Several years ago, a co-worker and I debated whose death would most affect the world. (Someone we didn't like must have left this world recently for us to get into this conversation.) We got our answer the day we, along with the rest of the world, quietly cried while watching the funeral of Princess Di. We didn't doubt our answer. We didn't disagree with the world. I still don't.
Today, I disagree with the decision to fly flags at half-staff to honor Whitney Houston. It bugs me even more that Chris Christie, the governor of New Jersey has decided this for the entire state, thus basically making it "Whitney Houston Day." Is she worth it? How can she be? Did I miss the news about her time in the military? Her work in the fire department? Her bravery in the police department? (Bravery by virtue of living with Bobby Brown does not count.) (No, it doesn't.) (Said NO!)
Honoring someone of Whitney Houston's caliber is what the Grammys are for, and have been there, done that. She didn't change music. She didn't influence the way we listen to music, or even what music we listen to. She revolutionized no dance moves. On the contrary, she was in a movie with Kevin Costner. She married Bobby Brown. Those are reasons to not honor her.
Families of recovered/recovering/struggling addicts honor them as they do or do not wish. I think it sends the wrong message for a state to honor a star whose addiction seems to be such a dominant factor in her death. I do realize this goes completely against the "Elvis" scheme of things, but that's just how I roll. (I'm young; what do I know?)
Will Bill Billy (sorry, had to do it) honor all singers? Mariah Carey can hit those high notes. Will she be honored as well? Bruce Springsteen and Jon Bon Jovi are fellow Jerseys. They'll need honoring. The guy who named all of Jersey's rest stops should be honored, as well, for honoring all those who deserved to be honored on and by the roads of New Jersey. As long as Whitney lowers flags, I want to make sure other people equally as influential get due credit on their day of... departure.
This isn't really intended to disrespect Whitney, per se. It's a disgust thing, aimed at anyone who thinks a singer, by reason of their very existence, should be honored in the same fashion as are military personnel, policemen and women, and firemen and women. Musical success just doesn't come close to the same level.
It does make me wonder.... Will Tappahannock, VA honor Chris Brown post-humously? Hmmm. On second thought, let's not use him as an example.
(PS. I've been to Tappahannock. That tree will not be interested in honoring anyone any time soon.)
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Malden Smells
I live in Malden, Massachusetts. We're not known for much, really. Our school system was third overall in the country a few years back. (That was because of K-8. The high school contributed SO much to that success that our daughter goes to the vocational technical high school in Wakefield.) We live close enough to Boston to be able to get there without a car i.e. we're T accessible. It's easy peasy to get to the airport from here. And that's about it. At least, it is to the outside world.
But Maldenites themselves (or Maldonians, which I think sounds stupid), know what we have. We have Piantedosi's and we have the New England Coffee Company. Malden smells like no other city.
First, we have the New England Coffee Company, smack dab in the heart of Malden. A gander at their official site tells me they've been here since 1966, and before that, Milk Street in Boston, which was where they began. We are now their home. And boy am I glad they are. The smell of roasting coffee beans can only be described as rich. Rich as in "cold as hell outside so I'm gonna get comfy in this nice warm blanket and curl up by the fire" rich. A comfy rich. A "oh yeah, I'm warm" rich. It permeates the senses, and makes them all feel pretty damn happy to be able to be, well, sensitive. It is, in a word (besides rich), Mmmmmmm...
Even better than the RICH smell of the roasting coffee is the aroma offered by Piantedosi's, a bakery located right outside Malden Square, established in Everett in 1916, and brought to Malden in the mid 1950's. We're not talking about your basic bakery here. We're talking high volume, conveyor belts, box it up, ship it out. But it is all baked there. Or, rather, here. Bread of all shapes and sizes. Rolls of all shapes and sizes. And oh my god, does it smell good. Never has flour, water, yeast, and butter come together in such a divine way, and, upon sacrificing themselves to the flaming gods of the ovens, given rise to such basic, yeasty, doughy, warm smells. As Venus arose from the ocean perched on her clam shell, so does the scent of baking bread arise from the place that is Piantedosi's, to warm the heart, to bring home the idea of home.
Most of the product (product? such an insignificant word for the beauty that is, once imagined, created) is packed up and shipped, both to our local grocery stores and to others with the good fortune to be blessed with its presence. But, and here's an even more beautiful feature, they also have a walk-in operation, in the warehouse. You walk in and go over to the plastic crate shelves, where the freshly packaged rolls await, and you make your selection from bulkies, dinner rolls, sandwich bread, sliced loaves, unsliced loaves..... Uh, excuse me a moment whilst I drool.
