If you say that this is where I get it from, I will smack you. Really, I will. (aka: Why I am grateful for having Triple A membership.)


I do NOT appreciate “pop” visits from my Dad. To be fair, he wasn’t TRYING to “pop visit” (he has done that in the past and I HATE it). My Dad and my Bro had been trying to call me for several hours this morning (my phone was on silent because it is a rare day that I allowed myself to sleep in).

It seems that Dad, who lives an hour away, pulled a bonehead maneuver (don’t say Joz-like! Grrr!)… he started up the RAV4 (my car) and somehow proceeded to lock himself out of the car with the engine running. He had an appointment in LA (not too far from where I live), so he left the car running, went over and took my brother’s car and left for L.A. to his appointment… leaving my brother carless & desperately calling me to tell me what was happening and that Dad was planning on stopping by to get the only spare key from me.

When I finally got in touch with Dad on the phone, he said he’d been waiting for my call because he needed directions to my house from where he was. I gave him SIMPLE directions, giving him exact street names and LARGE LANDMARKS (landmarks he claimed he would recognize) as points of reference.

And somehow he still got lost, ending up in West Hollywood (not near where I live). At this point, I was already late for an appointment I had at noon and I was PISSED off because I told him if he had any trouble finding me, he should’ve called me. And then I tried to give him directions back to my place and he was not being clear as to where he ACTUALLY was. There are some parts of L.A. where the streets change names, end & start somewhere else, veer in strange directions, etc. When he called to say he couldn’t find my street, he said “I”m on Melrose at Santa Monica Blvd.” As I was trying to figure out where that was and how he could’ve possibly gotten SO off-course, he said, “I’m turning around on Melrose. I’m near Robertson, near the Blue Whale (Pacific Design Center).” Now that I knew where he was, I started giving him directions from Melrose.

When I was done, I asked him to repeat the directions to me & he asked me, “Well, how do I get there, if I’m on La Cienega?” Wait a minute!!! I thought you said you were on Melrose!!!

Instead of stopping while getting the directions, he kept driving around in circles & making himself MORE LOST, even though I told him West Hollywood was nowhere near where I live!

Anyway, now, I had to give him an entirely new set of driving directions and I was PISSED OFF because I had an appointment at noon that I was clearly going to be late for, if not totally miss, because of all this insanity. So as I’m giving him new directions (he is STILL driving around in circles, mind you!) I am yelling at him to “STOP!!! LISTEN!!! THIS IS WHERE YOU GO!!!” Meanwhile, all the boxes (still needing to be unpacked since our move in April) in the office (where I was standing) were getting dented because I. Wanted. To. Kick. Holes. In. The. Walls. But. I. Kicked. Some. Boxes. Instead.

Finally, my dad told me exactly which street he was going to drive back toward my side of town on. It was at this point that Yoshi couldn’t take any of this anymore and decided to make a run for it and left the house with the wise parting words, “DON’T KILL HIM WHEN HE GETS HERE.”

When my Dad got here (no, I didn’t kill him), he asked to look around the house, commenting, “You have so much stuff.” Translation: “This place is so messy.” Luckily, Yoshi’s words were still in the back of my head and I resisted the urge to maim him in our living room. (Besides, we have enough to clean up in our living room, as it is.) He left in a rush, because he said that he had an appointment in the San Gabriel Valley area at 1:00pm, and then an appointment after that even further east before he was going to go home.


So after all that, he was planning on leaving my car idling in the driveway for who-knows-how-many-more-hours (my brother had already been sitting on the front lawn for at least three hours, paranoid that someone was going to walk by, break the window & take off with the car) until he got home with the spare key?!

Nuh-uh. I ended up having to cancel my 12:00 appointment and called my brother letting him know I was going to send AAA to the house to unlock the car (since it was my car) so it wouldn’t be idling in the driveway until my dad got home.

The kicker to this entire story is that when the AAA locksmith got to the house & my brother gave him my name, the locksmith said, “HEY! I know her! Actually, I remember that name and having to unlock the car for her before!” and went on to describe me and the car I had been driving at the time in detail. Eeek.

I swear I can’t remember the last time I had to call AAA for locking myself out of my car, but I DO KNOW that I did not do it in the driveway of my house with the engine running. I also know that I just called Triple A to come get me back into the car and didn’t steal borrow someone else’s car, leaving my locked car idling for more than 3 hours while going on a wild goose chase to find the only set of spare keys.

Things to do ASAP:
1) Make more spare keys to the RAV4. And for all the other vehicles which my Dad may possibly get behind the wheel of.

2) Buy Dad a Thomas Guide. Or a GPS device. Or hire my dad his own sherpa to guide him through his treacherous expeditions in L.A..

3) Check myself into the looney bin. I love my Dad, but sometimes he drives me nucking futs.

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