Nothing noteworthy today. Eating was terrible. I had McDonald's twice. Twice. I had the Southwest Grilled Chicken Salad. Quite possibly the best salad I've ever had (6 points for salad and 3 for dressing). Then I found myself running errands from work, with my windows down, and thought it was a great day for ice cream. So I returned to McD's for a yogurt cone (3 points). I don't think I've been there more than twice in the last two years, and I return twice in one day. I hang my head in shame.
I also hang my head as the result of eating a piece of pizza, a chili dog, half a scoop of strawberry cheesecake ice cream, and 2 mini york peppermint patties. You know, at least I am honest. And I only have like 3 flex points to use before my weigh in on Saturday morning. But I am counting!
I realize that I am about to go into absolute 100% crazy Krissie rant mode. I recognize this, I accept it, and I proceed anyway.
Disclaimer: I love my new car. It is beautiful and roomy and everything works and nothing leaks and it doesn't drag the ground when I pull into my driveway and it is everything that the Krissie of today wants in a car.
But I haven't always been the Krissie that I am today.
I started out with this car. Exactly. A black Plymouth Laser. Man, could this thing fly. It was quick and I always felt that my car was sexy. Maybe climbing in and out of the backseat felt like navigating though the womb, but I was typically the driver, so it didn't matter. It didn't matter that the hatchback leaked and there was always standing water in the trunk. It was my baby. And I drove the laser until she met an unexpected demise, as the transmission went ka-put and we sold her mostly for parts.
Then there was this amazing car. Red looked just like this Celica. I loved Red. She became my dearest friend during my freshman year in college. I had to beg and beg and beg for her. It worked. I always felt cute in this car. She, again, did not have the most comfortable backseat, but I loved her. She also went pretty stinking fast, but the steering wheel shook between 45 and 60 mph, and the radio sometimes went out during those speeds. Oh, and one year on Easter, we broke the trunk and it took very skilled hands to coax it closed. She went to about 180,000 miles. I gave her up when I purchased my first car with my own money.
Enter The Avenger. Now, mine is white and has really blacked out windows (check this earlier post for a current picture), but I thought it was more important to show how the Avenger looked in her prime. I wanted a car like this when it was new, and I purchased one 5 years later. I love the Avenger. She is still sitting in my driveway. The kids at work always think I have the coolest car, with the sunroof and the dark windows. I always felt like a bad-ass in the Avenger. Like people expected a sexy person to drive my car (or a punk kid). I felt like it surprised people to see someone like me get out of such a sporty, spunky, sexy car. Maybe I was delusional, I don't know. But I felt my car said a lot about who I was on the inside. So I guess it also said something about my inside that the sunroof leaks, the trunk leaks, the front is duct-taped together and it is generally unreliable.
So there's my progression. Wild, fast, carefree Laser. Cute, don't-mess-with-me Celica. Sexy, spunky, bad-assed Avenger.
And now I drive a Nissan Altima. With 4 doors. No sunroof. No tinted windows. With windshield wipers that work, a cargo net in the trunk, and so much space that I cannot reach my purse when it is in the backseat. With woodgrain interior, keyless entry, a place for my sunglasses, two cup holders, and radio controls in the steering wheel. A very practical car. A car that one can drive comfortably for long distances with more than 2 people in the car. A family car.
An adult car.
That's what this is about. Being an adult. I love my life. I love my car. I just haven't totally adjusted to the idea that I am an adult. I'll be 30 this year. And my car supports that fact.
An adult car.
That's what this is about. Being an adult. I love my life. I love my car. I just haven't totally adjusted to the idea that I am an adult. I'll be 30 this year. And my car supports that fact.
And I'm just not ready.
2 comments:
Well, at least you had the chance to have cool sporty cars. My first car was a 1985 plymouth horizon (nothing screams cool like a little hatchback that breaks down every other day. LOL!). My next car was a 1986 Toyota Corolla (see, I took a step up and got an '86 after I got rid of my '85). LOL! As geeky as it was, I loved that car, but it too started breaking down too much. When I got rid of that car, my ex husband and I shared a pontiac grand prix. I hated that car. It was too big. He kept it in the divorce (doesn't bother me now). It allowed me to buy the car I have now which is a Scion XB. It doesn't have a lot of pick up and go getting on the highway, and the windshield seems to think it's supposed to catch every pebble that flies it's way, but it's roomy and fun to drive. :) That's my car history.
I loooove the car history. So much that I want to bludge the idea and do the same on my blog. :) If you don't mind. Car history always seems like a little slice of information about a person that always intrigues others. ;)
Don't stress about maccas either... you've counted the points so at least you're being honest. And you're allowed to have a wee blow out occaisionally... you're human!
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