While standing here, you can look up and watch the conveyor belts rolling the freshly packaged bread along their track, to slide down to your level, be put in the afore mentioned plastic crate shelves, and rolled over for the customers behind you, because they are surely there. Come in the summer for this one, and all your barbecued hamburger roll and hot dog bun wishes will be granted.
I don't live just outside Malden Square. However, I do shop at the grocery store there. I pick up the T there. I go to the post office there. And I smell the roasting coffee there. I smell the bread baking there. Breathe in..... Breathe out. Breathe in.... Breathe out. Oh, sweet lord of the dough, take me now.
http://www.newenglandcoffee.com
http://www.piantedosi.com
But Maldenites themselves (or Maldonians, which I think sounds stupid), know what we have. We have Piantedosi's and we have the New England Coffee Company. Malden smells like no other city.
First, we have the New England Coffee Company, smack dab in the heart of Malden. A gander at their official site tells me they've been here since 1966, and before that, Milk Street in Boston, which was where they began. We are now their home. And boy am I glad they are. The smell of roasting coffee beans can only be described as rich. Rich as in "cold as hell outside so I'm gonna get comfy in this nice warm blanket and curl up by the fire" rich. A comfy rich. A "oh yeah, I'm warm" rich. It permeates the senses, and makes them all feel pretty damn happy to be able to be, well, sensitive. It is, in a word (besides rich), Mmmmmmm...
Even better than the RICH smell of the roasting coffee is the aroma offered by Piantedosi's, a bakery located right outside Malden Square, established in Everett in 1916, and brought to Malden in the mid 1950's. We're not talking about your basic bakery here. We're talking high volume, conveyor belts, box it up, ship it out. But it is all baked there. Or, rather, here. Bread of all shapes and sizes. Rolls of all shapes and sizes. And oh my god, does it smell good. Never has flour, water, yeast, and butter come together in such a divine way, and, upon sacrificing themselves to the flaming gods of the ovens, given rise to such basic, yeasty, doughy, warm smells. As Venus arose from the ocean perched on her clam shell, so does the scent of baking bread arise from the place that is Piantedosi's, to warm the heart, to bring home the idea of home.
Most of the product (product? such an insignificant word for the beauty that is, once imagined, created) is packed up and shipped, both to our local grocery stores and to others with the good fortune to be blessed with its presence. But, and here's an even more beautiful feature, they also have a walk-in operation, in the warehouse. You walk in and go over to the plastic crate shelves, where the freshly packaged rolls await, and you make your selection from bulkies, dinner rolls, sandwich bread, sliced loaves, unsliced loaves..... Uh, excuse me a moment whilst I drool.
While standing here, you can look up and watch the conveyor belts rolling the freshly packaged bread along their track, to slide down to your level, be put in the afore mentioned plastic crate shelves, and rolled over for the customers behind you, because they are surely there. Come in the summer for this one, and all your barbecued hamburger roll and hot dog bun wishes will be granted.
I don't live just outside Malden Square. However, I do shop at the grocery store there. I pick up the T there. I go to the post office there. And I smell the roasting coffee there. I smell the bread baking there. Breathe in..... Breathe out. Breathe in.... Breathe out. Oh, sweet lord of the dough, take me now.
http://www.newenglandcoffee.com
http://www.piantedosi.com
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Why
It's hard to explain to people how quickly something can spiral downward into complete despair. And the immediate NEED for it to stop. The anguish is indescribable and the immediate reaction is to end it. On my desk is a week's worth of pills for the morning, and another one for the night. If I'd had something to drink up here with me, I might have started with Monday and just kept going.
The fucked up part is the reason I might not have. When I was in high school, I'd make sure my homework was finished before I attempted suicide. That way, in case I didn't die, I was ready for the class the next day. By the same logic, if I take these pills and don't die, now I'm short pills for the rest of the month. Fucked up thinking.
------
I'm feeling a bit better now, which oddly makes it difficult to express exactly how I was feeling. Like I can't describe that depth without actually being there. Maybe that's why people who don't suffer extreme depression can't quite grasp how it could happen. When I'm that entrenched in it, I don't feel like I'm in a hole. I feel like I'm in a room way down deep in the ground and I don't see ANY light. I'm not even aware that a light even exists. If someone tries to tell me it's there, I don't believe them. All I want is for the pain to STOP. NOW.
Sometimes, I wish I'd never told anyone about my suicide attempts. All the treatments I've been through, all the resulting crap I've been through... I don't usually feel like I'm better off now. Maybe other people are, but, call me selfish, I wish *I* felt better about it all.
