Merry Christmas from Oy! Oy! The Envoy!

If you know me, you'll understand why all 8s are significant.
We hit his particular mileage milestone on the way home Christmas night.

2013 is giving me triskaidekaphobia...

So, how's everyone doing?  It has been awhile.

I have so much to write about, which (of course) means that I'm having a hard time getting started.  Well, that and the fact that I feel like I've spent the last several weeks in a wood chipper.  You know those times in life when everything seems like it is going wrong and crashing in around you?  That's kind of been my experience lately. 

Case in point:  Yesterday was the third day in a row of no AC at the museum.  It was approaching 90 degrees.  In my office.  Granted, I had nothing going on programming-wise, which was a blessing.  Not the case on Tuesday when I had a lecture with 175 participants. 

But back to yesterday:

• A piece of the interior of my car broke off.  The plastic just cracked and a rather significant chunk of what used to be my eye glass storage compartment just landed in my lap.  I JUST spent nearly $2,000 on my car LAST THURSDAY.  I realize that none of that was specifically on the eye glass compartment, but still.

• Then I drove to the gym to discover that my brand new, $60 workout pants that I had only worn ONCE had a hole along the seam in the crotch.  And I didn't have an extra pair of shorts like I usually do in my gym bag.  Which meant my workout was cut short before it even began because I had to run home to change.

• Upon arriving back at the house to get new shorts, I found the dog run gate unlocked and ajar.  The dogs were all still in the backyard (thank goodness!), but Alley had skinned her newly healed nose chasing lizards, Gypsy had gorged her overly sensitive stomach on rotting figs and Haskell had dug several large, deep holes in my flower beds.  Oh, and just for good measure, Haskell was also limping dramatically.  Because, fabulous.

And that all happened in a span of thirty minutes.

Granted, we have AC at the museum again today, I can super glue my car and I'm pretty sure GAP will stand behind their defective product.  I'm even fairly confident that Haskell's shoulder will improve with some R&R (even though I'm starting to suspect arthritis since it is the same shoulder that was surgically corrected six or seven-odd years ago when I found him hit by the car).  But these are examples of the proverbial straws that have had me in tears almost every day of the last three weeks.  Because when you have upheaval and unnecessary drama in your life, sometimes even the little things start to feel insurmountable.  Kind of like drowning.  And it isn't always easy to find perspective when you are metaphorically gasping for air.

Also, is it just me or has 2013 had way, way, way more downs than ups?  I keep trying to do things to improve my karma, but so far it isn't working.  Maybe there is really something to that whole "unlucky 13" bit?  If so, bring on fall and 2014!

In lighter news, my little family of three had a (mostly) wonderful time in Jackson, Wyoming.  I say "mostly" because the trip happened to coincide with Banner getting all four of his canine teeth and a very nasty ear infection.  But the first four of five days were dang near perfect.  If anyone is interested, I've finally gone through my 800+ photos documenting the trip and will probably get around to (back) posting entries in the very near future.

In the meantime, I'd recommend avoiding me in case whatever bad luck streak I have is contagious.  Possibly for the rest of the year.

An update on Oy! Oy! The Envoy!

My car was supposed to be ready on Saturday.  Then Monday.  Then Tuesday...maybe.  Then Thursday. 

And now?  It won't be ready until August 8th or 9th.

Why?

Because getting a new computer to control my brakes is easier said than done.  Because said computers are backordered.  Which, according to my service tech, really means that GMC isn't making them anymore and have no plans to start up again anytime soon.

(For the record, I'm pretty sure those things aren't the same, but who am I to argue at this point?)

So, the new plan is to send my existing (failed) brake computer in to be refurbished.  And, well, this might take awhile.

Trevor's concerned because he is not sure he trusts anything that has FAILED previously to be miraculously trustworthy after it has been "refurbished".  Kind of like the proverbial "Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me" school of thought.  But we aren't talking President Bush on Saddam Hussein here.  We are talking about a flipping computer chip.  I'm sure once it has had it's little mind erased and reloaded, it will be perfectly fine and reliable.

I mean, where would any of us be in life if second chances didn't exist? 

Right?  Right.

The good news is that - theoretically - a refurbished brake computer is much cheaper than a new one.  Especially since I already own the one that will be refurbished.  At least that is what they keep telling me. 

I'm just not sure I trust car people anymore.

The day Trevor might have been right. Maybe.

My car, y'all.  My hot mess of a lemon car.

