Unwelcome Home

Last night, we schlepped our luggage back from BART, after flying home from Austin (which was a great trip, but I don't feel like talking about it right now). My arms were falling off when we turned down our street, and Chris noticed that our car (the Trooper) was parked in a different place than where we had left it (nothing too alarming-- we left our keys with our house/dog-sitting friend, and told her to feel free to take the car out for a spin). Then, I noticed that the back door was slightly open & the dome light was on inside.

Uh-oh.

You guessed it: no car stereo (yet again).

Well, the good news is that 1) no windows were broken (I'm thinking the car was left unlocked accidentally), and 2) they stole this huge bag I've been meaning to take to Good Will for ages. So that saves me a trip to Good Will (ironic, isn't it?). The bad news is that they ripped the whole dash board off, and also stole all the knobs. Who steals air conditioner knobs? The savages.

The other surprise we got was when we woke up this morning to move the cars for street sweeping. Chris moved the Trooper (I haven't actually looked in to see what they did to my Baby-- I just can't bear it yet), and I got into the Jeep to move it.

Surprise! It wouldn't start.

Chris just spent an hour under the hood with our friendly neighbor, Eric, trying to get it to start, to no avail. I stood out there in the chilly morning with them for a while, feeling useless and very female (as I usually do on these occasions, which happen far too often). Finally, I asked if my moral support could still be felt from the house, and was sent back inside to blog and check my email.

Side note: I believe there is some sacred male ritual in looking under the hood of a car. Have you ever noticed that when one man is looking under the hood, other men are instinctively drawn to it, like moths to a flame? It's the same with barbecues. There is something sacred and distinctively masculine about it. In those moments, all a woman can do is stand back and admire (or get in the way and ask if they can help). And by the way, I'm not bagging on men at all-- I really do believe they have a special talent when it comes to barbecuing and fixing cars that God did not give to women.

But I digress. I am sad about our cars. I am sad when I think about the money we will spend to fix them. I'm also sad because I finally got the documents I had been waiting for to clear up the whole mess with my credit card & the collections agency-- and it turns out that I was wrong this whole time & that I really do owe them $700. Crap.

Sometimes it seems like our poor cars drive around with a "Kick Me" sign on their backs. I don't even want to think about all the money we have poured into them over the last couple of years. Yuck. I could sit and fantasize about selling them both (or driving them off of a cliff) and getting something new-- maybe a Matrix or a Scion... But of course, that costs money, too.

So now, I can tell that it is time to practice my ritual of Thankfulness that comes every time I start to feel deprived & broke. Here goes: I have food. I have a great apartment. I have the most comfortable bed anyone could ask for (it was a glorious thing to finally lay down last night and breathe a long "I'm home" sigh). I have a wonderful family who loves me, and will never allow me to be homeless. And, the creme de la creme, I have the best hubby anyone could ask for. Who needs a Matrix? Who needs a car stereo? I'm sittin' pretty.

I've got rhythm, I've got music, who could ask for anything more?
(Actually, I have awful rhythm, and now that my stereo is gone, I don't really have a way to listen to my music, but still.. who could ask for anything more?)