And My Cleaning Lady Drives a Land Rover. . .

So why would I be fixated on the Cleaning Lady's car????

I think the answer will become painfully apparent when I introduce you to the cars currently in the Spin family stable:

• I believe that you have already met White Ice.  She's my 1999 Plymouth Voyager who, much like her owner, is currently having a slight problem with her internal thermostat.  (Who knew that cars could also go through menopause?)  What's more, she's recently developed a problem shifting gears (me too!!) and the windows on her passenger side are no longer operational.  (Last time I checked I didn't really have windows, but if I did, I'm sure they'd be sluggish at best.)

• And then there's Roberta.   She's my daughters' (well mine really, but Trigger and Ponzi think they own her) 2003 Jeep Liberty.  Roberta's biggest problem is that she's expensive to own. (Sound like anyone we know???)  Her cooling system is working just fine now because we just spent $1,000 to put a brand spanking new air conditioning system in her.  She's a little self-conscious about the dent that arrived on her passenger side back in 2005, but all-in-all this little car has successfully seen more of the Northeast corridor than most of Amtrak's passenger cars.

• Many of you may remember that last December, Percy went to join Zack in car heaven and so now Veggie has a brand spanking new white metro-sexual of a Nissan Sentra which she has appropriately christened, Ken.  And everyone in the Spin household knows that Ken is off limits the rest of the family.   That's okay.   Veggie pays for the car, gas, and insurance.  (She'll pay for her own tolls too just as soon as I can wrestle the EZpass gadget away from her.)

• And then there is Dad's Car - the 2001 Jeep Grand Cherokee which is presently in car limbo.  You see, D.C. has been in the shop since the end of May as the mechanics take his engine apart in their spare time. . . looking for some fatal-sounding pinging noise coming from under the hood.   And, lest you think we have left D.C. to die a painful death alone, let me assure you that Drip Dry calls the mechanic every week or so wondering what steps he's taken to resuscitate the car and bring it back to life.  Let's try to forget that the usual answer just happens to be "none", and give kudos to Drip Dry for making the effort. . . 

So the fact that D.C. has been m.i.a. for the past six weeks, Trigger is home from college for the summer, and Ken has been placed on the do-not-disturb list, has left certain members of the household in quite a pickle - for now we have just two cars to be shared by four drivers.

And if past history is any indication, Spin family members are not good sharers.

So you see, I may not be envious of the fact that the Cleaning Lady lady drives a big, fat, fancy S.U.V.

I just may - in fact - be jealous of the fact that it has four wheels and actually goes somewhere when you shift gears and press the accelerator!

Bad "Car"ma. . .

I'm officially posting a Rambling, Run-on, and Random Tuesday Thoughts post today (even though it's Monday) and titiling it Bad "Car"ma . . .

If you want to see more Random Tuesday thoughts, click on over to Keely's (tomorrow, that is. . .) and join in.

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• Don't you hate in when you wake up in the morning to the familiar smell of homemade popcorn (a.k.a . old smelly burnt oil) and are quickly greeted by the sight of a kitchen and family room left in disarray after you went to bed? Wouldn't you just love to leave Ponzi a big note showing your discontent and telling her to clean it up fast?

• Or when you snoop on-line to see if Trigger has completed her math placement exam as promised (a pre-requisite to her college orientation tomorrow) and she still hasn't. . . no matter how long you've been bugging her to do it?

• And how about when, just for fun, you open your on-line banking to peek at your cell phone bill and see that it rolled in as a whopping $520 for just one month? Don't you hate it when that happens???

• And how about when your husband calls you at work to tell you that he talked to the mechanic, who thinks he knows what the problem with Roberta is this time, and wants to take the car home overnight just to be sure, but can't unless you pay $60 for him to perform the overdue state inspection, which he would be happy to perform but is unable to because he cannot find not a valid insurance card in the glove compartment due to the fact that the replacement ones you ordered haven't arrived in the mail yet?

