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Another checkmark in the yuppie column

I just got back from Milwaukee, where I bought a car from Chris Daughtry(!) and a Russian named Igor and I am not making that up, either, his name was Igor. I kept giggling, every time he said anything, every time he got paged over the loud speaker “Igor to the Parts Department!” because they needed some body parts, you see. Ok, no one’s with me there.

The buying of the car took forever, and was fraught with drama leading up to it but it is too lengthy and boring to go into it other than to mention that I’m glad that it’s over and that the actual event of car buying was pretty uneventful. And in the end, I have a new car. And my old car. We’re not sure what we’re going to do with it yet, but I’d like to turn it into a Rose Bowl Parade float of some kind and then drive it slowly through the neighborhoods of Green Bay, throwing candy out of the sunroof and blasting Jane’s Addiction in an attempt to blow out the rest of the speakers, because man, wouldn’t that be kind of cool? Yeah, we’ll probably sell it or something.

I took a picture of Igor and he got all happy and made sure to straighten his hair first. Igor was so awesome that I even forgave him for listing Esteban’s name first on the forms. Igor gets a pass when it comes to fighting the patriarchy, mostly because in Russia, you just take what you can get. Esteban was cracking up, however, while we were signing, because he knew how much I was seething and how much I was trying to hide the fact that it was pissing me off and judge whether I should make them redo everything at the cost of waiting even longer than we already had. Esteban thinks the patriarchy is funny as shit.

I took a picture of our sales guy, Chris Daughtry(!) too, although he didn’t straighten his hair. He was too cool for that shit and also, he didn’t have any. I almost asked him to make rock and roll hand signs, but at that point, a storm was coming from the north and it was late and I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Had he been a local Daughtry(!), I might have done just that.

Because I live to provide you schadenfreude, I will tell you now that I had driven the car exactly 6 miles before the heavens opened up and it hailed all over my new car. You’re welcome.

The above was written earlier in the week but Diaryland was broken when I tried to post it, so you get it now (“sometimes, things happen”). If I had written anything about the leading action, about how many different cars I looked at and how many times Esteban argued that my deal breakers (heated leather seats, sunroof, radio controls on the steering wheel) were the stupidest reasons on the planet not to buy a particular car and how many times I said “Screw it! I will just keep driving the Chrysler until it falls apart around me just so that I don’t have to deal with this anymore!” (which is exactly what happened last fall when we tried looking at cars) then this is where the payoff line would be. But, you know, “Nissan Murano” just doesn’t sound exciting enough to be anyone’s payoff. This is why I didn’t bother with the leading action. Right there.

It’s a nice car thingy. Technically, it’s a crossover, meaning not a car and not an SUV, not a Maxima and not a Pathfinder, not a girl and not yet a woman. When I told Mopie, she exclaimed “Oh, that’s the bubble butt car!” Great.

Jake has been struggling with determining the appropriate theme song. The Chrysler’s theme song had been Celine Dion’s “I Drove All Night” and also maybe the Republican national committee anthem. (“We’re better than yooouuuu! The poor should get screeewwwwwed!”) He has suggested NIN’s new song, the song about pushing the button, since the Murano doesn’t use a key, you just push and turn a button thing. I think the song should be something about gluttony, because dear god, any car that makes the CHRYSLER look like it conserved gas? On paper, they have the same gas mileage but in practice, there’s no way. Of course, the second I bought the car, the price for a gallon of gas crested the $3 mark. Although apparently there is some kind of “new engine” wear in time that makes it fuel-inefficient? Blah blah mechanical stuff. I came really close to buying a hybrid this time (the Lexus RX400h has only been out a year… I’m very nervous about first model years and Esteban has an unreasonable prejudice against Lexus drivers) and I can already tell that our next one will be a granola cruncher.
And wow, even I find this insanely boring so the end.

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