My psych MD wanted me hospitalized over Thanksgiving weekend, because my support system was non-existent and the risk of me harming myself was high. I refused because my parents would have to find out, and that's the LAST thing I want them to know. I don't need the added stress of that, and I told my MD exactly that. Instead, I've agreed, actually requested, that I take part in an outpatient intensive therapy program that lasts a week. It involves classes, daily check-ins, and generally a support system that I otherwise lack. I've done this before, when I was released from one of my hospitalizations.
That's what sucks the most about this. It feels like nothing has changed in six+ years. Whose Line is about all that can make me laugh, and the rare wisecrack someone on-line makes. It's tough to have all my support on-line. I can type and let out my feelings, but a virtual hug has NOTHING on a real hug, and sometimes that's what I need the most. Except for my daughter, the only hugs I get are from the Whose guys. It's SO comforting I can't begin to describe it. They're some of the very few people I let get near me, and definitely the ones I see the most often. How pathetic is that?
I don't want to feel pathetic anymore. I feel so stuck I don't want to deal with this anymore. I want it to STOP. AGAIN.
The fucked up part is the reason I might not have. When I was in high school, I'd make sure my homework was finished before I attempted suicide. That way, in case I didn't die, I was ready for the class the next day. By the same logic, if I take these pills and don't die, now I'm short pills for the rest of the month. Fucked up thinking.
------
I'm feeling a bit better now, which oddly makes it difficult to express exactly how I was feeling. Like I can't describe that depth without actually being there. Maybe that's why people who don't suffer extreme depression can't quite grasp how it could happen. When I'm that entrenched in it, I don't feel like I'm in a hole. I feel like I'm in a room way down deep in the ground and I don't see ANY light. I'm not even aware that a light even exists. If someone tries to tell me it's there, I don't believe them. All I want is for the pain to STOP. NOW.
Sometimes, I wish I'd never told anyone about my suicide attempts. All the treatments I've been through, all the resulting crap I've been through... I don't usually feel like I'm better off now. Maybe other people are, but, call me selfish, I wish *I* felt better about it all.
My psych MD wanted me hospitalized over Thanksgiving weekend, because my support system was non-existent and the risk of me harming myself was high. I refused because my parents would have to find out, and that's the LAST thing I want them to know. I don't need the added stress of that, and I told my MD exactly that. Instead, I've agreed, actually requested, that I take part in an outpatient intensive therapy program that lasts a week. It involves classes, daily check-ins, and generally a support system that I otherwise lack. I've done this before, when I was released from one of my hospitalizations.
That's what sucks the most about this. It feels like nothing has changed in six+ years. Whose Line is about all that can make me laugh, and the rare wisecrack someone on-line makes. It's tough to have all my support on-line. I can type and let out my feelings, but a virtual hug has NOTHING on a real hug, and sometimes that's what I need the most. Except for my daughter, the only hugs I get are from the Whose guys. It's SO comforting I can't begin to describe it. They're some of the very few people I let get near me, and definitely the ones I see the most often. How pathetic is that?
I don't want to feel pathetic anymore. I feel so stuck I don't want to deal with this anymore. I want it to STOP. AGAIN.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Oh Dear Jesus Fuck
Can somebody send me some impulse control? Or at least tell me to Shut The Fuck Up, (OR "get the hell away from the keyboard NOW), Before I fuck up? I can blame it on what the hell my mind does, but regardless of the reason, I know I end up hurting people that do NOT deserve it. Kinda feels like a hang-over. Like I was drinking a lot last night, did something horrible, and now woke up and remember that was a really crappy thing to do, like drunk dialing or something. I feel worse now than I did before I dialed. Fuck.
This kinda rambles, I know, but it makes sense to me, and maybe someone will take something heavy and hit me over the head with it so I don't fuck up next time.
This kinda rambles, I know, but it makes sense to me, and maybe someone will take something heavy and hit me over the head with it so I don't fuck up next time.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
"The Cost of Freedom" or "No More Crashes, Okay?"
A history of cars owned by the broke and unknown:
1 -- 1983 Dodge Aries (K) - 4spd manual trans, no power steering, no power brakes, a/m radio in the trunk, replaced with a Kernwood thing, by my dad. Sky blue. In 1990, parents upgraded to REAL cars and, if I could learn to drive a stick, I'd get the car, free and clear. Forty-five minutes later, the little blue box was mine. GREAT mileage, but not much else. Going over 50 in the winter created air-conditioning in the car. I also couldn't restart the car WHEN THE ENGINE WAS WARM. I couldn't close the driver's side door when it was cold. Had to use the passenger side door and haul me and my long winter coat over the shift, which was coming directly out of the floor and bent over the seat. At least it was a bench seat. Had that one til I couldn't get out of 1st gear anymore and a different garage lied to me and told me some chain had broken and it'd be expensive to replace. THAT part, I believe. This car was only worth something when I filled the tank.