• Or how about when your Priest-Boss gets informed that your two teenage daughters were among the minions who got caught drinking on the church trip to Appalachia even under your husband's watchful eye???? Bless me Father, for my daughters have sinned. . .

• Or when, out of the goodness of your heart, you go to drive a 450 pound woman to the office of temporary assistance to update her food stamp card and your 1999 minivan starts to buck and sputter on the way there and you're absolutely convinced that there is no way you're going to make it and you try to talk her into calling a cab for the return trip, but she's too timid, so you wait the hour and a half with her, but pour her into a cab at the end anyway cause you're afraid to have the car break down with her in it 'cause you didn't bring her motorized wheelchair and she can't walk more than five steps without having to rest? Are you not amazed when that happens????

• And how about when you finally get your car to the dealership (not the same mechanic who has Roberta, mind you. . ) and they say Hey, do you know this car's overdue for inspection? or Hey, would you like us to put on a new hubcap??? Don't you just not feel like 'splaining the insurance card part, but do feel like you driving down to Appalachia and moving into one of those trailers yourself?

• Or when, after a long tiring day, your sister picks you up from the car dealership and you arrive back home to find those old smelly popcorn dishes still in the kitchen sink and you call Ponzi repeatedly to no avail because she doesn't answer - only to find out hours later that she's been in the house and napping ever since you got home???? Aren't you glad you didn't resume the walking around the house naked you did when you knew no one else was home????
  

Now, don't you agree that any of these scenarios would be painful on their own. . . but when they all occur in the same day, it's even more than Bad "Car"ma. . . it's the peace and quiet of My Perfect Week unraveling faster than a roll of toilet paper on Mischief Night!!!!


And don't you just hate it when that happens????

Oh, and thanks to Veggie (who has indeed surfaced in the UK for all who were worried about her) for coining the "Car"ma phrase. . . creative phrasing must be genetic. . .

Dear Mr. Rotten Auto Mechanic

Dear Mr. Guy-Who-Was-Supposed-to-Fix-My-Car;

I know it's only Wednesday, but I can't wait until Friday to complain.

So, Mr. Guy-Who-Was-Supposed-to-Fix-My-Daughters'-Car-Which-They-Fondly-Named-Roberta . . . when I paid you $400 to repair the car, I foolishly assumed that you had actually fixed the cause of the stalling, and so thought I would be safe to leave my trusty 1999 White Ice Minivan home for a change. . . especially when I was was meeting a few friends for drinks on the town.

Little did I know that - after three glasses of wine - your suckiness-at-auto-repairship would rear its ugly head and I would become stranded at a traffic light with a stalled car.

If it were not for my excellent survival skills, Mr. Rip-Off-Who-Poses-as-an-Auto-Mechanic-Guy, I might have been in some serious trouble . . . for I can see it now. . . Yes, Officer. . . I just found out that this car is four months overdue for inspection. . . and Yes, Officer. . . I've had a few glasses of wine. . . but, don't worry, it was happy hour. . . and that means they were only filling my glasses halfway. . . so it's really only like I've had a glass and a half. . . and No, Officer, I don't have Triple A, because I let that lapse. . . if you could see the bills I have to pay. . . . and No, Officer, I can't call my husband to come pick me up 'cause he's away on a church trip with my daughters. . .and I'm left home here all alone on my perfect week. . . which . . . of course . . . did not include cars breaking down and threats of blowing wine breath into your breathalizer . . .and that. . .Officer. . . is the truth. . . the whole truth. . .and nothing but the truth. . . so help me, God. . .and speaking of God. . . did I tell you I work for a church?????

And - even though I narrowly escaped that fate by keeping my foot on the accelorator at all times - let me just warn you here and now Mr. Nuts-and-Struts-for-Brains, you have not only pissed me off, but have alienated the Car Gods as well. . . . for when my daughters get home from their mission trip to Appalachia, I'm going to set them loose on you, and you better run fast 'cause rumor has it that now they know how to use a nail gun!

