Hey, You Can't Blame Me for Trying...

As usual, I shall start this post by commenting on how long it has been since my last post. It has been over two months now. In that time I have turned twenty-seven and gone through yet another mid-life crisis, I think. I would excuse my lack in post writing to the fact that turning twenty-seven was not easy, birthdays never are, but I know that would be a lie.  In fact, I have had plenty of things to write about. I have read two books so far. I know that two books is not enough but they are going to be part of my thousand book project.  I shall write about them soon, hopefully. I am going to keep the apologizing for not writing section of this post short as I know that it is getting a little old.

Well, something happened yesterday that made me want to write. Unfortunately I cannot get into the story without giving you some background first.

About two months ago, my parents decided to look into my finances and were appalled at the amount of money I owed to credit cards. Yes, I know that using credit cards is stupid. I also know, however, that it is fun to do whatever you want to do whenever you want to regardless of whether you can afford it at the moment. This is also true because I am horrible at saving and, if I had to save to do anything I wanted, I would never do anything. Anyway, despite the fact that I was twenty-six, this was obviously before my birthday, they decided to take a more hands on approach. First thing they did was bail me out. Yeah, that was pretty cool. They paid off my credit cards. However, this was not a present. It was a loan. A loan that I am having to pay back with most of my disposable income every paycheck. Yes, you guessed it right. I was put on a budget. The way it literally works is that I get to work and, when I get my paycheck, I get to pay whatever bills need paying and then give most of the rest of the money to my parents as repayment of their loan. Technically, it's like I get an allowance all over again. Well... that is how it's technically supposed to work but lately I have been straying from the master plan. Take this weekend for example. I probably spent about one hundred and twenty dollars while bar hopping and such. I am a sucker for buying rounds of drinks for everyone. It's not that I have to pay people to like me, but I bet it doesn't hurt. I swear I am a bit  more likable when they are drunk. However, that is beside the point. The point is that I made a resolution on Sunday night, right before I went to bed, to leave my debit card at home so I would not be tempted to go to lunch with my co-workers.

On Monday morning, I woke up and got ready for work. I grabbed my typical breakfast, which consists of one banana since I am not much of a breakfast guy. I got to work and everything seemed to be going smoothly. I was answering my phone, entering stuff into the computer, singing along to whatever music my iPod would play and joking around with my co-workers. It was a good Monday morning. I even went so far as to hide Dottie's mouse and have her cuss me out and tell me to get the hell out of her office. I learned the hard way not to hide someone's mouse and to definitely not take the battery out of said someone's mouse. They really don't like it. When it came time to lunch, it was painstakingly decided that we should all go to a certain chicken sandwich restaurant that has a cow for a mascot. I guess most of y'all know what restaurant I am talking about but I am paranoid about seeing little copyright circles next to name and I really can't afford to waste my allowance on a copyright infringement lawsuit. We drove to the agreed upon eatery and I walked up to the register and ordered my usual whole lot of food. Up to this point everything is going fine but, when I took my wallet out to pay, a wave of fear surged through my body. My first instinct was to think that I had been robbed or that I had lost my debit card. A second later I remembered, though, that I had purposefully, and sleepily, set it in a drawer the night as a deterrent to spending money on lunch. A second wave rushed through me but it wasn't fear this time. It was pure embarrassment. I believe I must have blushed because my face felt all hot. Now, you have seen pictures of me and thankfully I am not pale-complexioned but I do blush in some instances. I very quietly and with a sheepish smile asked the cashier to please cancel my order while I slowly backed away from the register. My mind was going a mile a minute. How could I get home if I had ridden there with some co-workers? Did I have any money stashed somewhere? Yes, I did. Oh, no! It's in my car and I rode here with someone. Is there any way to make this situation not awkward? These and many other things ran through my mind but the prevalent question was, how could I be so stupid as to forget I had left my card at home just so I would not spend money on lunch? As I was kicking myself mentally, while still trying to maintain some level of composure, Heidi comes up and asks me what's wrong.  I gave a short laugh and told her what had happened. Now, if this would have happened to someone else, I would not have let them hear the end of it. Luckily, most people are not me. She simply offered to pay for my lunch. As we were eating, every now and then I would giggle and upon being asked why I was giggling I would simply explain that I could not believe that I had done something so stupid. Yes, my co-workers were not making fun of me. I was. And, I am probably not going to let me live this one down for a while.

