Indoor Camping

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Help Me With My Flair*

People who take cars seriously, people like my Dad who discuss cars like he's writing a Consumer's Report article, please move on. You're not needed here.

Okay, good. Someone's still reading. Chances are you're a creative, probably right-brained, if not left-handed type of person. You can help me.

I now own a car I like. It's red and shiny. It's rounded and weird and I like it. That's about all I know about it. I'm female. There are many of us and some of us pick out cars by the color, followed closely by the shape of the thing. Don't even ask me how many miles it has on it. Less than me, I'm guessing.

I decided it's pretty plain. Anyone could own this beetle. How do I personalize it? I don't really go for flair; that's a high school kind of thing. I live with high schoolers -- I don't want that kind of flair.

The Vegan's flair is odd air fresheners needed for his huge collection of empty pop cans and food wrappers. He's got stickers and license plate holders advertising his skateboard loyalties, too. The General's pathfinder is full of girl stuff, necklaces and junk hanging from the rear view mirror, Hawaiian seat covers, more girl stuff and stickers all over the back and sides advertising the surfboard companies with the prettiest logos.

I went to G.I. Joe's for something non-vehicular and ended up staring down the car flair. Typical me, I got buyer's remorse even before I picked anything out. I ran out of there empty-handed, not even buying whatever it was I went in there for.

If you're still reading, please help me out. You must be a person with lots of flair, if not always on your car. What do you have in/on/around your vehicle? What's hanging from your rear-view mirror? How have you made your car personal? I need ideas.

I'll feel so much better if I can copy someone else.

*Flair is what Jennifer Aniston's character in the movie Office Space had to wear to show her "personality." She was required to wear seventeen pieces, which is exactly what she wore, pulling whatever she could find to fulfill the minimum. Her boss compared her flair to one of her overly-excited colleagues who had over thirty pieces of flair. I love this term for those things people use to show personality. If you have to show personality, you don't have any.

A little help? [] 5:43:52 PM

Bush Has Made My Husband Independent

Charlie and I were a mixed couple. We voted the same on most issues except President. He's voted for George both opportunities during our relationship tenure. I can't believe anyone would be excited to have this guy and his team in our highest office. He'd make a good neighbor or workout buddy, but President? I don't like people who project a "my way or the highway" image.

The teens were so pro-Kerry they had signs in their rooms. We had ongoing jokes and for the most part, kept the divide humorous. If James Carville and Mary Matalin can do it, and breed besides, so can we. We have friends on both extremes and they have no idea where we stand. We think we're pretty good about seeing the other point of view.

The election seemed to be a childish exercise in hurling insults which only got worse afterwards. Everything is so polarized we became sick of anything political, so any underlying antagonism we had with each other disappeared. We aren't in high school and we don't have to listen to politicians who act like they still are.

Neutrality and distance lasted only until oil was under $50 a barrel. Now that we're paying dearly for gas, Charlie points his fingers at the TV and starts to yell whenever Iraq ("I thought the war was supposed to be paid for by their oil") or gas is mentioned. High gas prices have turned Charlie against his fellow conservatives.

"The truck starts dinging," he says, " so I put $10 worth of gas in it. I drive away from the station and it still dings. I have to sell the best vehicle I ever owned because I can't afford to feed the beast. I blame the President. He's the one holding hands with the Saudis."

We put the big-ass honkin' truck for sale and sold it Friday. We have no idea who'd want a V10 which barely gets 10 miles to the gallon, but some guy acted like he won the lottery when he bought it. Everyone else who called wanted a diesel. I can't understand why anyone'd be buying a truck right now. They're fun to drive, but for the cost you could probably fly. They aren't fun when they're sitting in the driveway and that's the only place you can afford to take it.

"Get whatever you want," Charlie told me. "If I have to give up my truck, it's your turn. Nothing will console me."

Charlie sold my Jeep, or more accurately I agreed to sell it, after owning it less than a year. It's the one vehicle the General and I have always wanted and I didn't even care to drive after it left the driveway never to return. Charlie told me we'd get me a Jetta, since they're so cute and functional at the same time, but we never got it. We got carpet instead.