Dear Car Gods

It's Friday, so it must be time for another episode of Dear So and So. . . thunk up by Kat at 3 Bedroom Bungalow. Go visit her to read some other fascinating correspondence. . . .

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Dear Car Gods,

Please excuse me for not knowing your names, but - from my limited understanding of ancient mythology - I'm assuming you must be fairly new to the scene. Oh. . . and I'm also assuming that you must be gods in the plural sense, for no mere god could keep track of my daughter's comings and goings. . . .

Anyway. . . I am writing to you because my little family unit is in very poor automotive health at the present time.

As you probably know, our dear Roberta - after having been stranded in a stranger's driveway all last week while Veggie left for parts unknown, only to return and whisk her up and down the Northeast Corridor for the next three days - has suffered from a breakdown (we think she's a bit of the nervous type. . . but, you know, who wouldn't be traumatized in the hands of my daughters? I refuse to even get in the car when they're driving. . . I can't imagine being the instrument by which they . . . I can say no more. . . ) So, poor Roberta got towed away last night and has been hospitalized for the long holiday weekend until a mechanic shows up on Monday morning to help her.

Which leaves my three daughters to argue over Percy.

Now, Percy may look smart because of all of the cousins' pricey college stickers on the windshield (which came with him at the time of purchase) but even Percy does not have an advanced degree in mediation. And I'm afraid that our poor little Toyota Camry has been witness to some pretty mean-spirited carjacking in the past few days, as the battles between Ponzi and Trigger have escalated to new heights. (Oh. . . and, by the way Car Gods, if you ever see Ponzi's boyfriend. . . you know. . . the one with his right arm in a sling from the broken collarbone. . . driving one of our cars again, could you please eject him quickly from the driver's seat before my husband finds out and ensures that his other arm is place in a sling as well????)

Now where was I?

Well, if the story Ponzi tells me was correct. . . some nice police officer (perhaps the very same one who helped tow Roberta away???) informed her yesterday that Percy had a flat tire and, wasn't it lucky that Ponzi's boyf happened to be in the car 'cause he put air in the tire for her - averting yet another automotive disaster????

But, let me tell you Car Gods, after two chance encounters with police officers yesterday, it's a damn good thing that neither of them saw me driving White Ice.

Now, after looking around for someone to blame for my minivan's current dilemma, I've pointed the finger squarely at the New Jersey Division of Motor Vehicles who dared to have their on-line site "under construction" during the long holiday weekend. Now I ask you. . . how else are slackers like me supposed to renew their 1999 Dodge Grand Caravan's registration which expired on June 30th? Don't they know that I always procrastinate, renewing on line three days late and then printing the receipt, carrying it around in my glove compartment to say Here officer, I really did renew it. . . I just haven't gotten the actual card yet. . . See ??? And what's worse. . . this year's debacle includes a little state inspection that hasn't been performed and whose little "6/2009" sticker is sitting in the corner of my windshield for every police officer from here to eternity to see. . .

Oh my!

So here we are, Car Gods, on a long holiday weekend . . . with five licensed drivers in the house. . . forced to share 1 and 3/4 cars (I guess three out of four tires aren't bad. . . Oh. . . and did I tell you . . . my husband doesn't really like to "share" his Jeep. . . so much so, that it doesn't even rate a name. . . it's just referred to as Dad's Car. . . )

But will you be smiling on me on Monday, Car Gods, when - having already waved goodbye to Ponzi, Trigger and my husband on Sunday as they leave for a service trip to Appalachia - I drop Veggie off at the airport to depart for the UK and return home (all alone!!!) and have four cars to choose from for the remainder of the week?????

I hope so! Oh, I hope so!!!!