2 -- 1994 Chevy Cavalier - new model, off the lot, 2-door automatic transmission. Bluish-greyish, I dunno. Got it just before I got married the first time. It got us where we were going, but I didn't like it very much. I missed the standard's mileage. Spouse had had his license for about a month (I kid you not), and failed the whole standard idea when he almost drove Eddie's Camaro into a gravestone. (Hey, there's a few around here, so that's where everyone's parents taught their kids to drive.)
Had that car until fall of 1997, when I lost it in the divorce. Gave it up, actually, along with my daughter, our friends, the apartment.... I bought my way to freedom, but it was expensive as hell, in more ways than one.
That car lasted for him until about 3 years ago.
I don't want to talk about it.
From here on, years/dates get fuzzy.
3 -- Saturn SL - 5-spd, 2-door manual. Shiny oceanic deep blue. I LOVED that car. So I totaled it. Police said I ran a stop light, but I was lost in Salem and I was stopping at EVERY intersection, stop sign or not. Goddamn pickup was going too fucking fast. Smashed into my door, turned 270 degrees, and ended up in front of a synagogue. (Add your own comment here.) Got the glass brushed off of me and walked away from it, as did my daughter, who sat in the back seat in the exact opposite corner, as far away from the point of impact as she could get. THANK ZEUS. Car was determined to be totaled 'cause of some bent axle thing. Damn...
4 -- Saturn Ion - 4 door automatic. Black. I walked away from the tiny Saturn, I could trust a larger one. I needed it. I just did not want it. I wasn't over the death of my previous car. I bought this one from the same guy, Burt, who'd sold me my baby. Took less than 30 minutes. No balloons, no photos. And off the lot I drove.
1 -- 1983 Dodge Aries (K) - 4spd manual trans, no power steering, no power brakes, a/m radio in the trunk, replaced with a Kernwood thing, by my dad. Sky blue. In 1990, parents upgraded to REAL cars and, if I could learn to drive a stick, I'd get the car, free and clear. Forty-five minutes later, the little blue box was mine. GREAT mileage, but not much else. Going over 50 in the winter created air-conditioning in the car. I also couldn't restart the car WHEN THE ENGINE WAS WARM. I couldn't close the driver's side door when it was cold. Had to use the passenger side door and haul me and my long winter coat over the shift, which was coming directly out of the floor and bent over the seat. At least it was a bench seat. Had that one til I couldn't get out of 1st gear anymore and a different garage lied to me and told me some chain had broken and it'd be expensive to replace. THAT part, I believe. This car was only worth something when I filled the tank.
2 -- 1994 Chevy Cavalier - new model, off the lot, 2-door automatic transmission. Bluish-greyish, I dunno. Got it just before I got married the first time. It got us where we were going, but I didn't like it very much. I missed the standard's mileage. Spouse had had his license for about a month (I kid you not), and failed the whole standard idea when he almost drove Eddie's Camaro into a gravestone. (Hey, there's a few around here, so that's where everyone's parents taught their kids to drive.)
Had that car until fall of 1997, when I lost it in the divorce. Gave it up, actually, along with my daughter, our friends, the apartment.... I bought my way to freedom, but it was expensive as hell, in more ways than one.
That car lasted for him until about 3 years ago.
I don't want to talk about it.
From here on, years/dates get fuzzy.
3 -- Saturn SL - 5-spd, 2-door manual. Shiny oceanic deep blue. I LOVED that car. So I totaled it. Police said I ran a stop light, but I was lost in Salem and I was stopping at EVERY intersection, stop sign or not. Goddamn pickup was going too fucking fast. Smashed into my door, turned 270 degrees, and ended up in front of a synagogue. (Add your own comment here.) Got the glass brushed off of me and walked away from it, as did my daughter, who sat in the back seat in the exact opposite corner, as far away from the point of impact as she could get. THANK ZEUS. Car was determined to be totaled 'cause of some bent axle thing. Damn...
4 -- Saturn Ion - 4 door automatic. Black. I walked away from the tiny Saturn, I could trust a larger one. I needed it. I just did not want it. I wasn't over the death of my previous car. I bought this one from the same guy, Burt, who'd sold me my baby. Took less than 30 minutes. No balloons, no photos. And off the lot I drove.
5 -- 2005 Hyundai Elantra. BRIGHT red. GORGEOUS. 5-spd 4-door standard. Leather interior, automatic everything but engine. Kick-ass stereo system with speakers that belonged in a higher-end brand than Hyundai. Found and bought when spouse went looking to replace his 1990-something Ford Explorer. He looked around outside. I looked around inside. Saw car. Got in. Adjusted seat. Got comfy. Fell in love. Knew I wasn't getting it. Spouse comes in and I get out. Then we see the sticker price. With both our trade-ins, and buying two vehicles at the same time, the price was right. I basically broke up with the Saturn. It wasn't the car's fault. It was all me.
