Category: in the car

Dear Mr.,

Normally, I am not one to get agro on the road. I believe that live and let live is a great policy to employ while driving here in southern California where people routinely shoot each other for nothing more than 4 feet of asphalt. You can see why, then, I was the first person surprised when I found my temper flare at the silver jeep-ish vehicle to my right. When she started inching forward as we waited in the queue for the little light that tells us we are allowed to go, two-by-two, onto the great freeway of torture (moooooo), it was obvious to me that she wasn’t going to play nice and wait her turn as surely her mother taught her to. I’m positive her parents showed her that we merge together, each lane taking a spot in between the cars from the other lane, first that lane, then my lane, then that lane, and so on, and for her to blatantly disregard these rules of decorum and try to get in front of me, which would clearly be a violation since your car and hers would end up being next to each other instead of yours and mine and THEN hers, as nature intended it, which just unacceptable.

Her shiny silver vehicle revved and inched. My dirty, non-descript colored car tried to rev, died, restarted and inched forward. Our noses met, inch for inch as we got closer to the head of the queue. And my temper flared to the point of me hitting my horn for one brief ‘bleeet’ which was sad sounding even to my own ears. But that is not the point! I was totally in the right. Right?

And then, right when I thought to myself that maybe violence wasn’t the answer, make peace – not war, and who really cares anyway? I’ll get home eventually. Who cares that I have no air conditioning and it’s a freakin’ 100 degrees out here and my windows are rolled down and my hair is completely wind blown and I’m subjected to all kinds of loud, pumping music from other vehicles which are playing songs I would never listen to unless I was tied down and being tortured – who cares? – and then, her friend in the front passenger seat leaned back to the backseat and out the unrolled window on my side and yelled ‘EAT ME!’ after which they both laughed hysterically, their gum-smacking, pink, glossy smeared lips yucking it up in my face, which clearly you saw and thought ‘enough is enough’ and for which I will always be grateful, in a sick and demented ‘they deserved it’ kind of way. The dance that ensued was just lovely and the memory of the event will be kept in my Most Favorite Vindictive Moments box.

Thank you for swinging your giant-ass SUV over to block her and allow me to inch parallel with you. Thank you for moving forward even with me so she had no choice but to stay behind us (where she belonged – it was my turn!) and thank you for your deft weaving in and out of lanes which repeatedly kept her behind you and allowed me to pass you both, get in the right lane and exit one mile later onto the 405 North, where much to my delight, she was at least 500 yards behind me and unable to pass you, due to your mad skillz, and then got caught behind two semis which clearly gave no credence to her friend’s ‘eat me’ remark, even though they actually could have. Eaten them, I mean. They were huge.

In the past, Mr., I counted myself among those that would not be so kind to people driving around in giant-ass, gas-guzzling, environment-killing SUV vehicles and tomorrow I might put myself in that category again. (mom – don’t follow that link…) But today, right this second, I love you. And it has nothing to do with looks, as we both know that your 50+ extensively wrinkled face has no effect on me. No, it was your kindness. To me. And your cruelty to her. Wait a minute. That didn’t sound right…..

Anyway, my love for you runs deep, baby.
Thanks a mill,
lpc

Commuting to work
Lone man in the green Sable
Gesturing emphatically
Stressing. Every. Point.
Muted to me
In a different car
But visually stimulating
Although not as good as coffee.

The good men and women of the police forces in southern California would really like me to have current registration. Their first hint was ticket #1 found under my left windshield wiper Tuesday after work. The second hint was ticket #2 found the next morning under my right windshield wiper outside where I live. But I think the one that finally hit home was yesterday evening when I was pulled over after waiting at a stop light with a cop behind me. He asked to see my license and registration. Instead I handed him the 2 tickets, told him that the dmv had sent my registration to the wrong address and it was still trying to find me. He looked at the 2 tickets, smiled and told me to take care of it soon. He handed them back to me and I had to ask, ‘Dude! What’s the deal? Did you get some kind of mandate that said to watch out for Leah and make sure she pays out the nose while the dmv plays forwarding tag with her mail?’ He didn’t smile. He said, ‘Well, it’s expired. Have a nice day.’

My whole goal during the morning commute is to not get stuck behind some car in which a person is smoking their morning cig. I’ve accepted the traffic, just not the second-hand smoke that comes billowing in through the vents in my car.

Some mornings it’s a game. I win. End of story.

Some mornings it’s a trial and tribulation. The world sucks. I hate all people everywhere.

Today: I won.

