The Hoot Of Car Buying

For the past few weekends the husband and I have been shopping for a new car.  For those of who are still driving the car your parents gave to you when you turned 16, let me tell you a few fun things about visiting car dealerships.

One, apparently half of the car salesmen you encounter will absolutely hate their jobs.  I mean hate their jobs.  Take for example, (some foreign name I didn't catch because he mumbled it.) at Hyundai.  First of all, you would have thought we were asking this guy for a look at his femur bone when we asked to see a car.  He literally looked up from his virtually empty desk and said, "You want to see a car outside?"  No, (foreign employee of the month) I would like to see a car you draw from your imagination...you have 1 minute...go!  When we finally got this charismatic salesman outside and into the car for a test drive, I thought we were transporting a hungover college freshman back to his dorm.  He sat in the back seat, put his sunglasses on and mumbled incoherent phrases like, "Horse power," and "gas mileage."  When we tried to make small talk by asking, "You must get tired of this test drive route," he replied with no hesitation, "Yes."  At least we had run into a honest car salesman - isn't that like finding a four leaf clover?

Two, playing the game of,  "What do you think of (insert competitor car)?" is a hoot with car salesmen.  Last night, while test driving a Toyota I asked the salesman what he thought of the Nissan Pathfinder.  As the word "Pathfinder" fell from my lips, he started to grip the console in rage and make hissing noises under his breath.  When I followed up with, "No, really what do you think?"  He replied, with all the restraint of a raging bull, "Um, Nissan is a terrible car."  Terrible huh?  Really?  So, I decided to poke the hornet's nest one more time and said, "So, you think Nissan is a bad choice?"  You would have thought I was asking what he thought about packing a car with puppies and lighting it on fire.  Like I said, it was a hoot.

And three, test driving is fun, so please, if you get the chance, go for it.  Slam on the brakes, take it from 0 to 60, and swerve onto oncoming traffic.  How are you going to know if this is the car unless you drive like a complete madwoman?  Because let's be honest, this is a free ride, and two, your salesperson wants to kill themselves anyway, so just help speed up the process.

You Like?

So, I've really been enjoying our new pad.  One, it's completely silent here.  I mean silent.  I sleep like I'm in a coma each night.  Two, we have a garage.  I know, for those of you, who have always lived in a normal house, this might not seem like a big deal, but after my past parking situations (elevators and 40 point turns were involved) I'm very excited for the enclosure.  And three - WE HAVE A WASHER AND DRYER.  I sometimes just dump jars of salsa on myself so I can go and wash my clothes and then leave them in the dryer for days....and days...I love a world where you can leave clothes in dryers.  I really think dryers should replace closets and drawers.

But, as great as all these things are there is one thing I hate - no loathe - in my new place.  Some people would call it a "light fixture."  Others would call it a "chandelier."  I call it the "Golf Ball Crystal Eye Sore of the Universe" or G.B.C.E.S.O.T.U for short.  As you can see from the picture above, this thing is massive and I hate it.  When I walked into our place for the first time I said, "This could be the place..." and then this monstrosity literally stopped in my tracks, and while its glittering debauchery of style began to suck the very soul from my body, I whispered in almost a trance..."What the hell is this...?"  And just then, when I felt the last moments of my life coming to a close, I heard a heavily thick accent break through my visual nausea, and ask, "You like?"  Friends, that voice still haunts me at night.  "You like?"  "You like?"  I don't think Edgar Allan Poe could compose a scarier phrase.

After a few moments of fighting to regain my composure, I was able to rip my eyes from this abhorrence and say, "Um, is this included with the place?"  Again, that voice..."You like?" No, I wanted to scream.  No!  What had I done?  I was trying to be a good mother.  I needed to lose some weight, but overall, I thought I was leading an admirable life, and now this.  Again, after fighting the urge to grab a crucifix and whisper some witchcraft chants to rid the house of this evil, I said, "Um, it just doesn't go with what I already own.  Would we be able to replace it?"  Again, my plea was responded with, "You like?  Yes, you like?"  Damn you monster!  How could I fight her?  She had me cornered.

So, here it hangs.  Mocking me each morning as the light catches its golf balls and sprays my tiny kitchen table with prisms of rainbows.  Oh, how I hate you G.B.C.E.S.O.T.U.  One day you will be destroyed...and I cannot wait to see you crumble.

Boss Lady

So, last week we moved from Santa Monica to good ol' Irvine to put some roots down and embrace the suburban life.  Can I just say how much I dislike moving?  Honestly, it's the cruelest thing to have to take part in TWICE in four months!  Seriously, I hate moving.  Why you ask?  Why all the anger?  Well, stop asking questions and I'll tell you.