This baby got totaled Christmas Day, 2007, when I hit a guardrail on ol' 93N. Distracted, drowsy, Zeus knows what. Saw the car later. Driver's side, you'd never know anything was wrong. It was the passenger side that had taken the brunt of it. It still woulda been fine, except for one thing. While I was still in the breakdown lane and kind of in shock, I found the H that sits in the center of the front bumper. The rest of the passenger side bumper drove itself into the engine. Bye bye Hyundai.
This actually turned out to be not-such-a-bad-thing, because I lost my job 4 months later. Because I totaled the car, the insurance paid for the whole thing. After losing my job, I never would have been able to make the payments, and the car would have been repossessed and I'd have lost everything. SO, once again, timing is everything.
5 1/2 -- My mother's whatever year Chevy Malibu. She drove me around for a large portion of the 5 months after the total. Nothing like riding in the back seat of your mother's car to bring you from 40 right back to age 12.
6 -- 1995 Mitsubishi Galant - Black 4-door automatic. Security system is locking the doors. (My dad says use the note he used to: Remember to sniff for gas BEFORE TURNING KEY.) I ended up buying this car twice; once off the lot and then again paying for all the repairs the damn thing ended up needing. No real surprise, considering we only paid $2100 for the thing. (Lesson learned: Just because my ex knows how to change the oil, it does NOT mean he knows everything there is to know about car engines. Hell, I know more about them now than he did then.
7 -- 2001 Toyota Corolla LE - Cranberry red 4-door automatic. No decent security system, but I can lock all the doors from the driver's seat, as well as work the windows, too. (Hey, it's exciting for me.) CD-player, but now I have an iPod connector that goes into the cigarette lighter, and I listen to that almost exclusively.
I lost my job in April, 2008. I applied for disability in spring of 2009, but I had been eligible since October '08. In July, I got a nice chunk of cash, back-paid from October. So first thing to do was go car-shopping.
My theory on cars has always been I'm gonna drive them into the ground. I was still dragging around in the Mitsubishi, and it was getting pretty close to the ground. I decided not to wait for it to die. My mother thought I should hold onto the money until it really did die. However, given the amount of highway driving I do to and from the shows, and the hours put in, I figured it'd be a good idea to stop now, before it died on I-84 in CT, a state that believes that headlights provide sufficient light when you're driving at 2am. Streetlights? We don't need no stinkin' streetlights!
So I did lots of internet research, found a few used cars at dealers in the area, printed out a list, and went looking. I almost got a high-end Volvo at a good price, but my dad pointed out that there's a reason a car that good is priced so low. So, pass.
For God knows whatever reason, I asked my mother to go with me as I checked out a couple more cars. No dice on them, but, as we were driving home, I passed a Toyota dealership. I heard a car call to me, so I had to answer the call. Turned in. Checked out car from all sides. Looked good enough to check out. Went inside. Woman at desk paged any available salesperson. Single white female with senior-citizen type mother does not scream out "big spender!" and I was basically ignored. I fixed that in a hurry. (The world calls it "assertive." My mother calls it "too loud. Keep your voice down." Sums up a lot of our relationship, really.)
Finally, a sales person came over to finish up something and I asked him if he could help me with a car. He asked which one, got the folder and key, and we went looking. Good shape, rims, tires, muffler... I opened and looked at EVERYTHING. My mother was like, "What are you doing?" "Checking out the car." "Why?" This is from the woman whose car died when the engine froze up. When my dad asked her when was the last time she had an oil change. "Oil change? What's that?" Yeah.)
I said I wanted to test drive it, so off we went. My mother said I was going too fast. (I'm at 35mph, the max on a heavily patrolled road.) Looped around, pulled into an empty parking lot, did lots of turns forward and backward. My mother kept asking me why I was doing all this. (I still don't know why I brought her with me.)
We go back to the dealership. Guy asks if I'd buy it today if it were the right price. I say yeah, I just might. (But I didn't NEED to that day, so I was willing to walk away.) A couple of numbers plus tax later, I said, that'll be my max. Financial guy comes in. How about this price and we can finance it all. I say no, I'm not financing and I'm not going above this number. He writes down a number a couple more times. I finally stand up, hold my hand out and say, "Well, I'm sorry we can't make this work, but I appreciate your time." Lo and behold, I paid what I said I'd pay. MAYBE that was their plan all along, but I learned that I'm able to walk away from something, look and act dignified about it.
