Nine Lives- one

Helen reminded me about something I'd completely forgotten as we dangerously talked on our cell phones driving down the interstate in opposite directions. My husband made an 80's mp3, and I had to call Helen to belt, mostly in tune, a Journey song into her ear, "Someday love will find you. Break those chains that bind you. One day will remind you, how we touched and went our separate ways." The next Night Ranger song instantly triggered Helen's memory. We are children of the eighties.

The phone call sparked an idea in me to blog about how I've used up more than my share of nine lives. I'm thinking of posting reasons I should probably be dead, mostly from stupid things I did as a rather naive and inquisitive teenager.

So, here's the first installment of my Nine Lives. Considering sharing the same type of story on your blog and letting me know in the comments, so I can learn about how you narrowly escaped the Grim Reaper's death grip.



Somewhere around my high school graduation, Helen and I purchased tickets to The Cars concert at Riverbend in Cincinnati. We'd already listened to our "Heartbeat City" LP endlessly and seen the slanky sleek Rick walk on water across a pool in his MTV video more times than I'd like to admit. Oh, the tragedy of misspent youth.

On the night of the Cars concert, I dyed a streak of my hair blue to match my snazzy white dress with faint blue stripes. Isn't that how girls in the eighties always gussied up in the eighties? However, the strand of dyed locks turned a bit green as my hair was naturally blonde (imagine that), a lesson for me in the color wheel. Helen and I climbed into my '72 Duster which we affectionately called "The Greenie Weanie". On I-275 near the exit to Riverbend, my beloved army green car overheated in the long line of cars crawling down the off ramp . We opened the hood and puzzled over what to do as smoke poured from the engine. About that time, another car door opened beside us, a different kind of smoke poured forth, and some young man in a union jack t-shirt with cut off sleeves shouted, "Hey, you girls need a ride into the concert?" Being the responsible and wise type, Helen and I abandoned my car, and squeezed into a car full of long haired scruffy young men, with the exception of one girl whom I chose to sit next beside, everyone smoking pot. Roach clips were hanging off every available surface. "You want a hit?" offered the generous driver. Helen nor I were stoners, so we declined their hospitality. Draped across the front of the car, I noticed a Union Jack, and their radio blared the very famous group Night Ranger. "Motorin'. What's your price for flight? To finally see the light?" Something like that.

No, those people didn't seize the opportunity drive off to a remote location and proceed to torture, rape and kill us. Fortunately. They simply drove into the parking lot of Riverbend, Helen and I sweetly thanked them and waved goodbye concert tickets in hand.

Wang Chung opened. What was their hit song? Buck would remember in a heart beat.

The Cars played like robots in black.

We found another friend's boyfriend Joe and his pal Palmer at the end of the concert in the crowd to take get water for the radiator and drive us back to my car. Yes, I did have AAA, but weren't boys better?

How many of my nine lives do you suppose I used up in that memorable evening?

And after rocking out to Night Ranger on my car stereo yesterday, what was the following song on the mp3?

"Drive" by the Cars.

I do not lie.