Archive for June, 2007

Thinking of becoming a ‘car blogger’

June 27, 2007 | Filed under: Sucks like a vacuum, This side of the Hudson

“Take most people, they’re crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they’re always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that’s even newer. I don’t even like old cars. I mean they don’t even interest me. I’d rather have a goddamn horse. A horse is at least human, for God’s sake.” ~ Holden Caulfield

A few years ago, I went to Las Vegas and left my minivan with LB and her boyfriend at the time. I hated that fucking minivan, because it was a MINIVAN and I cannot emphasize the soccer mom-ness of it all. The smell of cleats and sweaty shin guards still hung in the air. There was still the cigarette burn that my poor influence of a neighbor put into the passenger side door. She was the one who introduced me to going to Dunkin Donuts in lieu of going to math class, how to inhale a Marlboro light, Kahlua, Smirinoff Ice, and how to properly escape from my house via the back door between the hours of 1 and 2 AM. If there is anyone that I can thank for my sordid heathen-like behavior, it would be her. Though thankfully my palate for alcohol has become a tad more refined over the years.

The minivan then was full of memories and so when I returned from Las Vegas to a car that wouldn’t go into reverse without feeling like it was actually having a seizure, I got out, kicked the tires, lifted up the hood, and then cried. Because I had no fucking clue as to what I should be looking for under the hood, but there was an engine, so that was a plus. It turned out that the one thing I found most abhorrent about my otherwise cushy life, was dying from transmission failure. In all of my knowledge of motor vehicles, I apparently missed the part where the transmission was key to the movement of a car and that transmissions also cost $2,000.

I had to whore myself out to the AAMCO guy in order to get a piece of metal that cost far more than the value of the vehicle that it was going to be placed in. It’s like giving your everything for an unappreciative child, who will still give you an attitude and be demanding after you’ve provided her with most everything her little heart desires including Coach bags and diamond studs. I finally knew how my parents felt.

That said, if ever I’m riding in a car now and I suddenly feel a jerky movement, my head goes into crisis mode. Though I skipped most math classes my Senior year of high school, I am still capable of figuring out how much is in my bank account before it hits deathcon 7 levels of lowness. So as my heart is dropping to my toes thinking about how fucking much I can put into a car, my head is thinking about how much babysitting (or whoring) can be done so that I’m left with a few grand and some dignity.

Though Ye Olde Sable returned beautifully remastered last week, yesterday I started feeling the jerky movements. I then sat in the parking lot at work putting it into gear and moving it in and out of the spot to see if it would work or do something or if the transmission would just fall out right there in front of my mother’s secretary’s window. I then moved the car back to check for leaking fluids and maybe took its temperature.

In DC it’s ok to have a car, which is why when I go down, I don’t mind flying and getting a zipcar or subjecting myself to various fares between arbitrarily made zones or getting groped on the metro. Here, in upstate NY, if you don’t have a car, good luck and god bless, because that’s pretty much the only form of transportation. Well cars, skis and ice skates and maybe a kayak or canoe. I’ve never been in a position to say this and really mean it: but if the transmission is what is the problem, then I’m getting rid of the sable and purchasing an actual a car. My very first major adult purchase, with like test driving and everything. I’m practically pissing myself with the excitement of the new car smell and hearing that my FICO score is 12.

Which reminds me; at some point, don’t let me forget to tell you about the time that JB, Pammy and I went test driving and the sales guy decided right then in there, in the Nissan parking lot, in front of the Xterras, that he wanted to marry Pammy. And the subsequent phone calls from him that ensued. Y’all, the man declared his love for her while asking me over my voicemail then asked when I’d like to come take a look at the Muranos.

I heart Jake Ryan

June 25, 2007 | Filed under: 10 years older, Humdrum

“It’s really human of you to listen to all my bullshit.” – Samantha Baker

I keep a long list of ‘Fodder’ on a bright pink sticky pad in my office. The random shit that comes to me in the middle of the day during a conference call or when thinking about what will be served at a barbeque. I had every intention of bringing the sticky with me this afternoon when I left at 3 PM. Sorry, I need to say that again and in bold italics: 3 PM. Even though I was given permission to leave at 2 PM, after I had enjoyed all of the Ben and Jerry’s my little heart could desire.

Basically, I work in heaven. If heaven included a free mini Ben and Jerry’s scoop shop, every Monday afternoon.