It was while still at the restaurant that I decided that I should post this on the blog for posterity. So one day, when I am full of myself, I can look back upon this and realize that I make stupid mistakes as well. Now this is the part of the post where I would make promises about how I am going to write more often and all that. However, I have realized that I can't force myself to write. I hope to still have some readers and, if I do, that they will continue to read regardless of how hectic my posting may be.  I realized last night that I have been doing this for a year now. Not religiously, but it has been a year. So I guess that is some sort of milestone. Anyway, hope to type again soon.

So, If You Had a White Dodge Avenger, What Would You Name Him?

First of all, yes, I referred to a car as a "him." Why? I don't know. I know most people refer to their cars as feminine, but that has always rang false to me. My cars are boys. Now, if it were a van or a truck, it would be feminine. That's a given. I think this stems from the fact that in Spanish the word "carro" is masculine and the word "van" and "troca" are feminine. All this, however, is neither here nor there. Regardless, I am going to go into excruciating detail because that is what I do best.

My first vehicle was an '89 GMC VanDura. I do not have a picture of it, but it was a huge van that was all metal. I mention that because it was a great car to learn to drive in. People will get out of your way if you are driving a big chunk of metal and seem to have no clue as to what you are doing. If they don't, they soon realize that a collision with said vehicle will damage their car while leaving mine mostly intact. In all the years I drove that van, only one car had to learn that lesson the hard way (it ended up with no back bumper). The van also emerged victorious from an encounter with a stop sign. In fact, the only object that managed to damage my van was a wall I backed into. I guess walls are sturdier than expected. I loved this van. I had it while I was still a church going kid and we used to drive it everywhere. It was not unusual for me to have anywhere from eight to fifteen teens packed in that van, which was really fun considering it did not have a/c. Lucky for me, I was always driving and the driver and passenger windows did roll down. I have many fun memories of that van. Among them, the very first parking lot talks of my life. Many of the great conversations in my life have happened in parking lots. We would sit in that van and discuss everything, from our biggest problems to the latest gossip. This led to us having a motto, "Lo que pasa en la Scooby, se queda en la Scooby." This meant, "What happens in the Scooby, stays in the Scooby." As you can probably infer, the name of the van was "The Scooby Van." It wasn't green, but it was big and it worked for us. Thus, the tradition of naming my cars was born.

My second car was green, but it wasn't a van. It was a Ford Focus. Do not expect me to explain why, but I loved that car as well. I have an eclectic taste for cars but from the moment the Focus first came out, it was on my list of favorite cars. And no, I did not like the hatchback but the four-door sedan. I know the car was not unique and that was part of its appeal. I never put a bumper sticker on it or anything that would make it stand out from any other green Focus. I loved that. The reason why I loved that, and this is going to sound shady, is that if I ever committed a crime and a witness was trying to describe the getaway car, they would have nothing more than "green focus." I am not planning on committing any crimes, but anonymity seemed really important for some reason. I don't remember how the naming of this car came about, but I do know that his name is Frank. I think at one point Frank had a last name, but I cannot for the life of me remember what it was. Last year, and I know it was mostly because of how badly I took care of it for the five years I had it, Frank started malfunctioning so I had to get a new car. Thankfully, my dad needed a car to use so he could drive to and from work so I still get to see, and even drive, Frank fairly often.

This brings me to the white Dodge Avenger I have now. I have had it for about a year. It usually runs well and is pretty comfortable. The acquisition of this car was quite different from the other two. The Scooby Van was a hand me down from my parents. Frank, I went out and looked till I found him. It was funny because the only thing I knew when I went car shopping is that I wanted a green Focus. People thought I was weird. I called myself eccentric. The Avenger, however, has a whole different story.

I had told my parents I was thinking of getting a new car. This was of course last May. I was at my old job as a receptionist at the retirement village and I had to work for four hours on Saturdays. Well, one Saturday, I get a call from my parents asking me to step outside for a minute. When I did, I saw them drive up in this white car. They told me that they had gone car shopping in the morning and that they liked this car for me. I was then instructed to stop by the car dealership after work so I could sign the paperwork. When I got off work, I met them at the dealership. We talked for a few minutes in which I told them that I really wanted to just get another Focus. They said that they did not like the Focus anymore and that I needed something else. After that, I walked in and signed the papers. The car is under my name, purchased with my credit, I will be making the monthly payments, I am responsible for the insurance, in fact it's one hundred percent my car, except for the fact that I did not get to pick it.