The following are the reasons I hate moving:

1. The utter delusion involved in moving.  You know what I'm talking about. A week before you move you think, "Gee, this will take a few hours to move everything because I barely own anything."  And then the day of the move comes, and you find yourself staring at piles of clothes, wedding gifts, books, towels and other pieces of crap, and you begin to consider lighting a match and just burning everything so you won't have to pack anything else.

2. The odds and ends.  Oh. my. gosh.  Again you know what I'm talking about.  For the first few hours of packing you are being all organized, labeling the boxes with things like, "clothes," "towels" etc. and then after all that stuff is packed away you are left with a box of staples, two wooden spoons, a plunger, some razors and a lifetime supply of napkins from various take out restaurants in the area.  What do you do with this crap?  I must have had four boxes labeled "Misc. Crap."

3. Other people moving your stuff.  Now you would think I would enjoy this part, but come on, we all know you don't handle people's stuff the way you handle your own.  Do you really care if your friend's coffee table gets destroyed?  Not really.  Do you care if your coffee table gets destroyed?  Definitely.  So, introduce a professional "I don't care because it's not my crap" company (Moving Company) and what do you get?  A bunch of guys grabbing the most expensive stuff you own, wondering if they could jam the door with it, so they don't have to keep opening it while they move your middle school yearbooks.

4. The "caring" beat down.  What do I mean by this?  Well, at nine o'clock am you wrap every piece of utensil for fear it will get scratched.  By nine o'clock pm - you are throwing your wedding china into a box with the iron and a toilet brush...and before you even make a motion to throw in some bubble wrap, you find yourself telling yourself, "Listen the china is high quality it will stay solid...and the iron needs to go anyway.  So, if it makes it - it was meant to be...if not..."

5. Unpacking.  Because inevitably the one screw to the crib, that holds it all together, is lost and somehow the only clothes you can immediately find, were actually the ones that were supposed to go to Goodwill.

As a side note this move was actually a lot better than the one four months ago. 1. My husband and his brother didn't have to move our couch and 2. Our moving company called me "Boss Lady" the whole time. I sort of miss those guys.  For a few hours I really felt like a Southern Plantation owner.

Gorillas in the Mist

On Sunday the baby started to laugh. It was one of the coolest things I've ever heard. However, what was even funnier, was when the husband stopped me from going near her, fearing that any noise would stop the laughter. After a few minutes, of standing silently still, I turned to my husband and said I felt like we were watching gorillas in their natural environment. Dian Fossey gots nothing on these two scientists.

Above is a video we were able to catch once the specimen welcomed us into her habitat and felt we posed no danger.

My Bewitching Hour

Again, why, why don't people tell/warn you of things that are going to happen and that you are going to do once you have a child?  Honestly, no one told me I was going to be excited to see my child go number two, or that I was going to become obsessed with getting the lint out of my child's hand.  NO ONE.  Also, no one told me about the deadly time between putting your child to bed for the night and the time you should be going to sleep yourself.  I cannot tell you how many times I've said to myself, "Once this baby goes to sleep, I'm marching to my room, brushing my teeth and going straight to bed."  (Yes, I talk to myself in quotations.)  And then all of the sudden, the baby is all nestled in her bed and everything around me becomes fascinating.  All of the sudden I start staring at my bookshelf wondering if I should finally bite the bullet and read something mildly more intelligent than my usual smut...for only twenty minutes, of course...and then, before I know it, I've pulled out my old Mongolian dictionary and spent a mystifying 89 minutes reading words out loud in a horrible Mongolian accent.  How does this happen? 

Last night was probably the worst...yes, worse than reading Mongolian out loud.  I had about fifteen minutes before I really needed to sleep, when I stumbled upon Extreme Cougar Wives on TLC.  Oh.  My.  Gosh.  This show is captivating, mesmerizing and fantastic all at the same time.  What's the premise you ask?  Um, just women in their late 60s and 70s having relations (that's for you Mom) with men 35+ years their junior.  Fantastic.  Right?  How did they meet, you ask?  Um, one young man was dating the 54 year old woman's daughter until he turned 20 and then...well...then love happened.  I actually watched 30 minutes of this show standing up with the remote in my hand because I was so fascinated by these people. 

Next week Stephanie, a 68 year old woman, goes to the beach with her 28 year old boyfriend, and has to endure the mocking from his friends as they play volleyball.  Will I watch?  Um, I sure as heck didn't put my baby to sleep to knit something if that is what you are wondering.

Please help me.  I didn't go to bed until 11:45 last night.  11:45. I spent 72 minutes of my life watching this show.  There's got to be a better way.