Welcome To The 518, We Got One Dead Already

Since I outed myself last week, I thought it might be nice to tell you a little bit about where I'm from. Most people hear New York and think skyscrapers and the Statue of Liberty. It's the city that never sleeps, but I don't live there. I like to sleep, so I hang out upstate. With the cows. It's awesome. Smells a little though.

If you recall I admitted to playing eight hours of Rock Band last night. The boys took it upon themselves to name our band 518 in honor of an area code that none of us live in. In the midst of our ridiculously long Rock Band set I said to Ryan, "I'll go pick up chicken wings if you pay for them." (I'm so thoughtful) And he agreed to feed my husband, myself, my cousin, Dayna (formerly Butter) and my two children for the price of a 15 minute car ride. Sweet.

After we picked up the wings, Dayna asked if we could buy beer in New York on Sunday. Why yes, yes you can. But not before noon, which means you can stop and pick up your beer on your way home from church. Those New York law makers are so considerate and thoughtful. Apparently in Connecticut you can not buy beer on Sunday. You can, however, have an open container in the car with you as long as it belongs to the passenger. That has nothing to do with the story at hand I just thought you might appreciate the education.

As we are driving home to rock out with our wings and beer (I'm one drug addiction away from my very own VH1 Behind the Music), we drive up on a car accident. We were so focused on the cars in the middle of the road we almost hit the man directing traffic. (by we I mean Dayna. I wasn't driving. It wasn't my fault.) The man was dressed in his best wranglers and flannel flashing what appeared to be a bicycle reflector to get the attention of oncoming traffic. Clearly it wasn't working.

So I say to Dayna, "Roll down your window and see if we should turn around and go a different way." (It was pretty bad and very recent) So she rolls down her window and before she could even speak he says, "It's a car accident." (Really, you don't say) "We got one dead already."

I don't know how to respond to that. Honestly without any coaxing from anyone he volunteered that information. Dayna and I just looked at each other wide-eyed like, "WHAT? He did NOT just go there." Oh but he did and then he let us drive through the accident scene.

After we had driven through the accident Dayna turned to me and said, "It's a good thing we stopped for the beer. That could have been us."

So if you are looking for a place to spend your next vacation and you like cows, like it when people share inappropriate information with you (I already know you do because you read blogs) and like to buy beer (that could possibly save your life) on Sundays then come on over to the 518. We know how to rock.