Red Bank, New Jersey
So my car finally died a few weeks back. The (sh-tty) Mercury Sable revved as I was leaving my office's parking lot, and then never held a gear after that. I could put the car in drive. I could stomp on the gas pedal. I couldn't go anywhere, though.
Thus, I ended up car shopping all last week. Car shopping is a novel experience for me. I've never bought a new car before. The first thing I'd like to point out is that, compared to attorneys, car salesmen are horrible negotiators. I almost felt guilty for the amount of puffery in which I engaged. Almost.
I ended up getting a Honda Element (when I get done with this appeal I'm litigating, I'll put pictures up). It's great. I love the car for so many reasons, some of which have more to do with how people respond to the car than the actual car. The damn thing's a litmus test. People either love or hate the "box on wheels" as one of my bosses calls it. It's huge, which is good for packrats like me. Finally, the damn thing rides like a truck. I hate SUVs that ride like cars. That just doesn't seem right.
Nonetheless, I will concede that it does look like the Element was designed by the Soviet Army. Frankly, I like that.
Unrelated Point Two
Twenty-nine. I'm twenty-nine years old today. I hate celebrating my birthday. I don't mean that I hate having my birthday noticed. That's different. Everyone wants to be remembered. I just don't like getting all uppity about my birthday. Seems too demanding.
I think I'm going to have a nice little get-together for this one, though. A few friends, some dinner, and good gin/wine/"other" should do me good.
After twenty-nine years, I'd really like a tally of all the people I've p-ssed off. I think that would be amusing.
For me, that is. Not them.