i never used to pay attention to cars. they were merely receptacles for people, pets and my cosmetics case to get around in. then i fell in love–
i bought my car, a 350z with a chromillusion finish, from a kid in naperville. dude was holding back the tears when i gave him the cash. of course, anybody would feel that way saying goodbye to this sweet ride. but it takes a lot of tender loving care. only the finest handwash for this baby!
now that i’m pretty much living out of my car, i really appreciate it all the more. the past several saturdays i’ve been taking my sweetass car to shows.
people who are just as in lust with their cars gather together to ogle each other’s rides. my car is not technically a supercar. in fact, it’s a cheap ride that has a fancy paint job. but the folks at supercar saturdays and v12 automotive have invited me to the bannockburn show on this coming saturday!
generally, car shows are a guy thing. but my friend carolyn quinn is coming in and we will be the thelma and louise of the joint. minus the finale–
a friend, a true friend, might just be willing to hold your hand in the toughest times. thank you carolyn and thank you to all my friends!
you are walking out of starbucks and there he is: the ex. otherwise known as the heartbreak kid. mr. wrong. or maybe mr. what-was-i-thinking?
I used to answer A, mostly because every day is a bad hair day for me. And nothing makes a bad hair day the baddest than running into an ex.
the trumpster must run into an ex every day, or maybe he’s just gotten over worrying about it!
sometimes i have answered B, hoping that the new dude will be so handsome, so sweet, so machismo that i will give off the “i am so over you” vibe. then this happened to me. . . .
“glad to meet you,” the ex said to the newly minted boyfriend. “And let me introduce you to my girlfriend. She’s a nuclear physicist.”
i stared at the drop dead gorgeous woman.
“yeah, right,” i said.
“no, really, i am a phsyicist,” she said. “i’m with argonne national laboratories.”
awkward! and worse, i got a text a half hour later from the ex.
“he seems nice,” it read.
nice? what does nice mean?
most recently, I ran into ron. he was my first post-divorce relationship. he’s a doctor, devoted dad, articulate, funny, and I fell hard. but he wanted a much younger woman and that’s exactly who was standing beside him on the sidewalk. with the stroller. in front of starbucks. and the newborn. i had three inch unwashed roots. it had been a year and a half since we had run into each other. but, again, bad hair days attract exes.
“oh, hey, fancy meeting you here,” he said.
did i mention he had a thing about cars? ron could look at any car and tell you the make, the model, the year, and he always had an opinion about whether it was a car he would care to drive. oh, wait, every man is like that!
“this a 2003 nissan 350z,” he said. “great car. i’m going to get one of those someday. oh, uh, may I introduce you to my wife stephanie?”
we exchanged wary nicetameetcha’s. ron continued to stare at the car. really, it was as if you had dropped a playboy centerfold on the curb.
“it’s really the dupont chromillusion custom paint job that makes it special,” i said.
“i didn’t know you knew that much about cars,” ron said.
“i don’t. i just know my car. it’s my midlife crisis.”
and it is. it makes me feel younger, it makes me feel not so bad about being alone and about the kids going off to school, it says “you’ve still got it, arlynn” even when i can’t remember to get my hair done.
so i got in. watching his dumbfounded gaze in the rear view mirror was a bonus. To an already wonderful feeling about the car. It attracts attention, as in kids asking if they can sit in the driver’s seat and have their pictures taken. It makes me feel cool, which is always a good thing for a gal. and it actually costs me less to insure than my suburban matron ex-vehicle the mini-coop.
you are walking out of starbucks and run into your ex. what should you do? pull the keys out of your purse and drive!