Fooled You, and Man things
And you thought I was going to let a week go by without posting. Sike!
Busy week, busy week, but you know how it is, life happens.
Found out this week my car needs a lateral excelerometer. Huh? That is exactly what I said when the technicican told me that. It also needs a new radio and the back windshield wiper doesn't work. No, I don't drive a beater. Its a 2004 American gas guzzler that just went over 50,000 miles. Someone once said that American cars aren't built to last past 50K miles. I trusted what they said, too because every one I have ever had started to act up a soon as the odometer rolled past that fateful point. What kind of coincidence is it that 50K miles is also the point where most warranties end? I fooled them this time, I bought an extended warantty. Ha! Its still time for a new car though,with gas being so high I'm going to check out the hybrid scene. I'm even willing to overlook the funny-lookingness that these cars seems to suffer from. And its not about the environement for me, although the ease on the environment is certainly a perk. It's all about the pocketbook. I Know how that sounds but what it boils down to is this; every eighty dollar tank of gass takes away from the shoe budget. And I can wear a pair of shoes for a heck of alot longer than that tank of gas would last me.
I think the real reason my car started acting weird was that I washed it earlier this week. You see, I am not a car washer. A car is just one of thsoe things necessary to get me from point A to Point B, a must so I can "Drive my Daisies" (my kids), so I feel no need to define myself via expensive car washes or perpetual Armor All. My sister says that for me its a good thing, Texas has a lot of deserted roads and if I am ever stranded, I could graze in my car for a week without suffering. Yes, I know that is disgusting, but I have kids. I'm just looked out for them. Some people carry an emergency kit. I have sun-dried, emergency food.
Anyway, it was smelling kind of rank because of spilled milk or something and the carpool kids were refusing to get in due to the wild life in the back, so I took it to the carwash. It was a whole new color when it was done and I think the thing went into shock and broke down. It was probabaly several pounds lighter than normal.
Usually it gets washed once on my birthday, and then again when male relatives like my brother or uncle come to visit. They are into cars. There are only so may hours in a day and I dont want to spend them at the car wash.. Or the grocery store, but thats another blog.
Besides, car washing is a man thing.
I said it.
Its not that I can't do it, I prefer not to, pretty much in the same manner my other half probably prefers not to cook, but likes to eat.
I resolved that there are many things in life that are man-things. For instance, yardwork. Man-Thing.
Taking out the garbage. Definite man thing. He used to fight it at first but I have beaten him into submission about this one. And I refuse to live like a SIM that forgets to take out the garbage and have bugs swarming in the kitchen.
Punping gas. Hellloooo!!!! I drive my car until its running on fumes, and then I find one of the three full serve satations in the city. I have girlfriends whose husbands fill up their cars weekly. They got it right. I used to live in New Jersey where it was illegal to pump gas for anyone other than a gass station attendant. Sweeeet!
In another city where I lived, guys had to pass the gas pumping test. It wasn't always neceassary that you have a car, 'cause I did, and mine was convertible so chances are it was waaaay coller than there's anyway, but they had to know how to pump gas. It was a man thing. Like opening doors. Listen up single women, this is how it worked. I would drive. (Can you tell I like the driver's seat?), and pull up to a gas station and just wait. if they got out without asking to pump gas, we could hang out for a few, but if not, it was over before it got started. No use wasting my time or theirs 'cause heaven knows you can't change people, and if they don't pump gas, they probably wouldn't open doors or pull out the chair either, or gasp, they might even walk you toward the outside curb when you walked down the street together.
I broke my rule once, and it was a disaster. I was dating a New Yorker, a hotsy-totsy graphic designer. I pulled up the the gas station and he sat there and started primping in the visor mirror. I cleared my throat.
"What?"
"Aren't you going to pump the gas?" I asked.
"I don't know how."
Alrighty. He batted his luxuriously long eyelashes and I picked up my jaw and told him that it was okay. I was young and he was fine. Sigh.
Many New Yorkers don't drive, but at least he could have faked the gas pumping. Its not rocket science. Well, instead of breaking up with him, I kept on. Lawd! Lawd! lawd! Why did it take me solong to learn to listen to the little voice in my head? He turned out to be a psycho-stalker who answered my phone, read my journal and highlighted what he didn't like, downloaded all the male numbers from my electronic phone book and finally, ran alongside my car in Times Square, reached in through the window and tried to take my car out of gear (or course it was a stick) to keep me from leaving. And yes, I closed the window on the fool's arm, put the car in gear and headed for the Lincoln Tunnel.
(And you wonder how I write the drama in my books. It's from life, baby, just. Just kidding.)
Does this sound like I'm being a prima donna? I'm not. I can do all of those things for myself, including change my tire and all sorts of other man things when required. But why? That (and other things not mentioned here) is what men are FOR. Men need to feel like men (and act like it too, not like wimps,etc), but I need to feel like a woman. The little things do it for me. And if they don't take care of thoe little things, what does that say about the big things that are really important?
Busy week, busy week, but you know how it is, life happens.
