A Sunset for the Sunfire

I’ve had two cars in my lifetime. When I was gifted my license at the tender age of 16, I was gifted too with the family’s green Jeep Cherokee. In retrospect this was a hell of a car and I would love to have it now but I hated it at the time. The radio didn’t work. All I could get was the AM band, thus deepening my appreciation for classic country and talk radio. Most of the gages failed to work either. The speedometer needle started getting shaky after 50 mph, so I usually had to guess how fast I was going. And the fuel gage always registered half a tank so I had to use the Force to sense when I thought gas was running low. And yet is still passed inspection. All this on top of the fact that we had this car when we were kids and already trashed it.

Eventually, I managed to spill gasoline all over the back seat while mowing lawns one summer and I couldn’t get the smell out. This was “Straw That Broke the Camel’s Back” One. Then, the driver’s side door started to come unhinged. It wouldn’t shut all the way, and the “door ajar” buzzer never shut off unless I placed the latch in just the right spot. One day, the buzzing got so incessant that, as I was pulling into the Gatesville United Methodist Church parking lot (on my way to some fantastic adventure in Jesusland, I’m sure), I shoved my hand towards the door and attempted to slam it as best I could. Well, the door came off in my arm. And then I dropped it. And then I ran over it. All as friends watched.

My parents decided it was time that I have a new car. Now, they didn’t get rid of the Jeep. They actually kept it and gave it to my brother, who proceeded to trash it like the victim of domestic abuse. I have no idea where the car is now. I assume it’s at the bottom of Lake Belton (the Lake Travis of the Waco-Temple-Killeen area).

But onto the new car. One summer day, as I returned from band camp in the school van, there, sitting in my driveway, was a brand new 2001 white Pontiac Sunfire. Now, I know it’s not the best car in the world. And why my parents got me white instead of, you know, BLUE like everything else I own, I don’t know. I wasn’t about to go all My Super Sweet 16 on them. Truth be told, I could not have been happier. After the Jeep, this was like a Roles Royce. As it was my high school graduation present, I thanked them profusely.

So began a seven-year, love-hate life together. And, to be honest, it was mostly love. The thing got hella-great gas milage. And while it had a few problems, it never flat out broke down on me (but more on that in a sec). The car and I have been through a lot together. High school. 9/11. College. Ice Storm ‘07. Arm Storm ‘08. Actual Storm ‘08 (still has dents on the roof). Smell Storm ‘08. And all sorts of adventures up and down I-35 (seriously, I like never travel further than 40 miles from the interstate, and have never lived more than 40 miles from it. What’s wrong?).

Last week, my completely smart sister Jill got into a car accident. I’ll spare you, and her, the details, but she’s okay. However, she managed to total her Pontiac Vibe going 30 mph on Bridge Street in Gatesville (Bridge Street is to Gatesville as Lamar is to Austin; the road connects you to just about everything but isn’t THE road. Actually, it’s probably more like Burnet. This aside has gone on for too long). My parents decide that they are getting a new car, they want to give me my dad’s old car, and that Jill will get the Sunfire. By the way, my parents purchased a Buick Lucerne, the same car my grandparents drive. They are now officially “olds.” When I confronted my mom about “one foot being in the grave,” she told me, “I don’t care! It’s comfortable!”

And just like that, suddenly, I no longer drive the car that I have driven for almost eight years and 75,000 miles (remember my driving radius). I am now the proud owner (?) of a Pontiac G6 (are you seeing the theme for my family?). Like the Jeep before it, I kinda don’t know what speed I’m going. With the Sunfire, I had to practically floor it so it would get to 60. Plus, it started shaking uncontrollably when it got to 70 and screamed like a cheap whore somewhere around 80. Point is, I had a pretty good idea what my speed was. With the G6 (the 6 stands for 6-cylinder), I can’t tell if I’m going 30 or 90. 90 was what I was going as I drove back to Austin this weekend. I had no idea. The car wasn’t shaking. It wasn’t talking back to me. And it doesn’t smell like rotten egg salad (which, sorry to say Ashley, is not a pheromone).

It was a little bittersweet cleaning out the Sunfire on Saturday. I mean, I was kinda happy to be rid of it. But I came across all sorts of things in the glove compartment, which apparently I had NEVER bothered to clean. I found old parking tickets from UT (ahhh, the Jester “loading” zone).  Numerous “C” parking permits. I found mix CDs that I had made all the way back in high school. There was my first (and only) speeding ticket, followed by about 40 warnings of various sorts. No gloves (I think there’s a Death Cab lyric that applies to this maybe kinda sorta?). I won’t say I got emotional, since the drugs that turned me into a woman have long since gone and I am back to being my crabby, cynical self. But I did pause to think.

Overall, I’d say a pretty good trade? And how did Jill fare? Well, she wasn’t initially excited about getting the car (did I mention the smell?), but she warmed up to it. I think she was just excited to get something to drive after being wheel-less for an entire week. When she returned to San Marcos, a hose burst and the engine overheated. She had to take it into the shop where it will cost her (and by her I mean my parents) $500. I got rid of that thing just in time! Oh, that Sunfire! Always acting the fool!

And now that I have a brand new shiny car, maybe I can get around to getting some of that ass everyone’s been talking about.