I suffer from a big delusion. I think, and believe, inanimate objects have feelings. Which is part of the reason why I feel bad writing the next sentence. I am not sure I like my new car. It is not my style. Also, my parents took it to Mexico within a month of me buying it and tinted the windows dark. I guess that is OK, but it wasn't my choice as I tend to think of cars with tinted windows as drug dealer cars. Granted, that may be because I grew up in Juarez and drug dealers tended to tint their windows really dark. All I am saying is that it is not really my style. I still feel a disconnect between me and the new car. I think it comes from the fact that he really was not my number one option and that I did not have much choice in choosing him. Don't get me wrong, he has been a good car. That is until it broke down about a month ago.

I woke up on a Wednesday morning, got ready for work and stepped outside to go to work. I got into my car and turned the ignition on and, since I was a bit early, I even let it warm up a bit before I left. That's when things went wrong. When I went to shift into gear, I could not shift out of Park. I tried for a few minutes and, after failing repeatedly, I decided to take my dad's truck to work. Upon arriving at work, I consulted with several friends and got several tips on trying to get it to work. None of them worked when I tried them at lunch so I had to have it towed to the dealership to get it worked on. By Thursday, the car was working again.

It really wasn't anything more than a major inconvenience but it did get me thinking. Was I being unfair to him because I did not like him as much? Did he realize that he was the red-headed step child of my cars and thus was acting out? Had I hurt his feelings since I had not made an effort to bond with him? Was I taking him for granted and was he trying to teach me a lesson? While talking to The Co-Worker, her who convinced me to start writing a blog, I realized I had not even named this car yet. For one, she thought that cars having guy names was hilarious and was cracking up about Frank's name. But the fact that the Avenger did not have a name bothered me and we tried to come up with a few. We thought of Moby-Dick and such but nothing really seemed satisfactory which brings me to the title of this post, "If you had a white Dodge Avenger, what would you name him?"

I know I probably do not have a lot of readers left since I have been bad about writing often, but for those few of you that still read it, any and all suggestions will be appreciated. I don't have a picture of my car today but I will take one tomorrow and add it to this post to help give you an idea. Please help me bond to the car that I will have for the next four years at the very least. After all, he is a good car and it is not his fault that my parents chose him instead of me. He has performed admirably and he deserves a good name, won't you help him?


Picture courtesy of my friend Preggo (not her real name). Thanks for taking the picture Preggo!

Happy Birthday, Medea!

Today was the birthday of that special, and by "special" I intend all meanings including the good and the bad, lady who gave birth to me. I know you were all aware of that since I wrote that long post about the dilemma of what to do for her birthday. The day has passed and I have to report what happened so that you'll know that I listen to you.

My whole weekend, at least the days, revolved around her. The nights were fun. Let's talk about that first.

Friday night started with happy hour with some co-workers after work. From then on I joined some friends at another restaurant for another happy hour. The rest of the night was spent with those friends and a very opportune bottle of tequila. Good times were had by all and some very random conversations. I am not one to usually like tequila as I consider myself a vodka person. I do have a very soft spot in my heart for margaritas though. Well, after several of those, and about a liter and a half of tequila, I invited my friends to do a guest post. I figured I should tell you in advance so you won't be surprised. Especially since I just received one of them and I will be posting it soon. Anyway, it was a fun night.

Saturday night I went to see Death at a Funeral with some guy I met online. After that was over, the movie was good but the company left something to be desired, I ventured on my own to Mabel's to see a benefit drag show and hoping to meet up with some friends. Unfortunately, my friends were a no show. Fortunately, there was this cute, nerdy guy who I kind of talked to and, had I not been too much of a chicken, whose phone number I should have asked for. He is working on his dissertation to get his math PhD. That is enough for me to like him right there. I mean, what else could I possibly ask for, right? Talking to him was fun and the drag show was interesting, so despite the fact that my friends were a no show, it was a good night. (The guy's name was Max and this is a long shot but if anyone knows him you know where to find me.)

Those were my nights this weekend. My days, however, were consumed by Medea. On Saturday I was at my sister's house. She planned a cook-out to celebrate mother's birthday. I spent most of the day there and, despite wanting to leave before Medea got there, I stayed because my sister kept saying that Medea really wanted me to be there. So I stayed and the long ice was broken and me and Medea exchanged our first words in months. Then today my dad cooked liver and onions and the whole family got together again. Another all day ordeal. As you can see, especially by how much of this post was dedicated to her, Medea monopolized my weekend and I have now eaten enough cake to make my search for a soul mate near pointless. At least the family rift is closed now and we can let the healing begin.