Now I'm married to the Toyota. Its name is Sydney, and it's got bumper stickers all over it. I recently bought it a friend, Tom Tom, and we are all getting along well.
I am the proud owner of an 11y/o Corolla with 135,000 miles on it and the potential to qualify for one of those "I've been driving my Toyota for 51 years and it's got a million and a half miles on it" commercials.
I'm happy.
This baby got totaled Christmas Day, 2007, when I hit a guardrail on ol' 93N. Distracted, drowsy, Zeus knows what. Saw the car later. Driver's side, you'd never know anything was wrong. It was the passenger side that had taken the brunt of it. It still woulda been fine, except for one thing. While I was still in the breakdown lane and kind of in shock, I found the H that sits in the center of the front bumper. The rest of the passenger side bumper drove itself into the engine. Bye bye Hyundai.
This actually turned out to be not-such-a-bad-thing, because I lost my job 4 months later. Because I totaled the car, the insurance paid for the whole thing. After losing my job, I never would have been able to make the payments, and the car would have been repossessed and I'd have lost everything. SO, once again, timing is everything.
5 1/2 -- My mother's whatever year Chevy Malibu. She drove me around for a large portion of the 5 months after the total. Nothing like riding in the back seat of your mother's car to bring you from 40 right back to age 12.
6 -- 1995 Mitsubishi Galant - Black 4-door automatic. Security system is locking the doors. (My dad says use the note he used to: Remember to sniff for gas BEFORE TURNING KEY.) I ended up buying this car twice; once off the lot and then again paying for all the repairs the damn thing ended up needing. No real surprise, considering we only paid $2100 for the thing. (Lesson learned: Just because my ex knows how to change the oil, it does NOT mean he knows everything there is to know about car engines. Hell, I know more about them now than he did then.
7 -- 2001 Toyota Corolla LE - Cranberry red 4-door automatic. No decent security system, but I can lock all the doors from the driver's seat, as well as work the windows, too. (Hey, it's exciting for me.) CD-player, but now I have an iPod connector that goes into the cigarette lighter, and I listen to that almost exclusively.
I lost my job in April, 2008. I applied for disability in spring of 2009, but I had been eligible since October '08. In July, I got a nice chunk of cash, back-paid from October. So first thing to do was go car-shopping.
My theory on cars has always been I'm gonna drive them into the ground. I was still dragging around in the Mitsubishi, and it was getting pretty close to the ground. I decided not to wait for it to die. My mother thought I should hold onto the money until it really did die. However, given the amount of highway driving I do to and from the shows, and the hours put in, I figured it'd be a good idea to stop now, before it died on I-84 in CT, a state that believes that headlights provide sufficient light when you're driving at 2am. Streetlights? We don't need no stinkin' streetlights!
So I did lots of internet research, found a few used cars at dealers in the area, printed out a list, and went looking. I almost got a high-end Volvo at a good price, but my dad pointed out that there's a reason a car that good is priced so low. So, pass.
For God knows whatever reason, I asked my mother to go with me as I checked out a couple more cars. No dice on them, but, as we were driving home, I passed a Toyota dealership. I heard a car call to me, so I had to answer the call. Turned in. Checked out car from all sides. Looked good enough to check out. Went inside. Woman at desk paged any available salesperson. Single white female with senior-citizen type mother does not scream out "big spender!" and I was basically ignored. I fixed that in a hurry. (The world calls it "assertive." My mother calls it "too loud. Keep your voice down." Sums up a lot of our relationship, really.)
Finally, a sales person came over to finish up something and I asked him if he could help me with a car. He asked which one, got the folder and key, and we went looking. Good shape, rims, tires, muffler... I opened and looked at EVERYTHING. My mother was like, "What are you doing?" "Checking out the car." "Why?" This is from the woman whose car died when the engine froze up. When my dad asked her when was the last time she had an oil change. "Oil change? What's that?" Yeah.)
I said I wanted to test drive it, so off we went. My mother said I was going too fast. (I'm at 35mph, the max on a heavily patrolled road.) Looped around, pulled into an empty parking lot, did lots of turns forward and backward. My mother kept asking me why I was doing all this. (I still don't know why I brought her with me.)
We go back to the dealership. Guy asks if I'd buy it today if it were the right price. I say yeah, I just might. (But I didn't NEED to that day, so I was willing to walk away.) A couple of numbers plus tax later, I said, that'll be my max. Financial guy comes in. How about this price and we can finance it all. I say no, I'm not financing and I'm not going above this number. He writes down a number a couple more times. I finally stand up, hold my hand out and say, "Well, I'm sorry we can't make this work, but I appreciate your time." Lo and behold, I paid what I said I'd pay. MAYBE that was their plan all along, but I learned that I'm able to walk away from something, look and act dignified about it.