If you know the history of me and my car (23 Oct 2002 The Curse of the Car), you won’t be surprised to learn that last night it was broken into. Back small window, driver’s side, punched in so they could unlock the door. Went through everything in the trunk and jockey-box. They stole about 30 undeveloped one-time use cameras with photos my sister took of her kids for a children’s book I am/was helping her with. They also took the cute change purse Joe’s mom gave me for Christmas. One can only assume they, too, must have a first name beginning with ‘L.’

Broken glass everywhere.

They left the Minneola on the passenger seat along with a Tigers Milk bar. They obviously don’t know good food when they see it.

The best part? My car insurance lapsed a few months back and I haven’t paid the fee to get it started again.

So, there you go.

The commute to work yesterday morning held a beautiful rainbow for about 10 minutes while driving 5 North.

I felt like I was entering a magical land.

The commute home tonight gave me a huge rising moon on my left and the setting sun complete with wild orange and hot pink ribbons slashing the sky on my right.

I felt like I was living in Dune.

We got so many things done this weekend. Christmas to me has always meant projects and this year has been no exception.

Things I can check off the list:

candles
cards
letters
chocolates
most shopping
most cleaning
most wrapping

Went to see the 3rd installment of Lord of the Rings last Thursday after work with Joe, Matt, Margot and Olive. It was beautifully filmed and very creepy at the right moments. And I had three hours with which to take off my fake nails that have been bothering me.

My car decided to take an electric vacation while we were in the movie. Triple A coaxed it back for just long enough for me to drive Joe and I home before it decided to take off again. It is now sleeping over at Auto Tech awaiting an alternator operation.

I took the coaster in to work this morning after Joe dropped me off at Oh-Six O’clock plus 15 minutes or so. After I got done exclaiming to myself that people are nuts that get up so early, I sat quietly on the coaster and looked outside at the quietness and beauty of early day and remembered that I used to get up at 6 am every morning and drink tea and journal. I did that for years. A part of me has missed it. But a part of me loves to sleep in.

I was officially extended the job offer to work at GTI. Very, Very cool.
The next few weeks are going to be crazy-busy with doing wrap up photo shoots for the July issue of North and juggling web design work with loans.
It’s a crazy life but it’s all mine.

Today I got the new tire put on my car.
I know, I know….it’s been an entire week or so riding around on the donut…what was I THINKing? etc. etc. That’s just the way it worked out.
I’m still alive and the car is fine…no harm done.
I wore clean underwear every day just in case.
Feel better?

While waiting for my tire to get done, I overheard a phone call between Eric, the guy behind the desk and some unidentified young man who is unavailable to defend himself.
It went something like this:

Eric: ‘Hello and thank you for calling Discount Tires! How can I help you today?’
pause
Eric: ‘What? I’m not sure I understand. Could you please repeat that?’
pause, distractedly trying to help me and failing miserably.
Eric: ‘Um…look. Why don’t you come down here. I can’t really help you over the phone.’
pause, sudden irritation and disbelief.
Eric: ‘Son, are you trying to sell me a TIRE?? I WORK at Discount Tires! I’m not going to take some Michelin tires off your hands! Call the Penny Saver!’
click.

Why did this make me laugh?

1. Eric looked about 25. Is that old enough to call someone else ‘son’?
2. I hate when I’m at a counter and the person working there answers the phone and makes me wait. I’m there IN the store. I was FIRST. Let that person calling get their lazy butt down to the store like I had to!!
3. You have to admire someone willing to try and sell a product to a retail store. I’ve wanted to call Payless Shoes plenty of times and ask them to buy some of the pairs I purchased a few years ago during a crazy-shoe-buying phase. I have no idea where I bought them from at this point but I figure someone going to Payless might not care if they don’t look like the rest of the stock available. Who cares when you’re getting a $50 pair of shoes for $15?

quick recap for the kids:
sometimes you do what you have to do, pray really hard and hope for the best, gearing up for our utah trip, moral of the tire story: don’t buy too many shoes.
grande love to you.
mom

My right front tire finally blew. It couldn’t have happened at a better time. It could have gone over the weekend when my kids were here or it could have gone while I was driving to Simi Valley and taking them home or when I was on my way back last night. I was tired of pumping it up with air twice a day anyway. That game got old after the first 3 weeks. And I’m glad my dad made me learn how to change a tire and other basic car maintenance before I could drive a car. Although, a nice guy named Jose stopped when I was just about done and scolded me for doing ‘man’s work.’ He told me I should have waited for someone like him to do it for me. I let him help me tighten the lug nuts. I think it made him feel a little better. Anyway, thank you Jose. It was nice to know you would have helped me if I didn’t know how to do it.