And a lot (like, 5) people searched for Chris Redfield. So here’s a Photoshopped picture of Chris Redfield and a Sunfire I did on my lunch break. Chris Redfield.

That’s not my car. And I do not yet look like that…

On Running: Seriously, Why Do This to Yourself?

New year, new resolutions to break. I told myself I wasn’t going to make any, cause they are cliched and get broken way too easily, or if I did, I would wait until the Chinese New Year or something. You know, just to make it interesting. Now that I have the XBox 360, my natural instinct is to stay home, play games all day and, you know, shun society and the sun and all that stuff. So screw resolutions, unless that resolution is to play more games.

But I went to the doctor today, saw what I had done to myself over the holidays, and immediately made plans to start running again. I mean, seriously. He told me that the weight gain was a good thing, that it meant that some problems I was having earlier were nothing serious and that I was still at a good, healthy level. And that it was all holiday weight and would probably go away on its won. But what the hell does he know? That quack! He told me I should just walk, that running might be going overboard, but he obviously never went to med school! Doesn’t he know I’m 25 now and that every calorie I eat goes straight to my mancakes (what the hell is this term, btw)? I was actually impressed when I came in under-weight, cause I got to eat whatever I wanted (and before anyone says I’m anorexic, two questions: have you seen me and have you seen me eat?). He also told me that I wore the weight well. This flattered me, considering we had got to third base or something the last time I visited him.

Anyway.

And in case anyone was wondering/cares, I don’t have cancer. Or the herp. Or rosacea. I’m apparently just a hypochondriac.

So, it’s back to running. Some people hate it, but I actually kinda like it. It saves me wasting money on a gym membership I probably won’t use, and I get to explore! Now, I’m not exactly one of those people who can rip off like eight miles in the morning. Those people are douches. I take my time, slow down when I want to, walk around a bit, pet dogs, pick flowers, and the like. And when I feel like it, I start running again, even if it’s only for a couple of blocks.

And I get a lot of good thinking in when I run. It’s kinda like when you go to bed and you have all these great ideas for what you are going to do the next day or for the rest of your life. In those few moments before sleep, you have it all figured out. You’ve solved the Middle East crisis, the meaning of life, the existence of a higher being, figured out how to get a new job (insert oxford comma) and plotted out that novel. When you wake up in the morning, it’s like you’re a child again. You just want to sleep. You’re thinking, “Like hell I’m gonna do that thing! And fuck the Middle East! And that book is going to be stupid! I don’t want to bathe today… just sleep.”

Well, when you run, you have all those before-sleep thoughts but, instead of falling asleep right after, you have the day/evening ahead of you. So those great plans you have, you can actually do something about them. Running today, I resolved to blog. And now look at me!

Now, I’m also a bit hesitant to start running. First off, I can’t just come home and pass out like I usually do. Second, it’s still cold and dark when I get home. The dark I don’t mind so much, but the cold? Fuck that. And lastly, the last few times I went through a running kick, I stopped not cause I “fell off the wagon,” but because tragedy struck. A few years ago a family member died and I couldn’t bring myself to run. And last time, I “fell off the roof” as opposed to the wagon and didn’t want to run in my cast. And when the cast was off, I was just lazy.

Despite the fact that I’m kinda sick, that weight measurement just did not sit well with me, and I came home and ran. And I did a pretty good job for being off the roof for so long. I almost made it to the hospital! And that’s “hospital” as in a physical location, not cause I had a heart attack. And if I did have a heart attack, I would not go to THAT hospital. St. David’s. Just let me die instead! I managed to run/walk for over an hour, even without my iPod (you see, the earbuds would not stay in my ears, that’s how fat I am).

And do you notice that hot people run? And fat-asses that are supposedly getting into shape but will quit in about a week when they open the freezer and see that ice cream and then proceed to eat the whole thing while crying and listening to “Fix You.” But hot people too! Trust me, you say you can’t run or don’t like to run? Get behind a nice ass. Yeah.

Anyway.

If there’s anything I would like this blog to do, it would be to encourage you, the reader, to become a better person. So I invite you to run. Just try it out. You don’t have to go all out, I certainly don’t. You get to explore your neighborhood, feel good about yourself, and look at hot people (extra bonus if you live next to UT as I do). And if you don’t like it, there’s always that Blue Bell in the fridge.

And my Chinese New Year’s resolution is not just to run, but to get fit as well. This might take me some time. I’m gonna run first, deal with the weight thing, and then see what I can do about sculpting my body into a timeless work of art. I might have some trouble with the weights, seeing as how I can’t even lift a can of Diet Coke with my left hand without screaming “Mein Leiben!”, but we’ll see. At least I made the resolution, what did you do? And in twelve months, when I look AMAZING, you can say you knew me when. Or in twelve months, when I’ve grown two pant sizes, broken my other arm, and gotten cast in the John Goodman biopic (as John Goodman. Or maybe Rosanne Barr), you can pity me and my optimism. My goal is to look like Chris Redfield from the upcoming Resident Evil 5:

Who says I have unrealistic expectations? I want trees for arms! And how would you like to run behind that?

Anyway.

I’ll probably stop running when Resident Evil 5 comes out.