WHY?????

Fine. I'll admit it. I love my SUV.

So shoot me.

I know it's odd. It's right up there with Hubby saying he's developed an affection for a Coach handbag. Especially a cute little pink clutch. But it happened, okay? I fell in love with her and there's nothing I could do about it. My Exploder, she's perfect and I love her.

My heart is breaking, however. Because over vacation, she began to fail. Her starter went, her transmission slipped, and a big chunk of the side panel fell off. It's not her fault. She's old and she's tired. She's tried valiantly to hang on for me, but Hubby says it's time. I have to let her go. I know he's right.

It hurts, though.

***

The crazy man came Saturday morning to pick up the cop car. I kept eyeing him as they signed the paperwork. He looked so normal, it was shocking. I mean, who, besides Hubby, would be nuts enough to want to purchase a cop car? For real cash, even. It was mind-boggling.

But finally, the crazy man left and Hubby turned to me, smiling.

"It's done," he said. "She's gone."

I nodded my head. "She is. There's a small problem, though."

"What's that?"

I pointed to our driveway. The spot were the cop car had lived was vacant. And next to it, my SUV sat. Dead.

"How many working cars do you see over there?" I asked.

Hubby frowned. "Ah, none?"

"Great job, Captain Obvious. Now that you've handed over your car to that crazy man, we don't have a single automobile we can drive."

Miracles. Why must they always have a downside?

***

"What are we going to do?" Hubby asked.

"My parents," I said. "They have cars. Lots of cars. Theirs even work. I say we steal one, and then we drive around and try to find one of our own to buy."

So we did. And our weekend of hell began.

Car Dealer One:

Me: The driver's door won't open.
CD: It will. You just have to go around the other side and open it from the inside.
Me: It doesn't start.
CD: Let me just get the jump pack and we'll start her right up for you.
Me: Jump pack?
CD: Yeah. To jump the battery, so she'll start.

Ten mins later.

Me: Your jump pack doesn't seem to be working.
CD: It's fine. I'm sure it's just the battery.

Five mins later.

Me: It's still not starting and ah, why won't the hood open?
CD: It will. Wanna just grab that hammer over there for me? That'll get her to open.
Me: Um, how much did you say you wanted for this Explorer?
CD: $8900. And I gotta tell you, it's a steal at that price.

The backlot of Car Dealer Twenty-Seven:

Hubby (on phone): There's an Explorer back here we're interested in. Can you tell me how much you want for it?
CD: It's not for sale. None of our cars are for sale.
Hubby: What do you mean? You're a car dealer. How can your cars not be for sale?
CD: Sorry. I can't sell you a car.
Hubby: Fine. Then as a car dealer, what CAN you sell me? A puppy?

Car Dealer Five Hundred and Thirty-Three:
CD: Here's the Carfax on it.
Hubby: It says it's been a rental. And it's a certified lemon.
CD: Oh, please. It was a rental for only eleven months. And lemon-schlemon. It's all subjective.
Hubby: There's dog hair in the console. And the roof. And the cup holders. And I think that's puke on the back of the seat.
CD: Yeah. But did you see the tires? Now those are new. You can't go wrong with new tires.

Car Dealer Seven Hundred and One:
CD: The car's not here.
Hubby: What do you mean the car's not here? We just drove over an hour, all the way down to Allston, because you said you had the car here.
CD: It's not here.
Hubby: And not only did we drive over an hour, but you opened your dealership late. Making us wait an hour and twenty mins. In the slums of Allston in ninety degree heat. Now where's the car?
CD: It's not here.
Me: Is that a pawn shop next door? Are those people selling drugs right there?
CD: Yes. But the car, it's not here.

Car Dealer One Thousand and Eleven:
Hubby: Is that Explorer for sale? And if it is, would you actually sell it to us?
CD: Yes.
Me: Does it start?
CD: Yes.
Hubby: Do the doors open? Is there animal hair in it? Has anyone puked in it? Do you sell puppies?
CD: Yes. No. No. And ah, no.
Me, bursting into tears: Is it really there? Or am I hallucinating this whole thing?
CD: What's wrong with you people?

I've named her the Exploder Part Two. For short, she is the Explodeux. It's not love. Not yet. It's going to take time, and she and I, we've both agreed to take things slow, mostly out of respect for the original Exploder.