Ever since I bought my Envoy in 2004, it has been a problem.  Well, not the car itself, but the computer system has been a nightmare.  It is my normal to be at an intersection and have my car suddenly go berserk and die.  I'm used to it, though, and don't even give the situation a second thought.  Because, generally speaking, all that needs to be done is to calmly put the car in park, turn it off and then turn it back on.  This resets the computer and WALLAH!  Problem fixed.  Most of the time, I don't even need to put the hazard lights on because I've fixed the problem before the light turns green or the cars behind me have registered a delay in the flow of traffic.

Of course, it wasn't always this way.  There was a time, early on, where my car dying would cause me to panic.  I'd turn it off, get it going again and make a beeline for the dealership.  They'd hook it up to the diagnostic computer and find...well, nothing.  Because I had reset the computer when I had turned off the engine, and whatever problem that had occurred to make it die in the first place had been erased from memory.

It only took a handful of experiences rushing to the dealership, spending money on diagnostic exams that yielded nothing because "the problem could not be duplicated" and being treated like some sort of car hypochondriac by the service techs before I became absolutely desynthesized to any kind of dash board warning light or sudden engine death.  I've simply gotten into the habit of NOT getting my car checked out (outside of regular maintenance, of course) because I assume that there is nothing wrong with it.  Which is rather alarming when I remember situations like the time in 2007 when my gas tank cracked due to some sort of structural problem common to vehicles of my make and model.  Or in 2009 when my instrument panel had to be completely replaced because my odometer decided to stop working.  Or that horrible time I was driving home from a work-related conference in another state and my car died multiple times on a major highway going 70+ mph.  

Okay, so maybe my car has a history of being a potential death trap.  But it hasn't succeeded, so I'm willing to forgive and forget.

(Thanks for going along with me on that.  For the sake of argument and this story.  Because I've already written a lot of words and I don't want to start the telling of this story over.)

(With that in mind...)

Suuuuuuuure, there have been problems.  But only like three or four biggies in over nine years of vehicular ownership.  It hasn't been the norm.  Every car has it's moments.

Because, again, MOST of the time, warning lights in my car mean absolutely nothing, so - when a new problem arose in my car last month - why wouldn't I poo-poo a few alarms, lights and warnings regarding my car's brake system?  Especially, when I could make said alarms, lights and warnings go away simply by turning my car off and back on again?  Because those are the very signs that suggest "nothing is wrong as usual" and I've conditioned myself over the last nine years to simply ignore them and pretend nothing is actually happening.

Except it did keep happening, and then I mentioned it to Trevor in passing and he got all "you've got our child in the backseat" kind of hysterical about it.  Because "those are the brakes" and "stopping is important" and blah, blah, blah.  So, about three weeks ago, we took it in and...well, NOTHING.  

Just as I expected.

Again, they could find nothing wrong with my brakes.  $50 and an oil change later, I was back on the road.  Granted, the test DID show that I should probably start thinking about getting new brakes sometime in the next 8,000 to 10,000 miles, but nothing immediate.  The dealership wasn't able to duplicate all the brake-related alarms, lights and warnings that I had been experiencing, but this was nothing new to me or my car.  Just another weird mystery computer glitch.  Nothing new about that concept in my world.  And so I kept driving.  The glitch kept happening, but it was sporadic and responded to the good ole "turn the car on and off" method.  So I wasn't worried.

Until, that is, last weekend.  I went to the gym on Saturday.  No problem.  After my five mile run, I drove across the street to get gas.  Again, no problem.  Turned on the car after filling up.  PROBLEM!  All the brake alarms, lights and warning starting going off.  So, I turned off the engine, waited a few seconds and started the car again.  More alarms, lights and warnings.  I tried again.  Warning! Warning! Warning!  Fourth time a charm?  Nope.

Annoyed now, I moved my car into a parking space in front of the 7-11 and away from the pump, and called Trevor.  His recommendation was to turn it off and wait a few minutes before trying again.  And, guess what?  It worked like a charm.  No more alarms, lights or warnings!

Except the alarms, lights and warnings were back again the next day, and the day after that.  What's more, it started happing EVERY time I drove anywhere, and I was getting very tired of all the beeping, flashing and SERVICE BRAKES IMMEDIATELY-type messages.  And, what's worse, Trevor started to get all paranoid again and kept making comments about Banner's safety in my car.  Which is annoying when you JUST HAD the brakes tested and were told that they were fine.

So, since I had to work on Monday this week, I took today off to deal with the car situation.  Figuring Banner would prefer to do just about anything other than hang out at the car dealership, I dropped him off at school before heading across town.  I was almost to Sewell before I realized that this was the first trip I had taken anywhere in days where the blasted alarms, lights and warnings HADN'T gone off.  Knowing full well that the dealership wouldn't be able to find the problem without them, I proceeded to drive around aimlessly for over an hour waiting for them to appear.  Because, you know, why not.

