Two all-beef patties, special sauce, cheese, lettuce, tomato, four sushi rolls, bratwurst, tortilla chips, a veggie burger, peanut butter cups, a slice of apple pie, and a sesame seed bun. That�s what I ate on the Fourth of July. Correction: that�s what I ate for dinner on the Fourth of July. There was a lunch and a breakfast, too. And then I swallowed a man whole and popped open a couple beers with my claws before posing for a Bosch triptych.
Just kidding! I don�t have claws. Yet. But I did consume pretty much everything listed above (except for the man), and celebrated the birth of the nation by eating sushi with a bunch of foreigners. Well, okay, so there were only three foreigners, but it was still kinda funny. Well, funny to me, but then again, I was suffering from protein intoxication at the time. But not regular intoxication! Because�wait for it�I had to drive home!
That�s right, ladies and gents (and other), I am mobile again. It all happened so quickly that I sort of don�t believe it myself, to be honest. Remember a couple weeks ago, when I flirted with a car, but it didn�t go anywhere because they wouldn�t give it to me for the price I was willing to pay? Well, it would appear that good things might really come to those who wait. In accordance with my self-governing philosophy, which states, "Anything worth telling is worth telling in the most pointless, illogical, complicated, and unnecessarily-detailed way possible," allow me to begin with a little back story!
After telling me there was absolutely no way they could accommodate my stipulated price (a point which will become painfully ironic in a couple paragraphs), my salesdude performed a show of good faith by getting online and helping me to locate the car I was seeking for the price I was asking. Of course, this was only after he�d already offered to "put me in" a 12-year-old Lexus. I offered to put him somewhere I felt comparable, but I don�t think he appreciated the suggestion. "That car originally cost twice as much as the one you�re looking at now," he bristled. "It was overpriced then, and it�s overpriced now," I snorted, "and it�s also THREE TIMES AS OLD!"
Anyway, that�s when he got online and gave me the address for a place we�ll call Skeevy Al�s Used Cars. Not for any reason. I just picked a name out of the air. Anyway, I made my way in that direction the following weekend, and was somewhat disturbed (though completely not surprised) to find myself at what basically looked like a scrap metal yard sale. I gingerly picked my past dodgy heaps of rust and paint variously labeled "Extra Clean!" and "Sporty!" until I found the car I�d been directed to from their website. In their defense, it was exactly as youthful and inexpensive as advertised, but the mileage was, predictably, off the charts. And I mean this number was so astronomically high that the only possible explanation is that the previous owner had to commute to Los Angeles daily from his home in the Yucatan Peninsula. Circa 24 BC.
Needless to say, I did not so much as touch that car with my finger, let alone inquire after it or (heaven help me) get behind the wheel. Frankly, even if it hadn�t been driven rough-shod through a time tunnel, I still wouldn�t have gotten behind the wheel because the whole place had a distinctly dirty feeling to it. I think I got scabies just from standing on the lot. Anyway, I ran as fast as my little legs could carry me and didn�t look back.
Flash forward to this past Saturday, when I spied a copy of the LA Times at the caf� where I spend my weekend mornings. I discovered an ad for a car that sounded strangely familiar to the one I�d haggled over not two weeks earlier (which they told me would be "leaving the store" the next day), at a significant drop in the price. In fact, the price had dropped exactly to where I�d asked. I popped in, as much to get a look at the car as the looks on their faces, and within about an hour and a half, I was once again owner of an automobile.
Somewhat shady business practices aside, I feel confidant that I made a good buy -- I did my research, I held out for the right price, and I even nabbed a two-year factory warranty in the process. I think that I will take a cue from the last five months and do a little more walking than I used to (it now seems stupid to drive to work every day, when I can walk it in a mere fifteen minutes), but it nonetheless feels to good to have my own transportation again.
Now if I could just remember where everything is�
Someone Got Here By Searching For: handbag in Europe I�m Watching: America�s [Last] Top Model, and despite the fact that I already know who won, I still get all tense at the final cut. What is that? And: The Amazing Race, which is still brilliant as ever. If I was Charla, though, I think I might kick Mirna square in the nads.