As a last note, since this is supposed to be a short post and it is late already, I figured I would tell you all what I ended up getting her for her birthday. I thought of all your great suggestions: a card, flowers, gift card, perfume, etc. I have decided that no material thing could compare to the greatest gift I could bestow upon Medea. The one thing that I knew she wanted and that no one else could give her. I realized that the one thing that would really make her day and that she should count herself lucky to have was... the joy of being able to converse with me once again. I mean, I am awesome and I know she was dying to have me talk to her and to enjoy the wonderful conversation that no one but yours truly could provide. Great gift, huh?

P.S. Please check back soon as I will be posting the first guest post from one of my friends.
P.P.S. Shout out to the G-Man whose voyeuristic tendencies allow me one more reader if not one more commenter. I did not want to use your real name but you know who you are.

My Mother Medea*

*No, this is not a reference to Tyler Perry. Look further back in literature.

I know it is unusual for me to be posting two days in a row but I have a conundrum that I need assistance with. Now, I know I cannot count on my readers to provide any feedback judging from the lack of comments about the picture dilemma, but I suspect that just merely rambling on about it may help me make a decision. Let me start with a story...

Suppose you had family in El Paso. Also suppose your grandfather passed away so you have to go to the funeral. This means that you have to travel about 1200 miles with your parents round-trip. Now, offhand, you know you are obnoxious and that such close quarters are just not going to provide a good environment for family growth. Well, everything seems to go well and you are on your way back. Halfway through the trek back your mother, which we will call Medea, starts making ludicrous demands. This makes you waste about 2 hours of travel in a dull city we shall call Odessa. After two pointless hours, tempers escalate and you lose your cool and end up calling Medea, your mother, "ignorant". After this, things go horribly awry. First you refuse to listen to them so you put on earphones and drive around erratically till you find the place Medea was looking for and park. She proceeds to get out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind her. You drive off in search of something to eat while they tend to their business and try calling their phones to tell them to call you when they have concluded their business. You realize then that your dad left his cell phone on the car and Medea is not answering. So you turn around and find Medea bawling in the parking lot and your dad comes to you and tells you to just leave and drive home leaving them there. Remember home is about 300 miles away and your parents are older and not feeling well so you get out of the car and walk away telling them to take the car expecting them to cool down while they tend to their business and to call you to pick you up and have a silent, cold drive home.

Two hours later, while sitting at a park watching Kathy Griffin's TV show "My Life on the D-List" season 5 on your iPod (wow, look at all the plugs in one single sentence), you have the grim realization that they are not calling and that you are stuck about 300 miles from home with two days before you have to be at work. Also, the car they drove off in is your car. It is a grim realization indeed. End of story.

Now, since you are all experts at pretending now, let's pretend that this happened to someone you all might know. Someone like, let's say, yours truly. Now if this were yours truly's story, it would not end there. I would go on to say that, with the help of a good friend, I managed to get home 24 hours later. When I get home, I find Medea and my dad in the kitchen with visitors so I head straight into my bedroom and fall to bed exhausted as I have work in the a.m. It is later that I realize that my parents are still mad at me and are not talking to me. Now, I was expecting their anger to become subdued in a couple of days, two weeks at most. I was surprised that after a month they, and especially Medea, were not speaking to me. My birthday came and went and I got a phone call from my dad and a text message from Medea saying, "Feliz Cumpleanos y que Dios te bendiga." For those of you unfortunate enough not to know Spanish, that means "Happy Birthday and God bless you." (Well, almost. I could not figure out how to type the special "n" letter for the word year in Spanish). I felt that was a gutsy move, you know, mentioning God when she was not speaking to me. So far, the freeze is still on. My dad is talking to me more but Medea's attitude remains unaltered.

Finally, we arrive at the conundrum that prompted this whole post. Medea's birthday is coming up this week. Now, I now I should be respectful because she is my mother, and I probably should start by not calling her Medea but I am not about to go back and make all those changes in the post, but I am also still a bit hurt for being left behind and getting nothing for my birthday. What to do? Should I buy her a gift? Should I just let her birthday pass unnoticed? Should I just send her a text saying "Happy Birthday and may Nature bless you with health"? On that last one, I refuse to use God's name as she did since I don't really believe he exists and if he does, I do not want to incur his wrath by using his name in vain during a petty act of revenge against my mother.

All this just to say, what should I do? I was hoping writing all this would help me decide. I still am clueless. I will say this though. I have learned a valuable lesson. No, it is not "don't ever call your parents ignorant". It is, "don't ever call your parents ignorant when you are about 300 miles from home and they are likely to drive off in your car leaving you with no way home and freezing you out for months to the extent that they forget your birthday and then you have to make a difficult decision about how to act on their birthday because it is coming up." Yes, it is not a very widespread lesson. In fact, it is very specific. But I have learned it nonetheless.