So, we got the new washer, which is a very lovely cheery sort of washer that fits about twice as much dirty clothes into it as the previous washer. Which makes it completely worth the four million dollars it cost. (I know that I’m ridiculous, but while I have no problem paying three hundred dollars for a purse, I somehow think appliances should cost about four dollars.) It beeps at me and has a silver dial and when I turn it on (oh yeah baby), the light comes on to illuminate the barrel and it’s HAL. It’s so cheery and chirpy and telling me that the hatch is locked and child safe and would I like to run the sanitize mode, because it knows how much I love to run the sanitize mode (oh, if I could steam every ounce of clothing we owned, I would).
I’m always a little creeped out by the basement, mostly because when you’re in the laundry area, you not only have your back to the stairs, you can’t even see them because the furnace and chimney are in the way. So something could be creeping out of there (or from that very frightening area behind the stairs) and you would never know it. But at the moment, I’m vaguely comforted by anthropomorphism. I have to believe that there’s some kind of security system in place, some big Doc Octopus arms will snake out of the back and grab any scoundrels by the collar while shielding my eyes from the violence. Or one would hope. Even if this is not the case, I love it more than my car, which makes me pretty much a 1950’s woman living in the Twenty-First century.
But really, I only say that because the car is being an asshole. Stupid Chrysler. First the air conditioner started acting up, then the weather stripping started falling down around the doors, making it look all hoopty. When Esteban found out that it would be $140 to fix EACH DOOR, he fixed the most hoopty looking one and declared that we’d wait until the others became annoying. And have I mentioned the little silver disk that covers the nuts on each wheel? It falls off. And costs $40 for a new one. We’ve now replaced three of them and are waiting with breathless anticipation for the fourth one to drop. Then the kerclunking started (which is either caused by ‘blah blah blah $1000’ or ‘blah blahety blah $1500&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9- but did you hear about my washing machine doing five million RPMs and making the clothes come out practically dry?) and I decided that I had had efuckingnough of this Chrysler ridiculousness. Yes, the car has some creature comforts that I love and is completely fun to drive (minus the kerclunking), but damn! If this is the beginning of the end, it doesn’t seem fiscally sound to keep pouring money into it.
So Esteban revved up his car buying jones. You see, the man lives to buy cars. He is absolutely thrilled by the hunt. He loves walking around car lots, sizing up features, talking about Hemis and cars that are like ‘riding on a cloud of titties’ (which is the kiss of death for any car that he wants me to buy, because I don’t want to have to listen to him say that fourteen million times through the life of the car). I, on the other hand, loathe shopping for cars, plus I’m sort of unreasonable. I don’t like cars in colors, particularly brown. I don’t want a little car or a car with only two doors or a minivan or a Buick or Ford. I don’t like cars with stupid names. The Touareg might be a very wonderful ride, but honestly, Touareg? Have we run out of car names now? Is there nothing else but crazy shit like Crossfire? Esteban thinks that I’m being unreasonable, but just like the cloud of titties, I don’t want to spend the life of the car making my mouth say ‘Touareg!’ And lest you think I’m being unreasonable, I wish I had considered this before we bought a house on a street that is pronounced very similarly to another, much larger street in the city so I now end up spelling the street name rather than saying it and my last name is functionally ‘Bix-bee-eye-ex’ except much longer and with many more unflattering consonant combinations.
Esteban is in love with the Buick Lucerne and the Dodge Charger. He mentioned this to the Clampetts, because he is friendly and has a relationship with them now (whereas I have forced polite minimal conversations with them, the pinnacle of which being ‘What kind of tree is that?’ ‘A Japanese Weeping Mulberry.’ ‘Oh, we was wondering and people ask us that all the time. We tell them ‘It’s not our tree! Gotta ask da neighbors!&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9- ‘Oh, well, that’s what it is.’ ‘It’s nice.’ ‘Thanks. I like it too.’ ‘Is it going to get bigger?’ ‘Um, probably not much bigger. It’s a dwarf ornamental.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Huh.’ ‘It’s gotten bigger though, since I bought it. The trunk, anyway.’ ‘Oh yeah! Would you look at that!’ ‘Ok, gotta get back to work!’) and made it a point of coming back into the house to tell me that the neighbors really wanted me to get a Dodge Charger. I started to rant that I wasn’t about to take vehicle advice from a guy who drove a bright yellow giant pick up truck with glass packs and no muffler and then proclaimed that when he buys a new Mercedes Benz, I’ll buy a Charger, because that’s just about as likely.
