You don't mess around with Jim

So about a hundred years ago (okay so more like 15 years ago), Preppygirl and I were driving my little Ford truck from western New York to Fort Lauderdale (a long fucking drive). Of course we were very poor at that time of our lives (like sooo much has changed there right) anyway because we would rather spend our money on beer, stopping at a hotel would have been ludicrous. Well my little S10 came fully equipped with nothing but an AM radio (which I love am radio now like late late night listening to Art Bell but that is another story) anyway, I had brought along a little tape player (remember we called them "jam boxes"? that sounds so retarded now doesn't it?) and plenty of batteries.
I took the first shift (after Preppygirl's dad had to pay to have a new battery installed on my truck~I hope I remembered to pay him back for that), I drove for several hours and then Prep took over. I wanted to make sure she was set with music and snacks so she could concentrate on driving. So, she choose the Jim Croce greatest hits tape (seems she loved Jim Croce as it reminded her of her youth) and we put it on loop and I fell asleep. Somewhere around Washington DC I woke up to Prep weaving on the highway and her hands down around my feet trying to access the "jam box". I was like "what do you need?" and she screams at me "I fucking hate Jim Croce!" It seems that his greatest hits tape only had about 6 songs on it and it had been playing for several hours driving her slowly insane. I still laugh when I hear Time in a Bottle or Bad Bad Leroy Brown. I'm afraid that one road trip ruined old Jim for her.
Several years later when Prep came to my bachelorette party in Chicago, she brought me a little gift. It was a collage of she and I in some of our more "interesting" moments and there in the middle of our picture was a tiny head of Jim Croce.
ah...photographs and memories.