I was so full of a deliciously made New York Super Fudge Chunk sundae that I came home to watch the remaining half hour of General Hospital and then nap, because I was deliriously full of ice cream. Instead of falling asleep to The Departed or Fight Club or A Clockwork Orange again, I decided to go for something with a little less blood and instead decided to get a little John Cusack action.

Watching him all adorably pitiful in the rain in High Fidelity, brought me back to my very recent and intense introduction to Lloyd Dobler which for some reason led to Jake Ryan. I fell asleep thinking of Lloyd Dobler and Jake Ryan. Which – ignoring how my mind works for a brief moment – begs the question of Why? Why did it take me so many years to discover the wonder of Lloyd and Jake? And is it OK for me to play catch up some 20 years later? I mean how many objections would I get to discussing Jake Ryan every day for the next six months (or days) with an accompanying photo? My guess, is not too many.

Pain in the ass

June 24, 2007 | Filed under: An ass the size of Rhode Island

“A bear, however hard he tries, grows tubby without exercise.” ~A.A. Milne

I’ve never understood the eagerness with which some can carry on a conversation about their weight loss efforts. With such enthusiasm and aplomb as to how fantastic things are going and how they feel so much better and lighter and did you hear about the free unicorns that come when you lose 15 pounds?

Then again, I have a great ability to become frustrated when things are not going according to plan. Very frustrated in that I’m going to slam this door now and possibly throw my sneakers out the sunroof kind of way. It’s so very charming, as I’m sure one can imagine.

It’s not really that things aren’t going well or that there really is much to discuss, it just is. The process of ‘toning’ and ‘getting healthy’ is inane, long, boring and so fucking tedious. It’s full of ups and downs…and generally, how much is there to say?

Thus far, the only profound thing that I am able to come up with is that yesterday, my trainer kicked my ass so hard that I’m now forced to write while standing up. Because apparently there are massive amounts of nerves and muscles and such in my ass and thighs, which have been worked in ways once thought unfathomable.

Let’s just say that if I had the ability, coordination and…um…proper appendage to pee while standing up, I totally would.

Slogans

June 22, 2007 | Filed under: Humdrum, This side of the Hudson

“Your most unhappy customers are your greatest source of learning.” ~Bill Gates

Enterprise: “We’re totally fucking useless! But (maybe) we can pick you up!”

Bally’s Total Fitness: “We can do something about that back fat, don’t worry!”

MetLife: “Bend over, we promise to be gentle!”

Kate Spade: “A bag a day keeps the curmudgeonly at bay”

Upstate NY: “One Manning is better than no Mannings at all”

A story

June 21, 2007 | Filed under: Sucks like a vacuum, This side of the Hudson

“I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.”  ~Robert Frost

A girl loses her license on public transit and wrecks her car. When she attempts to get a rental car because her car is stuck in body shop purgatory – wherein it’s stuck there for three weeks leaving her convinced that it’s being sold for parts to Canadian factories -she is unable to get a car without a valid license. Upon that sad realization and few uses of the ‘f’ word, the girl decides to go to the DMV to get a temporary license. Thus subjecting herself to having her soul sucked from her in the most strenuous and unproductive way ever. For surely, the only thing worse than waiting in line at the DMV would be enduring TSA at 6 AM. She gives herself a pat on the back for quickly deciding to go to the DMV as opposed to the office. Having procured a car after bribing her brother with a Subway turkey sandwich (he’s easy, whatever), she was ready for departure. When lo’ upon being ready to depart, the car battery is dead.

So to recap, no license, no transportation and in the middle of a Suburban Hell, where the only way to get from point A to point B is via motor vehicle. Awesome, no?

At which point the girl lays in the driveway and prays for the UPS man to come and run her over. Ok that was only in her head, but instead decides that cabbing! That will be the way to go! And thankfully enough, the DMV is far less painful than she had originally had prepared herself for, therefore realizing that maybe the DMV wasn’t such the eternal waste of time, space and energy as originally suspected.

And so with that, she stands on the street corner in downtown Albany to wait for her return cab home. As she is standing she gets stares and a man asks the time and then grazes her boob as he walks past her. She realizes that the only thing that would complete this pristine picture of her standing on the corner in the ‘hood (yo), is if she had a baby stroller, with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth while on the payphone. After being accosted and blatantly stared at, her cab ride home includes a bonus trip practically past fucking Yonkers.

On that note, perhaps being run over by a UPS truck would have been a most excellent solution.

The end.