Now I'm married to the Toyota. Its name is Sydney, and it's got bumper stickers all over it. I recently bought it a friend, Tom Tom, and we are all getting along well.
I am the proud owner of an 11y/o Corolla with 135,000 miles on it and the potential to qualify for one of those "I've been driving my Toyota for 51 years and it's got a million and a half miles on it" commercials.
I'm happy.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Colin&Brad -South Shore Music Circus, Cohasett, MA -7/29/05
(I can NOT believe I pulled this off! One of my best writing accomplishments EVER.) Thank you, Dr. Seuss.
************
Inspired by a game I really enjoyed, I hope that my readers will not get annoyed
If I try to report this in the style of a rhyme, and hopefully convey that I had a good time.
The show started out the same way as before, with Ira Proctor doing stand-up some more.
He moved some of his jokes from beginning to end, and with a Dunkin Donuts rant made some new friends.
Brad and Colin finally came out on stage, evoking cheers and shouts from fans of every age.
Brad joked about the setting, how hot and muggy, and named it Mosquito Mountain, because it was buggy.
A shout from the audience asked, "Hey, where's Ryan?" despite the fact no one else was cryin.'
Brad answered back "Where's your wealthy cuter sister," and we all cheered because he'd really dissed her.
"Moving Bodies" started the show, with Sheri for Brad, and TR made Colin go.
In Denmark we were, and "their best accents"...NOT, in a CPA's office, oh the action they got.
The pair made the guys walk by hands on their butts, and Sheri even gestured around Colin's nuts.
Brad was "Queer Eye for the IRS Guy," and we were laughing so hard we were ready to cry.
"D.Copperfield and Starbucks all rolled into one," I can't explain better, but it sure was fun
To watch the whole place laugh in disbelief, by the time it was over we needed relief.
The next game they played is either Change or New Choice, and they pulled from the crowd a new little voice.
He came up on stage, Brad asked where he's from, he turned to the crowd and yelled, "Hi Mom!"
His said his name, Max, the guys knew they're in trouble, for that horn worked overtime, I'm sure it was double.
New choices galore, I couldn't keep up, and Max kept them going, he wouldn't let up!
To make this point clear, I've got written down, what Colin said when honked by this clown.
Since he'd just ended the 5th sentence in, his next response was, "Can I get a word IN??"
The scene was a car wash, but Max stole the scene, and when it was over, Colin was really keen
On grabbing the horn and honking it loud, as Brad brought him ALL THE WAY back to the crowd!
Colin told us the next game, involved a big duel, using a squirrel and tree stump as tools.
They played Dr. Seuss, who was born in Springfield, a useless shout that the "inane info bureau" revealed.
Our scene took place during interior design, "Wouldn't Brad's shirt covering the couch be divine?"
Brad preferred shiny instead, you knew it was coming, "shiny just like your head."
Colin got stuck for a moment, I guess, for a memorable line he repeated, yes
"Draperies draperies draperies, YAY! Draperies draperies draperies YAY!"
I remember Brad's squirrel attacking C's nuts, and Colin's tree stump not saving his butt.
They avoided the "F" word, it lightened the load, "That one's for you, Max, an element of class on the road."
They collected Sentences (rejecting those that were rude), with Colin's first sentence setting the mood.
"Did you enjoy my snack fairy ad?" "No, not the snacks, but the fairy!" said Brad.
Lots of amusing lines came very fast, I couldn't keep up with them to save my ass.
I do know that Max's name showed up again, but we were all laughing too hard by then.
Then there was Brad's rap, to a guy named Keith, and I'll use his rhyme, I kept hearing "neath."
Keith lived in Framingham, worked in Duxbury, and we corrected the drunkie, it's NOT "Deluxebury."
Brad did his rap, Colin did his bit, and it was 2lb of rap, and 10lb of spit.
Here is the message I'd gotten so far, "New Balance shoes and plaid shorts don't make a rap star."
For Sound Effects, they pulled up Kathryn for Brad, and Mike up for Colin, good sounds to be had.
I shouted "Death Valley" and that was taken, for Colin had asked for a place godforsaken.
The game started off, and our electricians worked, where some odd-sounding vultures lurked.
Kathryn made noises, with her own arms flappin,' but the sound effects eventually happened.
It got so hot out there, they needed a drink, so they tried to flag down an ice cream truck, I think
Brad grabbed a megaphone, "Popsicles!" he did say, but Colin said it didn't work, it was set on "gay"!
Brad flouncing around crying "Popsicles" again and again, I don't remember anything else before the end.
This was one of those games that you needed to see, to truly appreciate what so tickled me.