They finally did go off, though, and I made an immediate beeline for the dealership.  There was an awkward moment, after I exited my car to let them record my mileage, when I lunged at and very nearly tackled the service guy who made a move to suggest he was nano seconds away from turning off my engine.  Because I was pretty sure that I'd have another fruitless visit if the computer got reset, I completely overreacted.  Thankfully, the service tech seemed to understand and even humored me by putting a purple post-it note with the words "DO NOT TURN OFF ENGINE" in all caps on the dash.

Bless him and his patience.

It took a couple of hours for them to run all the diagnostic tests, and the results were...well, not good.

Apparently, my brakes are controlled by a computer.  When I hit the brake, a message is sent to said computer and the computer tells the car to slow down or stop.  The brake pedal is nothing more than a glorified computer button.  I don't know why this surprised me so much.  I guess I assumed that my car was too old to have anything except good ole mechanical brakes.  Which I suppose is silly considering that this is 2013, not 1953.  I don't question things I don't pretend to understand.

But I digress.

The computer that controls my brakes has failed.  It needs to replaced immediately.  Because, without a working computer, it doesn't matter how perfectly fine my physical brakes are or how many more miles they can go until needing to be replaced.  If the computer doesn't tell the brakes to stop, the car might just keep going until it encounters something to...um, make it stop.  Like a brick wall.  Or another car.  Which?  Not good.  Especially with my precious baby in the backseat.  

Additionally, some hose that controls my power steering has a hole in it and one of my brake lights is out.  Because, you know, why the f*ck not?

Also, the dealership is out of loaners, rentals are at a premium for whatever reason this weekend and no one has an extra car laying around that I can borrow.    

(Apparently.)

Oh, and when I was told about all of this, my phone was about to die, my sister wasn't answering her phone (she was supposed to be my ride and we were going to grab lunch) and I found out the estimate to fix everything would be around $2,000.

I'm not sure if it was the combination of all of this or if it was the mere thought of calling Trevor and admitting that he had been right about my car all along, but I broke down in tears right there in the parking lot of Sewell.  It wasn't pretty.  It was the kind of cry where the harder you try to stop, the uglier the cry becomes.  I'm pretty sure I scared the other customers.

Luckily, my brother and dad were able to come and pick me up.  We went to lunch and then William drove me home.  Trevor was able to pick up Banner this afternoon, and now I'm just sitting on the couch trying to count my blessings and assure myself that everything is going to be okay.  Because, really:  Banner is safe and asleep in his crib.  My car has never actually failed to stop.  I don't need a car this weekend.  My mom can help get me to the dealership on Monday afternoon.  I have credit cards and a fund set aside for an (eventual) new car.  I can afford the repairs.  Everyone who saw me at Sewell today was a stranger and (even if I did ugly cry) it is unlikely I will ever see any of them again.  It is going to be okay.  Really. 

So what if me and the Envoy have possibly irreparable trust issues?  I can get over it until the time is right to ditch it's "I cry the car version of 'wolf' so much that no one believes me when there is a legit problem" mechanical a$$ and move on?  Right?

Right.

I'm so having popcorn for dinner tonight.  I've earned it.

Update (or, you know, "some bonus thoughts"):  

1. Just reread this and realized that I've basically been in an abusive nine year relationship with an a$$hat of a car.   
2. The ugly public cry may have been the result of very little sleep coupled with a lot of bad (and expensive) vehicular news.  Last night, I was roped into seeing THE CONJURING.  And I use the term "seeing" liberally because I was wearing a hoodie and only saw about 15% of the movie.  Despite not actually watching most of the flick (and drinking a "large" wine at the theater to cope), I still managed to have several nightmares last night which left little room for anything resembling restful slumber.    
3. Dolls are unnecessarily creepy.  This is neither here nor there, but the sun just went down and now all I can think of is Annabelle.  Who, according to my sister, was a Raggedy Ann doll in real life.  OMG, I DON'T NEED SUPPLEMENTAL INFORMATION.
4. I should stop watching scary movies.  Please take note, TREVOR.  You owe me a nice PG rated cartoon now. 

Update II (11:07 PM):

Trevor just read this post and said, "So, basically, the whole point was that I am right and I agree".  To which I respond, "No, Trevor.  Absolutely not.  I only alluded to the fact that you might have been right in a very non specific way.  You should reread the title and take note of the words 'might' and 'maybe'."

Also, stop sending me texts that read, "clap, clap, clap".  

Because it is one thing to be a contender for the Darwin Award. It is something else entirely to take your children down with you.

Ya'll.  I am so angry.

I had to go over to my sister's early this morning.  Her alarm has been malfunctioning and went off several times in the middle of the night.  She's out of town, and I'm number two on the security company's call list.  I asked the alarm company to put her system on "test" until 10 AM, so I could get some sleep and head over there after Banner was awake and fed.