I had a wonderful weekend with the kids. I can’t wait to take them to Utah in a few weeks. I know my family is excited to see them, too.

Not feeling well today. I think I’m going to take a nap and start the day over again later.

quick recap for the kids:
sadly and thankfully, you missed the excitement of a blown tire and a chance to learn something new. good luck with ‘everything end of the school year’ much love, mom

dun….dun….dun…..!
Our story begins a few months back when our heroine was spending an afternoon conversing with friends. It was an innocent conversation. There was no foreshadowing that day that could have possibly prepared her for her CAR being STOLEN! dun….dun……dun……!
And yet, there it wasn’t, right not where she had parked it only scant minutes before.
At first she was surprised. Then flabbergasted. Then unsure as she thought she may have parked it somewhere else and just forgot. It happens.
After walking up and down the street a few times and looking like a deranged, forgetful idiot (which some say she looks like more often than just then, but anyway) she was forced to call the police to come to her aid.
The dashing, young law enforcement officer, who, just between you and me couldn’t have been more than 21, came over in a matter of minutes, filed a report and even took her to her residence.

We’ll skip ahead along our time line to a week later when, at long last, her car was found. Sans her incredibly important manuscript pages that represented about two months of work. But included in the ‘booty’ left in the car, was an odd assortment of old albums, a fake, leather, silver jacket circa 1983 and a halogen bulb, along with a few pieces of chipped Wal-Mart pottery. Not a fair trade in my book, but finders keepers. If they think they’re getting their slick, moonwalk jacket back, they have another think coming.

Insurance covered the bulk of repairs from when the thieves had taken the poor Ford Escort off-roading, and our heroine was happy to have her little car back. Little did she know that the CAR was now CURSED!

If there is a sliver of glass in the road or a tiny tack with super-puncturing abilities, her tires will find it.
If there is a curb that magically wants to grow six extra inches and then retreat back into it’s normal line before anyone sees, her car will find it.
If there is a wire that wants to go loose and mess with her head, flashing little, tiny lights on and off when they aren’t related to anything at all, they will be found under her hood.
If there is an alternator that wants to give out after only 50,000 miles instead of waiting for the usual 75 or so, it can and will be found in her car.
If there is a tree branch that is waiting to fall, it will continue waiting until her car, about 100 yards away from said branch, will call out to it and say ‘fall now, oh branch. Her car is almost there!’
If there is a slasher walking by, looking for ripe treads to flick his blade against, her tires always look the plumpest.
If there is an ornery home owner that refuses to have anyone encroach even 3 inches into the rosy hued stripe along the curb of his driveway, you can bet her car will be the one that gets towed. After which, our heroine has major flash backs to the whole STOLEN CAR (dun*dun*dun) episode and it’s so not pretty to witness.
And when she gets gas, she swears that right before the nozzle ‘accidentally’ falls off the hose line and sprays fuel all over her suit on the way to her new job, she can hear the car whispering something sneaky to the pump machine.
And if there is a bird somewhere flying over the greater part of the northern hemisphere, it will zero into the ‘secret-bird’s-eyes-only-target-zone’ on the top of her car and leave a semi-white, half-dollar sized, chunky smear where her arms can’t quite reach to clean it off.

It’s evil. Pure and simple.

And now, about $547.00 and 3 months later, she is thinking that since meeting the street on it’s terms and trying to be polite wasn’t the answer (Street, meet Leah. Leah, meet the street)and sweet-talking the car wasn’t the answer (Ok, gray goddess….just don’t attract attention. No birds today. You’re doing great. Good passing! Nice blinking skills!)so the answer must be to just ignore the whole thing until it goes away.

Ha.

That’s just what the EVIL AUTO wanted her to think! And she did fall into that trap. Sadly, dear reader, her numbed mind was only disturbed out of that alternate-reality-thinking-plane when the front bumper of her car insidiously slapped the car in front of it on the rear end. Now, I don’t know how it is where you live, but where I come from, that’s just uncalled for. Her car didn’t even use the politically correct language. i.e. could I please touch your hind end with my front bumper for the count of about one one-thousand? So, needless to say, the cops were called in for illegal touching, even though there wasn’t any damage done, per se. Now her insurance people are wondering if there is any reason they shouldn’t cut her loose and she finds no real reason she could give them to keep her on as long as she has THAT particular auto in her employ.

I’ve counseled with her and told her in no uncertain terms that the time to act is NOW. She must immediately trade that car in for a new one. I’ve done it in secret, of course. After all, I don’t want her car telling my car anything……

quick recap for the kids:
don’t ever own your own car unless you want to go broke and insane, let your parents fund it for you instead.