But I will say this. She matches not just my hair, but my toenail polish perfectly.



She's definitely a keeper.

So. The good news? One down.

But light those candles and say a prayer for me this weekend, my peeps, because as you may have guessed...there's still one to go...

My Scary Neighbor's PJ's At The Bus Stop

Pink fleece with blue and purple snowflakes.

Yes. In August.

Behold. Another school year of hell has begun.

A Handy Little Nugget Of FYI

Banging your head against the wall burns approximately 150 calories an hour.

And Now We Take A Break For This Public Service Announcement...

Hi.

I'd like to take a moment to address random visitors to my blog. For those of you who've stumbled across me while searching online for other things, I say welcome.

But I also want to chat a little with you. Because you're scaring me.

Really.

I'm not sure what's in the water lately, maybe crazy powder, but I'm concerned.

See, in case you didn't know (and I'm always shocked to see how many people don't know this) when you go to a search engine and type in your keywords and then you surf the links the search engine pulls up for you and you land here--well, I can SEE what you typed in.

Yeah. I can. I know what you googled, people.

I keep track of my stats, and this is one of the many bits of info I am privy to. The idea, which theorectically is a good one, is that I should be able to use this info to better direct traffic to my blog. The reality is that I need some Ajax and a scrubbie for my brain now.

But, more importantly, I'm concerned for some of you. I am, truly. Because this is not the right place for you. No. You need more help than I can provide.

For those of you googling about your naked sisters? Ick. Get therapy.

Also, stop googling wank, people. Ick again. Don't you know you'll go blind?

I don't know Elvis's real hair color. Or how he smelled. Sorry. But I just don't.

Elves don't have tattoos, either. And ah, I don't know a single elf who's also a hooker. (Though, I'll be frank. This one makes me a little curious, just because quite a few of you have googled this--"elves as hookers." Seriously, elves aren't real. And if they were, I'm not sure they'd be hooking. Just saying.)

I can't help those of you who have pajama issues. I can't. I've been working almost two years now on my neighbor's pajama issues and have gotten nowhere. I'd try someone else if I were you. And I don't know a single perverted joke about Oreos. Though, okay. This one made me curious too. If they really exist and anyone knows a good one, I'd be open to listening to it.

I'm sorry. I am. I'm just a little old blog and there's only so much I can do. However, I will say this:

To the person who googled what do cannoli smell like? The answer is delicious. And if that doesn't work for you, the back-up answer is Heaven.

And to the other person who was wondering how can you help a commitphobic love you back? You can't. Trust me. Nor do you want them to.

Okay, well, that's about it. Now please, go forth and google responsibly. Please.

You Are SO Not Going To Believe This...

Not one, but two miracles have occurred. They have. I swear, you won't believe this. But Hubby called me yesterday and said we needed to talk.

"Fine," I said into the phone. "But if this is about the neighbors, it wasn't me. I'd never toilet paper their cars while they were on vacation."

He paused. "Tell me you didn't."

"I didn't."

"Are you lying?"

"You'll never know."

Wasn't me. I swear.

Anyway, Hubby came home later in the afternoon and sat me down. He took my hand in his and cleared his throat.

"I have something to tell you," he said.

"There's no way you can prove it," I said.

He shook his head. "No. This isn't about the neighbors. It's about me." He took a deep breath. "I was wrong. I'm admitting to you I was wrong."

Okay. Now, wait. Don't get excited yet. This wasn't the miracle. I know, I know. A man admitting he's wrong is clearly a miraculous occurrence, and normally I'd agree with you about categorizing it as such. But as this wasn't the first time Hubby's done this (No, that time that was back when Bob was a baby and Hubby was forced to admit that feeding a child still in diapers chili was indeed a very wrong thing to do.), I'm not counting it.

No. Here's the miracle:

He said, "I should never have bought the cop car. I was wrong and I've decided to sell it."

Wait. Wait. I know, I know. But it only got better. Because then he said, "And actually, someone is coming to see it tomorrow. He's really interested."

sniff...

It's a miracle. Can you believe this? I don't even believe this. But wait, it gets even better, for I have been blessed with not one, but TWO miracles.

Yes! Because then he said, "You can wipe that beatific smile off your face, because I'm really upset."

