That's my tire. And in this photo the tire clearly wasn't on my car. Because somewhere between Barstow and The Hills Have Eyes (Baker, CA), my tire decided it wanted to crap out. And by crap out I mean COMPLETELY blow. Like, it popped. POP! I was going 80 mph. Didn't really think about how lucky I was at the time that I didn't spin out or anything crazy like that, but I know now. And because I was in the middle of nowhere, it took roadside assistance about an hour just to get to me. I mean, they couldn't find my location on my call through the GPS in my phone that is how in the middle of bumfuckegypt I was. I had to HOOF it to the closest exit to see a mile marker. And of course I was dressed in a bathing suit with a cover up that was pretty much see through because I was headed straight to the pool upon arrival. (Katy, Siri, Hannah- remember when I wore that as a dress to a BBQ at the Schneidies last summer and didn't know how see through it was? Fun times.) And it was 55 degrees outside in the desert. A few very nice people (read: men. Duh.) stopped and offered to help. But they couldn't do much because my spare was flat. Naturally. Why would my spare be properly inflated like it was supposed to be?* Hmm? In my hour wait for roadside assistance, I managed to email/text/bbm/call as many people as I could. Had to also alert Katy Stuhr that I would be tardy to the party. Kim Zolciak wouldn't have approved. Ms. Stuhr was expecting me poolside at Liquid. Instead I was praying I wouldn't become a headline on Yahoo!'s homepage that weekend. My imagination, as you can imagine was getting the best of me. Headline "West Hollywood Woman Accepts Help from Stranger, Turns Out to be Newly Escaped Charles Manson". But that didn't happen. Roadside assistance came, put my spare on, pumped it up with air and sent me on my way to Baker (home of the world's largest thermometer!) to get a new tire. In the meantime, Katy had sent me oodles and oodles of places to get a tire en route to the city of sin (lifesaver!) so I knew exactly where to go. Let me tell you how MUCH FUN it is to drive 55 on a spare on a highway where the minimum speed of drivers is 80.
Pulled up to the tire place and thought it HAD to be a joke. Spent an hour there (lord knows WHAT they were doing) but I threw my credit card at them, they took me to the cleaners and I happily let them knowing that I was ALMOST there. The scenarios of what could happen to me alone in the desert ran rampant here too. Maybe I watch too many horror movies? And the woman who ran the show had the most WICKED french tip acrylics I had seen in a very long time. Made me feel at home circa 1999. I made sure to STARE at them as she was handing my credit card back to me. As I drove away, I looked at the service station in my rear view mirror and had a really good laugh.
And I made it to Vegas. Safe and sound. And what a weekend it was.