Jump, Little Children has that song, "My Guitar."
Fun song.
(When my "v-dubs rock" guitar actually arrives in the mail a few days from now, I'll probably play it as a welcome offering.)
I thought about that song today though as I shot off before the green light was really even green. This car has good pick-up, and I am going to enjoy it. But I sped along and found myself singing, "I love. MY new car. I love. MY new car," and I thought that it felt familiar.
It was a li'l JLC and I liked it very much.
Sped Kim to the airport. We said our goodbye-for-nows as I once again failed to suck it up. It's something about the way we hug each other. We really hug and there's always a second when she inhales and just holds it, where I just break ...
Anyway. I miss that girl. I also really miss her 17" laptop. This li'l booger makes me and my spectacles feel claustrophobic.
Well Rachel has pledged to post everyday to see how long she can keep it runnin', and so I'm gonna try it, too. I have things to talk about. I just don't always make the time. Or I tell someone in an e-mail and figure that suffices. But I'm going through a mood where I feel a bit serious about this here page. I've reserved a space and so I oughtta use it -- a little less playing small for it does not serve this world, you know'm sayin'?
So the car.
Magnificent. Drove it around today knowing good and well I had nowhere to go, no money to spend (because, hey, it's a new car), nothing to do, no one to scoop up and zoom around with (v. sad).
I'm just very happy. I'm also very happy with that clutch. Perhaps too happy, as evidenced by the repeated choking episodes, which I'm extremely embarrassed about because I am a damn good driver. My daddy taught me well.
Nevertheless, the truck - the Golden Knight who is now hopefully enjoying life in a golden pasture somewhere - well, it's clutch was lenient. Eleven years of service will do that to a vehicle I suppose. But you could pop it and not bother with the gas pedal at all and it'd still go. Not this car.
So we're getting to know each other. I'm getting to know that I don't need to actually fully flick the turn signal when I'm changing lanes. A simple tapping will do and the car just gives three delightfully courteous flashes and I merge. What a great way to eliminate me driving with my blinker blinking -- which happens, not because I am older now, but because I play my music so loudly and am too focused on being the most defensive driver ever (a damn necessity in this state!) to notice that I left that skutter on.
But I love that.
I could've gone all out with this selection. I was certainly paradin' my tail around that car lot long enough. But in the end, the voice of my father in my head won out. He was steady sayin', "Woochie. You got to crawl before you can walk, baby girl." So I said, "Naw. I don't need leather seats. A brand new car has heat, and it's not like my ass isn't big enough to warm itself. I'll be fine."
"I sure would like a sunroof, but I don't want an automatic, and I don't like the other car that has a sunroof and a stick because that color is too common, and the other one is too expensive ..."
It's not like I live in that mug, and I'm about to have to revamp my budget anyhow as I'm gonna have to a) add the car note plus insurance. BLECK. b) start paying rent all by myself plus cable and cell phone and Internet and whatever else I'm currently forgetting since I refuse to open Excel on the weekends.
But back to the car. Mags expressed surprise at it being white, but then she was like, I sure did see a lot of grey ones though. They're everywhere.
Kim got philosophical about it, and was like, "Well white is a sign for purity. Consider this your fresh start. '07 car for a fidna be 27 girl."
She was wrong for that last bit. All time tryin' to remind somebody they're getting older. I also like how apparently I look old enough, not only to be her mother, but also my mother's mother.
Fuck me.
However, I do have to tell you that today the elevator door in my building opened and before I looked up to step on, this is what I heard:
VOICE: Got damn!
MY EYEBROWS: What? in the world?!
VOICE: Excuse me, but I got to tell you. You damn fine. I mean damn. Where are you going and can I come too?
MY LEFT EYEBROW: Are you kidding me?
VOICE: Again. 'scuse me, but I just can't stand here and not tell you. Where you get them eyes? I mean for real. Can I talk to you?
ME: You're already talking.
VOICE: Oh. Righ, right. You funny, too? Damn. How long you lived here? Girl, where have you been hiding from me?
MY LIPS: Umph.
VOICE: Well, whatchu up to now? I mean, I can't help it. When I see a fine lady I got to say something. What is your name? Can I talk to you? I really want to know you.
ME (laughs): Jodeci? You gonna quote me some Jodeci? With a straight face? Jokah ...
VOICE: Damn. You for real funny. You trippin'.
MY EYES: How long does it take to get to the damn lobby? Shit.
VOICE: I'm for real. What's your name? Can I get a number? I know you're on the 6th flo'. Which apartment. Maybe I should come by sometime. You need me to fix something? Anything?
MY ENTIRE FACE: Uh, no.
VOICE: Alright then. Well, I'mma keep my eye out for you.
MY TWO FINGERS WAVING OVER MY SHOULDER: Okay. You do that.
Totally my new car glow making an impact on folk. Must have a li'l extree bounce in my step or something.
What else, what else ...
Oh. Trying v. hard to decide upon a name for the new whip -- as one of my sister's friends keeps calling it.
Since I said a sad g'bye to the Golden Knight --
Oh, by the way. We name cars in my family. We've had the Brown Bomber, Black Beauty (I and II), the Maverick (which was actually a Maverick, but Mags drove it so haphazardly that the name really fit well), Lizzie (was all my granny's cars), Baby Bomber (my first, the '88 Nissan) and a host of others.
We're still in the getting to know you phase though, so I might give it some time before I name the car. I was gonna say Lancelot, but this car is a girl. Jetta. That ain't no boy.
Kim thought Sir Lancelot, but we both nah'd that one. We then mused about Camelot. Which I like, but I'm not sold on it.
Lady of the Lot?
I'm sleepy and this is funny to me right now, but I'm leaning towards The White Lady. Miss Cleant?
I'll keep driving her until it comes to me.
I got these rubber mats. Those mugs. Let me tell you. VW manufacturing folk know they wrong for creating something so stank as to accost the new car smell of which I have always dreamed.
Anyway. I'll try to wax more poetry about the new car, how it drives/makes me feel, etc. tomorrow.
Until then, a new series of sorts ...
My new car is like Kelis's Milkshake ... sorta
My lead foot's got chrome
And is right at home zooming
Through erry speed zone.