Currently Chasing: My Car

I love my car. Right now it’s a little dirty…and there is definitely two huge cardboard boxes, a printer, a 12-pack of diet soda, three pairs of shoes, a shirt, a jacket, two umbrellas, a bunch of very important documents, a combination cover and an old style boom box in my trunk, but the fact that all of it fits just reminds me of how much I love my car. It’s definitely dirty enough to write something even dirtier on it and the area in front of my seat is home to no less than seven French fries.

My middle console in deep need of cleaning out. There are photos, money, pens, receipts and air fresheners in there and my glove compartment contains everything except a valid registration and proof of insurance. My daughter has used the door pockets as a personal library and the leg area on the passenger side plays host to my gloves, sun glasses and every water bottle I’ve ever drank from in my life.

Did I mention I love my car? My seats do not heat up. My old car had seats that heat up, but that would have been too expensive up an upgrade for my current car. My windshield wipers aren’t rain activated. Did you even know that was a thing? That your wipers could detect rain and automatically begin wiping it away? I didn’t.  I know now only because there was a list of things the dealer made sure to tell me I wouldn’t be getting . It’s fine though. My eyes can also detect rain and then my hand can basically automatically hit the thingy on the side that will automatically make my wipers wipe.  And all of that is free. Came with the car. No extra cash required.

My car is not a convertible like my last car was…but I do have a nice sun roof. I don’t always recognize my car in a crowd because It’s white and looks like a lot of cars I see out in the parking lot. My last car was easily recognizable. So I have to kind of actually remember where I park now, which is a total bitch.

My new car will also never have remote start. This makes me very sad. Remote start is just not recommended for my vehicle. There is some place that will basically fuck my shit up and put it in my car anyway for about a grand…but I’ve decided I’m just going to have to go out and start it myself. It’s a sacrifice. But I love my car, so I’m willing to do it. Every single day, as much as it pains me, I’m going to go out in the freezing cold and non-remotely start my car.

I could go buy a different car. An easily recognizable car. A car with heated seats. A car with rain detection, a convertible, a car with remote start. But I picked this car and by God, It’s mine. I’ve invested a lot of money into it, and it’s not like the old days…when I felt like cars were disposable and I couldn’t wait to get rid of the one I had in search for the next shiny thing on the lot? Sometimes even test driving other vehicles, knowing I was in no position to get a new car. Wanting a new car simply because my current one needed a little work, or a new brake light, or gas. I’ve learned to hang on to my vehicle. Shop for quality and then just love what I have.

I need to start applying this same logic to my future relationships.

No one car is going to be perfect. Even if you searched for years and finally found one that you think is perfect, you will realize after you drive it off the lot that the trunk isn’t quite long enough for your golf clubs. Or the leather seats really heat up and burn in the summer. Or the GPS won’t allow you to make changes while you’re driving. Something will become an issue.

Same with people. No matter how long you spend looking, and test driving, and negotiating…at the end of the day there is going to be something about that person that you don’t like, or wish you could change. But you can’t focus on that. Instead, focus on the things you like.

Like the leg room, and the Mercedes Benz symbol in your front grill, and all the space in the trunk, and the Mercedes Benz symbol in your front grill.

In the past I have had some lame reasons to dump men.

“I don’t like the way you laugh.”

“I don’t like the way you smell.”

“I don’t like that you don’t make enough money to buy me a Pandora bracelet.”

“I don’t like that you are skinnier than me.”

“I don’t like the way you take an hour to say something that would take someone else 10 minutes to say.”

Whatever. There was always something. My point is, you have to start at some point, just realizing that nothing is perfect. Or realizing that everything that is wrong with something is what ultimately makes it perfect for you.

If my car always needs to be cleaned…then there is no way I can get it dirty right?

It’s this kind of logic that helps me sleep at night.

Currently Chasing: An App for that

I'm not as young as I used to be. Shocker. So when I had an opportunity recently to go out in DC (even though I hate DC) I took it. And I don't hate DC in the way that people hate Rebecca Black. I hate DC in the way that people hate friends that text you and then you try to call them instead of text them (because you are driving in some kind of fucked up city with one-way streets and impromptu parades that take place while you are waiting to make a right turn - DC I'm talking to you) and then they don't pick up the phone.

But my brother (is he still called that even though my dad and his mom haven't been married for about 13 years now) called and said he'd be in DC and that I should swing by and have dinner. As if it is possible to just swing by DC. Sure, I'll swing by, if by swing you mean sit in traffic for an hour as my left arms gets skin cancer through the window.

On the bright side a friend of mine (datemedc) also lives in DC (well, virginia..but the part of virginia that I hate just as much as DC) and we decided to make it a girls night. I had to wake up Saturday morning for work at the Pentagon anyway, so I figured, I'd just stay the night, which would save me the headache of waking up super early and making my way out to the city in the a.m. Good Plan.

So I arrive ... find a place to park (not a total nightmare) then go have dinner with my brother (who is about 45 or so) and his fiancé (who is about 13 or so.) We sit down at a table and he and I order from our big person menu while she plays tic-tac-toe on her kiddie menu and orders the chicken nuggets with ranch. (I'm kidding… Barbecue sauce.)

After dinner I go out to get my car and of course...I can't find it. (This happens too often.) I realize fairly quickly that it's on a different level and finally find it and drive to my friend’s house.

We head toward the metro, make our way to the train and get on. Off we go. Then after awhile the train stops for what seems like a really long time. Then it moves again. One stop. Then a voice comes on and tells us the train is out of commission. Of course it is. We hop off and wait for the very next train going in that direction. We hop on that train and then guess what...all of a sudden we are going in the wrong direction. I don't even know how it happened, but I know why it happened. It's DC!

We decide to catch a cab and end up meeting up with another friend. (I would link to her blog but the last one she wrote had to do with me and a penis, and I'm not sure I'm ready to be that honest with anyone.)

Dateme was getting hit on everywhere we went. Like something I've never seen before. Men just walking up to her on the street, telling her she was pretty and asking her for her number. Wow. Behold.

We end up in some bar with a phallic banana on the window. We go in. There is a bad 80's cover band but we don't care. I proceed to drink a lot of things mixed with Red Bull. By the time they kick us out it is 3:30 am. By the time we get home it's 4. I have to get up in 2.5 hours for work.

So Saturday I wake for work, tired, mild headache...but feeling like the night was worth the uncomfort the day might bring. I spend the day at the Pentagon and then finally it's time to head home. I go out to the parking lot and guess what? MY CAR HAD BEEN STOLEN. I mean really? As if the Pentagon hasn't endured enough? There are security guards all over that place. I mean besides being illegal, it is just downright rude to steal a car out of the Pentagon parking lot!

So I get a guard and he's talking to me about the car, asking when I parked it there...looking at cars that look similar to mine and asking if that car is indeed mine, and I'm assuring him that I'm crazy, but I'm not that fucking crazy and that no, that is definitely not my car. And I'm growing increasingly anxious because my purse, badges, credit cards and ID's are in there...not to mention my Zumba CD's...and lord knows I don't want to have to burn more of those!

Finally he gets a call on his magic ear piece and he says, let's go up here to lot 21. And I say, I didn't park there, I parked right here. And he said, well let's just swing by lot 21...and I want to punch his face cause he used the words SWING BY...and when we get up to lot 21, what do we see. My car. I guess I did park it there. Isn't there an App for that? Or medication?