs, but I didn’t have time to stop that many times. A little place called “Passion’s” is my favorite, and mainly because they clearly have a gigantic advertising budget, staking claims of having “lingerie in all sizes” and also letting anyone traveling on I-70 that Passion’s is “where lovers shop”.
As many times as I’ve made random trips into Sex World, you’d think I’d be a regular at roadside porn shops. The closest I’ve ever been to inside any of these adult-themes stores housed in metal pole barns is the one time my car full of road trip buddies all posed in front of one, using the hood of my car as a tripod to take a nice family picture in front of the joint.