Yup. You read that right. Gangstaville. That’s what the car became for about 45 of the most hilarious minutes of my life tonight.
We’re driving to Oklahoma right now. Brian has a fraternity alumni meeting thing tomorrow, so we’re making the trek.
We were having this intense doctrine discussion when we stopped at a QuikTrip (QT for you veterans out there). We did our customary drink purchasing and got back in the car… but something had changed while we were gone. This was no longer a scholarly, intellectual den of theology. No no. It was Gangstaville.
I believe it stemmed from me busting one of my crazy awesome dance moves in the passenger seat, but somehow we ended up on the Coolio Pandora station. We squealed with delight with every song change due to a mutual love for 80’s and 90’s hip hop. Okay– I was the one squealing, but Brian was doing whatever the manly equivalent of that is.
Here’s the thing about me: I love to dance. I love it. I don’t have moves or groove or mojo or even rhythm– I just like to shake it. One of my favorite places to show off these moves is the car. It’s great! Think about it– all of your awesome moves are limited to half of your body, thus doubling the awesomeness of what is happening with your upper body. Car dancing– try it. Anyways, that’s what I was doing. Brian was driving, we were both singing, and I was doubly awesome car dancing my face off.
Here’s the other thing about me: I know some lyrics. And sometimes it shocks people when they find out which songs I know the lyrics to. I’ll never forget the time I was driving to the Renaissance Festival with some friends and Gangsta’s Paradise came on. The jaws of my sweet Dripping Springs friends dropped when I flawlessly delivered every word. Didn’t they remember I grew up in Dallas?
Brian’s jaw didn’t drop tonight. I think he knows at this point that I am full of surprises. So, he got to see the car dancing, rapping version of his very white wife tonight, and I dare say he was a fan 😉