Roberta's bad day

I’ve come to the conclusion that the only thing worse than being the mother of a teenage girl is to be that same teenager’s car. Of course, you already know that my daughters name their cars (may Zack rest in peace) but do they really show respect for them? Let me introduce you to some of the trials and tribulations endured on just one day in the life of their next car, Roberta:

7:50 a.m. – The oldest daughter drives Roberta to the train station to catch a train into the city for the day. She leaves a tad bit on the late side, and despite the mother’s offers to drop her off on her way to work, swears she’ll be fine. After circling the commuter parking lot, Roberta ends up parked on a neighborhood side street under a sign that reads, 2 Hour Parking Only – All Others Will Be Towed Away.
9:25 a.m. – Nonetheless, Roberta is somewhat surprised when the responsible mother figure arrives and moves her off that side street (for there have been countless other instances where Roberta has been left under similar circumstances.) Noticing, thankfully, that the daughter has been driving on fumes, the responsible mother figure brings her to the nearest gas station and spends yet more of her precious work time and $65 in hard-earned cash to fill Roberta’s gas tank.

9:35 a.m. – Refreshed and renewed, it’s back to the commuter lot again where Roberta has her choice of parking spaces, and the mother attempts to wrestle with the “pay to park” machine at the station. Roberta watches as the mother inserts $5 for a $3 fee, pushes a few buttons, and the machine spits out a receipt declaring that, despite the money deposited, she has no time assigned to her. Then she watches as the mother almost loses her debit card to the very same hungry machine.

And so, Roberta doesn’t blame the mother at all when she displays the lost $5 receipt in a prominent place on her windshield, grabs the full cup of (now iced) coffee that her daughter stopped for along the way and promptly forgot (time she could have used to find a parking place, no doubt) and trudges back to her own car which she left on that side street a good half-mile away on the other side of the station.

Time Unknown – Roberta is disappointed to see a member of the parking authority put a ticket on her windshield despite the best efforts of the mother.

8:05 p.m. – The daughter comes to reclaim the car, sees the parking ticket, mumbles something under her breath, tosses the ticket on the back seat, plugs in her iPod, and proceeds to begin driving to her friend’s house.

8:09 p.m. – Roberta comes to an abrupt stop when a car with flashing lights appears behind her. She watches anxiously as the daughter rifles through the Dunkin Donut napkins in the glove compartment looking for her insurance card and registration. No luck. She hears the officer tell the daughter that she is lucky that he’s only giving her a ticket for a broken taillight and not the $180 ticket for the missing registration.

8:10 p.m. – Although she knows it’s not her fault, Roberta feels somewhat responsible for all that she has clearly been lacking this day–gas in her tank, adequate parking fees, working taillight, missing documentation. The daughter, however, seems to only be angry at the officer and so Roberta and the daughter proceed on to meet the daughter’s friends.

10:52 p.m. – When, after an exhausting day, Roberta finally returns to her own driveway, she hears the daughter tell the responsible mother figure that the other licensed daughter must have been pulled over and not told her parents, for where else would that missing documentation have gone to? For some reason the mother believes her story and goes looking for that other daughter.

But alas, Roberta knows that the last time those cards were used was at the scene of this daughter’s last accident–an accident, by the way, that still had Roberta missing her front bumper.

A letter to the guy on the Allstate ads

Dear Mr. Guy on the Allstate Ads,

For some strange and unknown reason, my husband has been on a two-day mission to lower our car insurance rates.

In listening to your television commercials, I notice that you boast about a policy you call Accident Forgiveness.

Question for you. . .

Does the term Accident refer to our daughters' driving records? Or is it, by chance, referring to our obvious lack of family planning in having three drivers in the "high-risk" category together???

Because if it's the former, that's great.

But, if you plan to somehow take mercy on us for having Trigger and Ponzi so close together, I love you!

Because we all know that Accidents Happen, I am. . .

p.s. Do you think you could pass your Accident Forgiveness policy on to the owners of J. Crew and Hollister - along with Presidents of all colleges on the East Coast????

Just wondering. . .