Found out this week my car needs a lateral excelerometer. Huh? That is exactly what I said when the technicican told me that. It also needs a new radio and the back windshield wiper doesn't work. No, I don't drive a beater. Its a 2004 American gas guzzler that just went over 50,000 miles. Someone once said that American cars aren't built to last past 50K miles. I trusted what they said, too because every one I have ever had started to act up a soon as the odometer rolled past that fateful point. What kind of coincidence is it that 50K miles is also the point where most warranties end? I fooled them this time, I bought an extended warantty. Ha! Its still time for a new car though,with gas being so high I'm going to check out the hybrid scene. I'm even willing to overlook the funny-lookingness that these cars seems to suffer from. And its not about the environement for me, although the ease on the environment is certainly a perk. It's all about the pocketbook. I Know how that sounds but what it boils down to is this; every eighty dollar tank of gass takes away from the shoe budget. And I can wear a pair of shoes for a heck of alot longer than that tank of gas would last me.
I think the real reason my car started acting weird was that I washed it earlier this week. You see, I am not a car washer. A car is just one of thsoe things necessary to get me from point A to Point B, a must so I can "Drive my Daisies" (my kids), so I feel no need to define myself via expensive car washes or perpetual Armor All. My sister says that for me its a good thing, Texas has a lot of deserted roads and if I am ever stranded, I could graze in my car for a week without suffering. Yes, I know that is disgusting, but I have kids. I'm just looked out for them. Some people carry an emergency kit. I have sun-dried, emergency food.
Anyway, it was smelling kind of rank because of spilled milk or something and the carpool kids were refusing to get in due to the wild life in the back, so I took it to the carwash. It was a whole new color when it was done and I think the thing went into shock and broke down. It was probabaly several pounds lighter than normal.
Usually it gets washed once on my birthday, and then again when male relatives like my brother or uncle come to visit. They are into cars. There are only so may hours in a day and I dont want to spend them at the car wash.. Or the grocery store, but thats another blog.
Besides, car washing is a man thing.
I said it.
Its not that I can't do it, I prefer not to, pretty much in the same manner my other half probably prefers not to cook, but likes to eat.
I resolved that there are many things in life that are man-things. For instance, yardwork. Man-Thing.
Taking out the garbage. Definite man thing. He used to fight it at first but I have beaten him into submission about this one. And I refuse to live like a SIM that forgets to take out the garbage and have bugs swarming in the kitchen.
Punping gas. Hellloooo!!!! I drive my car until its running on fumes, and then I find one of the three full serve satations in the city. I have girlfriends whose husbands fill up their cars weekly. They got it right. I used to live in New Jersey where it was illegal to pump gas for anyone other than a gass station attendant. Sweeeet!
In another city where I lived, guys had to pass the gas pumping test. It wasn't always neceassary that you have a car, 'cause I did, and mine was convertible so chances are it was waaaay coller than there's anyway, but they had to know how to pump gas. It was a man thing. Like opening doors. Listen up single women, this is how it worked. I would drive. (Can you tell I like the driver's seat?), and pull up to a gas station and just wait. if they got out without asking to pump gas, we could hang out for a few, but if not, it was over before it got started. No use wasting my time or theirs 'cause heaven knows you can't change people, and if they don't pump gas, they probably wouldn't open doors or pull out the chair either, or gasp, they might even walk you toward the outside curb when you walked down the street together.
I broke my rule once, and it was a disaster. I was dating a New Yorker, a hotsy-totsy graphic designer. I pulled up the the gas station and he sat there and started primping in the visor mirror. I cleared my throat.
"What?"
"Aren't you going to pump the gas?" I asked.
"I don't know how."
Alrighty. He batted his luxuriously long eyelashes and I picked up my jaw and told him that it was okay. I was young and he was fine. Sigh.
Many New Yorkers don't drive, but at least he could have faked the gas pumping. Its not rocket science. Well, instead of breaking up with him, I kept on. Lawd! Lawd! lawd! Why did it take me solong to learn to listen to the little voice in my head? He turned out to be a psycho-stalker who answered my phone, read my journal and highlighted what he didn't like, downloaded all the male numbers from my electronic phone book and finally, ran alongside my car in Times Square, reached in through the window and tried to take my car out of gear (or course it was a stick) to keep me from leaving. And yes, I closed the window on the fool's arm, put the car in gear and headed for the Lincoln Tunnel.
(And you wonder how I write the drama in my books. It's from life, baby, just. Just kidding.)
Does this sound like I'm being a prima donna? I'm not. I can do all of those things for myself, including change my tire and all sorts of other man things when required. But why? That (and other things not mentioned here) is what men are FOR. Men need to feel like men (and act like it too, not like wimps,etc), but I need to feel like a woman. The little things do it for me. And if they don't take care of thoe little things, what does that say about the big things that are really important?
Comments
Men and women need to find a way to get back to the beautiful middle ground where it's okay to treat a lady like a lady and respect her as a woman. And a woman can enjoy the man in a man without trying to change all of him (well at least not all of him at once). ;-)
That wacko boyfriend almost sounds like I guy I knew with an initial..."T". But I think someone reformed him.