Dec 17th was my birthday!
Not sure if it’s blog worthy or not.. but hey… it’s my birthday, I can be a princess! (I am suffering a terrific lack of traditional Angie wit today — might be due to the mimosa)
Someone was saying to me that turning 35 wasn’t a milestone. I say any birthday is a milestone. It means I’ve been here another year and I’m still alive. (for those keeping track, I do have a number of chronic illnesses so this is more signficant than it sounds)
So let’s see, any news? I got a new car. The VW is no more… it was a long time coming. I hit a point where I was not going to pay one more dime (or ask Peter to pay one more dime for it) on a car that obviously wished to leave this life. The final straw? Towing the stupid thing 13 miles over my AAA limit. I might need to join AA to recuperate. (for the universe impaired, AAA is Triple A and AA is alcoholics anonymous)
The tow truck driver was amusing. It was late in the evening, after my girlfriend Sarah and I had spent the day early Christmas/Hanukkah shopping, she had left. I swerved to see one more store but apparently Y-h-v-h thought I didn’t need to buy any leather jackets even if they were 80% off. (Y-h-v-h is another name for God) The car didn’t start, AAA sent a guy to help and he couldn’t do anything so he called a tow truck. The tow truck guy said he could take it to a locksmith (it was an ignition issue and apparently in Fairy Land there are magical locksmiths who can fix this). Given that we were still on Melrose, the 24 hour locksmith wasn’t there. (let’s not pause and reflect on the meaning of 24 hour)
While he called the locksmith (this will get funny or at least odd soon, it is, after all, my life) I was trying to do some Zen meditation and take a few deep breaths. We were right next to a 7-11 so naive me thought, hmm, let’s get a hotdog. I get the hotdog. I put all the junk available in the 7-11 (including the crappy plastic cheese) on the hotdog including the tomatoes mixed with jalapeno peppers (unbeknownst to me, the peppers had left the scene, all that was left were the damn tomatoes). In an attempt to remain frugal, I did not buy a drink.
I return to the tow truck and start to eat my junk dog. (it was Kosher so at least no animals were unholily (that’s not a word ( that’s too many parenthesis (but that’s what parenthesis are for, adding side notes))) slaughtered in the making of my hotdog). The tomatoes decided to wreak havoc on my throat and I started to turn a bit red. (just a bit — and not by choice even if I did have extra rouge on) I think maybe I should go back and get a soda. I get a soda while TTD (Tow Truck Driver) uses my cell phone to argue with the not present locksmith.
I return to the truck, with a soda. I am trying to be a healthy person (because Peter is healthier than I am) and not drinking too many sodas, but the situation just called for a Pepsi. I then realize I need to take my insulin and I do a little Zen mediation first to calm down. Out comes the syringe — then TTD yells “Are you all right?” over and over again. I say “yes I’m all right”. (Thank God for Zen meditation) He yells “Is that HEROIN?”. I look at him like he’s a Martian. (Or maybe a Beetlegeuze Fivian, who can tell, they all look alike) I say “I’m a diabetic”. No reply. Apparently he’s one of the few hispanics not affected by the disease. (is that racist? Maybe… but blacks and hispanics have a disproportionately large number of Type 2 diabetics and so looking at him, what was I to think). Oh, I’m type 1.
The locksmith explains that he means 24 hours a week and we tow my evil car (from this point on known as the Beast) (there’s some legal language that’s more amusing, like heretofore or something like that… but being that tomorrow is my BIRTHDAY, I’ve had too much champagne to remember) to my regular mechanics. A couple of cute Jewish guys (wahoo) (all Jewish guys are cute, it’s part of the religion) who are sick to death of seeing my car in their lot. I leave them a note saying “here it is, it’s not starting, good luck, oh by the way the key is wrapped in the napkin” stuffed into their mailbox.
David calls the next day (A nice Jewish name) saying “Why is the Beast in my lot again?” I say use the duct tape and spit, I’m only interested in selling the damn thing. He did the $45 fix (versus the $350 fix that it really required) with the caveat — “Sell it quickly”. I trade it in for a new car (new to me anyway) a 2004 corolla. The VW is no more.
It was a long, fun ride. Hopefully I’ll get another windfall and pay this one off early as well.
Hmm,
any more news? Probably some… but I must write more of that on a different day.
By the by…. I bought my car through www.wescom.org and I fully recommend them or any other credit union for both good customer service AND reasonable interest rates.
Snow Peas out.
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