Then, late one night, Esteban was working in his office (which still doesn’t have privacy blinds) and I was sitting in my pajamas on the chaise (which is just outside of his office door) watching a movie, when all of the sudden, I heard tapping. I figured it was Esteban, but then he said ‘Did you hear that?’ Figuring it was someone at the door, I panicked, since I was only wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a pretty boobsome camisole, but then we heard it again and realized that it was coming from his office. He looked out the window and Mr. Clampett was standing there, looking in at us. Esteban opened the window and said ‘Yes?’ and Mr. Clampett drunkenly slurred back ‘Chaarrrrrrgerrrrrrr!’ Esteban responded ‘Get out of here!’ and then shut the window. So went the death knell for the Dodge Charger. And also prompted me to get off my ass and go straight to Home Depot to order the blinds for his office. Damn Clampetts!
This is why you should not be friendly with your neighbors, people! Right there! I wish I had know it was coming, so that I could have made a wav file, just so that you too could experience it, the cry of ‘Chaarrrrrgerrrrrr’ in the night.
I did agree to test drive one of each. When we pulled up to the Buick dealership at 4 pm on a Saturday, it was flocked by white hairs. ‘Oh, no, you old people are ruining everything!’ Esteban cried, but seriously, it was like Buick was also offering early bird buffets, because the place was crawling with men in golf shorts with spindly hairless legs and their wives wearing floral prints and sensible beige purses that could house small families. I did take the Lucerne for a test drive and while it was nice, it felt a lot like driving my grandmother’s car, all floating and neutered. And when we looked at the Chaarrrrrrgerrrrrrr, the disdain on my face was actually palpable, so Esteban let me off the hook, as long as I agreed to test drive the 300C, which he is also in love with but knows that I don’t like. While it was nice, there is something distinctly masculine about the car and didn’t feel like me at all. Weirdly, one that worked was a very reasonable Honda Accord Hybrid. It wasn’t spectacular, but was definitely non-objectionable. If I had had to pick a car that minute, after a month of driving it, I definitely wouldn’t hate the Accord the way that I would the 300C.
I had my heart set on a Jaguar S-Type or a Volvo S80, but since they are not popular cars up here (and I refuse to buy new, since I drive the hell out of my cars and don’t care about being the only owner) we headed down to Chicago for the day. I was feeling ambivalent because the interest rates are much higher than they were when I bought the M, and the thought of locking down a ridiculous rate for a bunch of years makes me ill (yes, I could always refinance when the rates go down, but seriously, it was 9 years before I finally refinanced the house’ like that’s going to happen). I had a blank check from my bank, but I specifically didn’t take it along because I didn’t want to feel tempted. And then I decided that we wouldn’t even look for cars, we would just go shopping, get a good dinner somewhere and make a Trader Joe’s run, but then, at 10 am, when we were driving past one of the little suburbs with a seemingly great deal on a Volvo S80, we decided to stop in and take a look at it. And that’s pretty much when Esteban put his car mojo back into high gear. We ended up spending the rest of the day in this suburb, looking at cars. At just one lot, we test drove a Lexus, a BMW, a Lincoln LS, a Jaguar X-Type, an Infiniti, and a few others that I’ve since forgotten. By the end of the day, the Volvo S80 had fallen off the In Love list, replaced by the Nissan Murano. Esteban is completely head over heels in love, the Lucerne and the Chaarrrrrrgerrrrrrr are all but forgotten, so if anything, it’s a good thing. While the Murano had literally everything that I required (dark leather interior, sunroof, radio controls on the steering wheel, heated seats, decent ride with a gutsy engine), I still feel that it’s a distant second to the Jaguar. I can’t quite understand what makes it different from a minivan, other than the fact that the doors swing out rather than slide. I do admit that when I’ve driven the mini SUVs as rentals, I’ve really loved their hatch backs and the fact that you’re higher, and I also admit that I’m a little afraid of buying a Jaguar because then maybe I’ll be one of those assholes who drive Jaguars.
Later in the week, I drove a Jaguar S-Type on my lunch hour (bizarrely, shown to me by the same annoying Boy Scout who refused to deal when I tried to buy a Volvo last time, which guaranteed that I wasn’t going to buy that particular car, even if it hadn’t had a beige interior) and yeah, I had a mini orgasm. So then I was torn. Sensible but luxurious grocery getter? Or automotive equivalent of a cat in heat?
And then Esteban accidentally hit the car of someone who sped away immediately, even though it was Esteban’s fault. Oddly enough, we were podcasting when Esteban walked in immediately after this happened, so the entire story is preserved forever. So, now he’s got to pay the deductible and if Juan comes forward, we’ll be paying for that too. We sort of doubt that Juan is going to come forward, though, since he now faces hit and run charges (yes, even if you’re the victim and don’t stick around) and he was probably running for a reason.
Since we have to fix the kerclunkety before trying to trade in the M anyway, I’m probably going to put off a car purchase for at least another month. I’m too stressed, between school starting, my multiple projects at work, and our impending vacation to California (yes, Esteban and I are going on vacation together, which hasn’t happened since we went to London. I know! I’m as shocked as anyone!). It can wait until we get back, and then it can wait until after Poppy’sJournalNon on the weekend of Sept 15th. Hopefully my car won’t decide to disintegrate in the airport long term parking lot before then.