"Why's that," I asked, doing no such wiping.

"I went to see the guy about his RV for our vacation and," he paused, his eyes welling with tears, "he sold it. Can you believe it? Someone else actually came in and bought it away from me."




sniff...

I know. Just, I know.

Books I'm Reading
I want to be Lemony Snicket. But more important, I want to write like Lemony Snicket, which, is this instance here, I want to write like Lemony Snicket means Lemony Snicket is geniusly funny, but is even better on audiotape being read by Tim Curry. (And in this instance here, in this instance here is one of the many very hilarious jokes in the books...) Go. Just go and listen to him. I heart you, Lemony.

What I Wrote Today
Nothing.

Yesterday I shipped off another copy of my novel, so today I celebrate with banana-flavored Twinkies and a box o'wine.

Yes. Life is good.

Chocolate Consumed Today
Not so much. But then, it's early still, isn't it?

And life is good, so.

Quote of The Day
Last night, at the dinner table-

Me: I just find it all so hard to believe. Who the hell would want to buy the cop car? I mean, besides your dad?

Bob: Well, someone did buy the RV. So, anything's possible.

Me: You've got a point, Bob. You've got a point.

Days Until I Have To Face My Scary Neighbor's PJ's At The Bus Stop
Six.

Count'em. Six freaking days.

Six days until the kids go back to school and leave me my sanity. Six days until I have to look at her in her bright orange Care Bear pajamas and relinquish it.

Ironic, isn't it?

And Now, Join Me As We Bid Her A Fond Adieu...



Nah nah nah nah! Nah nah nah nah! Hey hey hey! Goodbye!!!

*sigh*

Yes, dear blog readers. There IS a Santa Claus, and he has brought us a buyer for the cop car.

I'm telling you, life is very, very good today.

We Interrupt This Vacation...

To bring you exciting news...

GUD Magazine: Issue 3 is finally available. You can pick up a copy, or several, here. Or you could download my story When All Is Forgiven here. And just, you know, in case you didn't notice-I'll be giving any royalites I receive to charity. (This time to Children's Hospital in Boston, for the amazing research and care they provide.) So. You know. In case.

And wait! GUD Magazine will also be appearing at the Dire Literary Series in Cambridge, MA this Fall. I'll post more info when I get it, but I'll be there. And I hope some of you (yes, Mags. That means you. Bring the lighters.) might come out too?

Yes. Very cool.



Okay. Now, back to vacation. :)

I Swear...

I'll be back. I will. I promise.

But vacation calls.

So, until next week. Be good. Behave.

Yes. Behave.

Okay, now this is where you all leave comments about how much you'll miss me.

Bye.

Look What You've All Done Now...

I for one, am looking forward to your family trip-or to hearing about it since I won't really be along with you! Ethel

Go to Dizney and bring us back some nice catastrophes to enjoy! Mags

Suffer for your art Kelly. We expect a blow by blow when you return. Sarah


I can't believe this. My own peeps, throwing me to the wolves like that.

Now, because of you, Hubby has turned on me.

"It's gonna be great," he said. "And everyone wants us to go. They said so on your blog."

"Wait a second." I eyed him suspiciously. "You were against this whole trip to Disney World. You know how dysfunctional this family is." I paused. "Hell, you were even escorted out of the park our last trip to Disney."



He waved me off. "That was then, this is now. It's going to be great."

I kept eyeing him suspiciously. "Why. What have you done now?"

"Nothing," he said. "Yet."

"Yet? Yet? Yet!" I shrieked. "What yet?!"

Hubby sighed. "Promise you won't yell."

"Sure. And I promise there'll be world peace for Christmas too." My ass.

Hubby sighed louder. "Fine. I have a plan."

"What kind of plan?"

"A great plan."

"In all the years I've known you, you have yet to come up with a great plan," I said.

He shook his head. "Not true. Besides, this time it is a great plan."

"What's the plan?"

"We take an RV."

"What?"

"Yeah. Instead of flying, we all drive down in an RV." Hubby paused. "I know the perfect one too. It's gonna be great, I swear." He pushed me aside. "Now move. I've gotta go call your mom now and tell her."



*glaring out into the interwebs*

Just look what you people have done now. You are all in SO much trouble, you have no idea...