Now it's time for my Jetta. There aren't many Jettas for sale. I noticed this when my son wanted one. He finally got his in California. When he smashed that one, he ended up with a Golf. There weren't any Jettas near his price range in the paper for more than a few hours. He couldn't get up early enough.

We called on several Jettas. All of them were at least a thousand dollars over blue book. Even Jettas with scratches and dings with missing pieces and glove boxes that didn't close were way over blue book. Charlie hates buying anything over blue book. How can he sell it in six months, if he needs to, and make any money?

We agreed to buy a med student's 1997 Jetta. She wanted $5,200 and we offered $5,000. She said she'd take it but couldn't sell it until Sunday. We didn't call on anything else. $5,000 wasn't fair and it was way over the $4,370 blue book recommendation, but it would solve the Jetta problem. We'd ignore the scratches and dings just to be able to drive around getting good gas mileage.

The med student called Sunday saying, "I have another couple who want to buy it. They drove all the way out from Redmond. Before I sell it to you, I should at least show it to them."

"Can't we see it first?" Charlie said. We agreed to buy her car sight unseen.

"Okay," she said.

We drove out to OHSU, drove the Jetta and talked to her for a while. She was nice and willing to take our $5,000. "I'll call you after the couple from Redmond look at it," she said.

She called later on that day. "I'll take $5,100," she said. "That's my lowest price." She didn't mention the Redmond couple.

"I'll think about it," Charlie said.

He didn't get a chance. "If I'm spending that much money over blue book, I might as well get something fun," I said. "Let's see what there is still available on a Sunday night at 8 pm."

I looked up a few cars and found one I liked. Charlie called on it and it was still available. We arranged to look at the car in the morning. We didn't agree to buy it. It wasn't a Jetta; we didn't have to be desperate.

We drove up to the address and outside, sitting in the driveway, was the red beetle with my name on it. It was fun, clean, and available. What was I thinking, wanting a practical Jetta? This thing rocked.

I lusted after a new beetle for years, off and on. I quickly got over this by looking at a lot of new beetles and noticing who primarily drove them. The only people I saw driving cool new beetles were middle-aged, geeky, balding men. Not cool.

This doesn't seem important to me anymore. This is what my driveway looks like now:

Here's the beautiful big-ass honkin' gas hog obesemobile. Notice the beautiful rocker panels our friend Gary put on the sides (you can't even see where the Vegan backed into it):

The General is so jealous of my new car. Now gas prices can return to their normal levels. They've done their job.

Busy Vegan

Once carpet entered my life, I feel like I'm living in someone else's house. We hadn't had much furniture to begin with, but now with clean, light carpet, the crap we had isn't going back inside. Here's what the Vegan decided to do with the cheap old chairs we'd used too many times to paint and texture on:

He must have inhaled enough fresh air to get his brain cranking. He and his buddy Bobb, whose real name is John, came inside and decided to make a pie. "Pie's good," is all they'd say when they started baking. "We made one Monday and brought it to lunch. Everyone wondered what we were doing, eating a whole pie for lunch. We didn't share. Pie's good."

They ran off to Safeway, bought peaches and raspberries and a graham cracker pre-made crust. Every few minutes they'd find me to ask where something was or otherwise request baking advice. They'd run down to the kitchen and get back to work. It was like they were at work, the way they were so energetic. I never see the Vegan move fast unless he has to. The only place he has to move fast is at work.

They finished cooking just in time for the Vegan to go to work. Now he'll spend the next four hours making fish or chicken or fries and saying, "Welcome to Arby's. I'll take your order when you're ready."

Bobb let the pie cool and took it home with him. "No way we'll leave the pie at your house," Bobb said. "The General sneaks our pop and Charleston Chews and doesn't even ask. She'd eat half the pie if we left it here. No offense."

If I'd known having a kitchen would get the Vegan moving and Bobb cleaning and chatting, I'd have finished it a long time ago. Now if I could only convince them to leave a pie in our refrigerator. The General and I have a lot in common. No offense.

A little help? [] 2:00:08 PM