D0dge Ne0ns Suck

D0dge Ne0ns Suck

I'd like to thank Deesigns for the cool new layout of my diary. And indirectly thanks to Onepinksock because it was her list of favorite diaries that I found Deesigns. And also Onepinksock is cool because she signed my guest book twice and that brings my total number of guest book entries to - drum roll please - TWO! And now, on to the latest installment. . .


So my car decided to suddenly suck last night. More so than usual that is, seeing how it is a D0dge Ne0n, and I think Ne0n is Latin for 98 pound piece of crap that is held together with duct tape. I was driving down Metcalf Avenue and at the stoplight at 95th street the car just decided screw this, I’m done for the day. I tried starting it, but the car wasn’t having it. Then this giant SUV behind me decides to start HONKING his horn. Gee, that’s helpful. Why the hell didn’t I think of that? Wow, maybe honking the horn is the answer. So I started honking my horn too. FYI, honking your horn doesn’t actually make your car start. Who knew? So, effing, my car stalled. Right there, on Metcalf in rush hour. No starting, no moving.


Now, keep in mind, I am one of these sad girls that just starts crying about car problems because I have no other way of dealing. I especially hate paying for car repairs. That's like, what, how many new pairs of shoes I could be buying? What does a battery even cost? I decide to start swearing at the car because when in doubt, profanity is my answer to many various situations.


So, as I am sitting in my car, damning it to hell, trying to get the radio to work so at least I can have some music and this nice guy in a Honda named Jamie who looks like he’s 12 years old decides to rescue me. Jamie takes a look under the hood, and I’m fairly certain he has never seen an engine before, but still we both peer in and agree that yes, the engine appears intact. Yay, I have an engine. So, there's nothing he can do, but he does help me push the car into a the gas station so other customers can now successfully make left hand turns.


I called Billy who promised to find cables and he said he would be there in twenty minutes. Billy could be 80 miles away and tell you he would be there in twenty minutes. There’s regular time and then there’s Billy Time. I’m skeptical to say the least, but problem halfway solved. So Jamie and I are talking and waiting. He then graduated to asking to take me to dinner. He was just so damn cute I could have fit him in my pocket. I said thanks, but I just got dumped, and that I wasn't ready to start dating anyone. EVER AGAIN! But it was sweet to ask.


95 minutes later the cables arrive. Now, however do we use them? God, we all suck. So Billy, the loyal friend who brought the cables, calls his friend who then instructs us. The car gets jumped and Billy and I drive to McCoy’s to consume massive quantities of alcohol until around 2:00 a.m. Mmmm, beer. Shots were involved I think which could explain the memory loss. Billy said that I should stop whining about K because really, it was just getting pathetic. He said I would find someone else to love me or else I would grow old alone and be one of those crazy ladies that has twenty cats and talks to herself swatting at imaginary bugs and wearing a tin foil hat while the neighborhood children throw things. Either way, I should cheer up. Made sense at the time.


When my alarm went off at 6:00 a.m., uh oh, my liver was still trying to finish processing the alcohol. Physically there was no way I could make it to work and deal with my coffee nazi boss and the other people who stop by my cubicle every five minutes to make small talk about the weather so I called in sick and hung out with my unemployed roommate all day. After noon, I popped a couple Xenadrine and some diet coke and felt down right perky, like Mary Tyler Moore on speed. I cleaned the apartment like a maniac, using all the attachments on the vacuum cleaner, and gave my cat the brushing of his life. I tried to clip his claws, but there was kind of an incident that resulted in a band-aid moment. Then I become fixated with the computer keyboard my roommate’s ex-boyfriend left behind and decided it was a health hazard and I must clean it by popping out all the keys with a butter knife and swabbing out the insides with approximately 97 ammonia soaked q-tips. Woo hoo, do I know how to have fun on my day off, or what?

2002-05-22 at 9:27 a.m.


2002-05-22 at 9:27 a.m.