Carbonated spit

I miss road trips much too much. It's been too long since i just got in my car and drove in a direction, deciding where i want to go once i see the interstate numbers and pick between odds and evens. I miss blasting music that makes me feel like im worth something and driving with my sun roof open, my drivers side and passenger window down creating a cylone of wind that sucks long curls of hair down my throat as i sing along, knowing that this offending onslaut of hair in my face would stop if i would just choose between singing and my windows, but im a stubborn bitch and keep content with pulling my hair from my eyes every two seconds. Flipping to a particularly upbeat song my body starts to twitch as i choreograph in my head; the movements translating into minute versions if i see a move i really like, suddenly making my head tilt to the side as i think of turning. Music choices are also greatly affected by weather and temperature. Dave or Tori for a cool clear morning, if its rainy it must always be Sarah or Sam, and Creedence or Skynard for those backroad days when i need to let loose the redneck within, screamin lyrics and hangin out my window. If only i drank beer.