The last game was Mousetrap, and laid out as obstruction, were all these "Weapons of Mouse Destruction."
Barefoot and blindfolded, Colin and Brad, sentenced their digits to hell, it was BAD.
This game makes me cringe with every playing, and I don't understand why it keeps on staying.
But the crowd loved the game, loved the guys, loved the sight, so who'm I to quibble? It was a GREAT NIGHT!
If I try to report this in the style of a rhyme, and hopefully convey that I had a good time.
The show started out the same way as before, with Ira Proctor doing stand-up some more.
He moved some of his jokes from beginning to end, and with a Dunkin Donuts rant made some new friends.
Brad and Colin finally came out on stage, evoking cheers and shouts from fans of every age.
Brad joked about the setting, how hot and muggy, and named it Mosquito Mountain, because it was buggy.
A shout from the audience asked, "Hey, where's Ryan?" despite the fact no one else was cryin.'
Brad answered back "Where's your wealthy cuter sister," and we all cheered because he'd really dissed her.
"Moving Bodies" started the show, with Sheri for Brad, and TR made Colin go.
In Denmark we were, and "their best accents"...NOT, in a CPA's office, oh the action they got.
The pair made the guys walk by hands on their butts, and Sheri even gestured around Colin's nuts.
Brad was "Queer Eye for the IRS Guy," and we were laughing so hard we were ready to cry.
"D.Copperfield and Starbucks all rolled into one," I can't explain better, but it sure was fun
To watch the whole place laugh in disbelief, by the time it was over we needed relief.
The next game they played is either Change or New Choice, and they pulled from the crowd a new little voice.
He came up on stage, Brad asked where he's from, he turned to the crowd and yelled, "Hi Mom!"
His said his name, Max, the guys knew they're in trouble, for that horn worked overtime, I'm sure it was double.
New choices galore, I couldn't keep up, and Max kept them going, he wouldn't let up!
To make this point clear, I've got written down, what Colin said when honked by this clown.
Since he'd just ended the 5th sentence in, his next response was, "Can I get a word IN??"
The scene was a car wash, but Max stole the scene, and when it was over, Colin was really keen
On grabbing the horn and honking it loud, as Brad brought him ALL THE WAY back to the crowd!
Colin told us the next game, involved a big duel, using a squirrel and tree stump as tools.
They played Dr. Seuss, who was born in Springfield, a useless shout that the "inane info bureau" revealed.
Our scene took place during interior design, "Wouldn't Brad's shirt covering the couch be divine?"
Brad preferred shiny instead, you knew it was coming, "shiny just like your head."
Colin got stuck for a moment, I guess, for a memorable line he repeated, yes
"Draperies draperies draperies, YAY! Draperies draperies draperies YAY!"
I remember Brad's squirrel attacking C's nuts, and Colin's tree stump not saving his butt.
They avoided the "F" word, it lightened the load, "That one's for you, Max, an element of class on the road."
They collected Sentences (rejecting those that were rude), with Colin's first sentence setting the mood.
"Did you enjoy my snack fairy ad?" "No, not the snacks, but the fairy!" said Brad.
Lots of amusing lines came very fast, I couldn't keep up with them to save my ass.
I do know that Max's name showed up again, but we were all laughing too hard by then.
Then there was Brad's rap, to a guy named Keith, and I'll use his rhyme, I kept hearing "neath."
Keith lived in Framingham, worked in Duxbury, and we corrected the drunkie, it's NOT "Deluxebury."
Brad did his rap, Colin did his bit, and it was 2lb of rap, and 10lb of spit.
Here is the message I'd gotten so far, "New Balance shoes and plaid shorts don't make a rap star."
For Sound Effects, they pulled up Kathryn for Brad, and Mike up for Colin, good sounds to be had.
I shouted "Death Valley" and that was taken, for Colin had asked for a place godforsaken.
The game started off, and our electricians worked, where some odd-sounding vultures lurked.
Kathryn made noises, with her own arms flappin,' but the sound effects eventually happened.
It got so hot out there, they needed a drink, so they tried to flag down an ice cream truck, I think
Brad grabbed a megaphone, "Popsicles!" he did say, but Colin said it didn't work, it was set on "gay"!
Brad flouncing around crying "Popsicles" again and again, I don't remember anything else before the end.
This was one of those games that you needed to see, to truly appreciate what so tickled me.
The last game was Mousetrap, and laid out as obstruction, were all these "Weapons of Mouse Destruction."
Barefoot and blindfolded, Colin and Brad, sentenced their digits to hell, it was BAD.
This game makes me cringe with every playing, and I don't understand why it keeps on staying.
But the crowd loved the game, loved the guys, loved the sight, so who'm I to quibble? It was a GREAT NIGHT!
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