So, around 9 AM, I got into the car while Banner and Trevor were busy watching The Animal Sounds Song on You Tube.  Amy lives only about a mile away, so nothing about my journey took very long.

I exited off the main road onto her street, and slowed down for the narrow, 90 degree turn that her street makes about a tenth of a mile into her residential neighborhood.  There are always cars parked along this curve, and I drive a SUV.  It is impossible to take this turn going faster than 15 miles per hour (at least in my car), and I'm not just saying that because of the following story.  It is just one of those sharp turns.  I know it is there and it is difficult to see any other cars coming in the other direction.  It is simply necessary to slow down when approaching it.

And it is a good thing I did, because walking down the middle of the street on the far side of the curve was a gaggle of mothers and their children.

Again.  They were WALKING.  Down the MIDDLE of the EFFING street.  With their children.

I counted seven mothers.  Each pushing a stroller with at least one kid in it.  Several even had an infants in Bjorns strapped to their chests.

At first I didn't think very much of it.  I pulled up behind one of the parked cars along the wide end of the curve and slowed to a stop to let them all pass.  And that is when one of the mothers, wearing a long, black, strapless maxi dress, walked over to my car, banged on my driver's side window and shouted, "You need to slow down when driving through OUR neighborhood.  There are children here!"

Like I couldn't see them all standing there in the middle of the road.

But I said nothing.  Just stared back at her and blinked.

Never in my life have I wanted to yell at someone so much.  And I probably would have if there hadn't been at least ten children under the age of three with her and her other mom friends.  Because regardless of the fact that I was driving about 5 miles per hour under the max speed of most school zones in the City of Dallas, these moms were intentionally walking their children down the middle of the street right before what is essentially a blind curve.  What if I hadn't been familiar with the turn?  What if I was driving a sportier, turn-loving car?  What if Amy didn't live only a few houses down from this particular bend in the road?  What if I had been speeding?  Or not paying attention?  They all could have been plowed over like bowling pins!

Not to mention the fact that these moms were teaching their kids that it is acceptable to walk down the middle of the street in an area with perfectly good sidewalks on both sides of the block.  And I'm typing this knowing full well that there are parts of my neighborhood where I have no choice but to push the stroller in the street.  But it is always by necessity, not choice.  And owing to the fact that I don't want to get hit by a car, I always hug the curb.  It would never occur to me to march my baby down the middle of the road meant for vehicular traffic like that, nor would I ever feel comfortable doing so in the first place - especially so close to a curve where I can't see oncoming traffic or they me.

Instead of saying any of this to the b*tch in the black maxi dress, though, I just stared at her and waited for them to pass before coasting to Amy's house to deal with the alarm situation.  I'm pretty sure I had visible steam coming out of my ears.

This is one situation where I wish I was better with confrontation, because - the more I think about it - those mothers needed to hear that what they are doing is needlessly reckless and stupid.  They are taking unnecessary risks with their children just so they can walk in a horizontal line down the middle of a road.  I'm sure it is easier to talk and socialize that way, but is it really worth it?

And then for her to have the gall to bang on my car window and call me out?  For what?  Driving?  In the road meant for cars, not playgroups?

Maybe it is just me, but this is one of those situations where I wish I could go back in time and give her a piece of my mind.  If for no other reason than it might resonate with one of the other mothers and convince her to use the bleeping sidewalk.  Because, really?  That is what they are there for.

The little church and the joys of motherhood...

Every time we go to the Arboretum, Banner makes a beeline for the little church.  

He can - literally - spend hours opening and closing the door, looking out of each and every window and walking in and out of the tiny structure.  

He makes my job so easy.  All I have to do is park the stroller and watch.

In other news:  I *might* have seen people I know professionally while watching Banner play his little heart out at little church AND later when I returned the rent-a-car to Enterprise.  Mondays with Mommy are...ahem...casual affairs (even more than usual).  But it is still embarrassing when you discover several hours later that the entire front of your white t-shirt is decorated with banana and gram cracker handprints.  And suddenly all the strange looks you got all afternoon make more sense.

Y'all.  It was even in my hair.  Which:  HOW?

Helping Mommy return the rental.

And, for the record, returning a rental car with a toddler is HARD.  Banner had to keep moving.  Constantly.  It took twenty minutes for me to sign TWO pieces of paper, because he kept escaping, running down the hallway and screaming "HI!" at everyone he encountered along the way.  I now understand why some parents buy leashes for their children.

On the bright side:  Banner was in a good humor the entire time and I had people lining up to help move my car seat from the rental back into my Envoy.  I keep telling myself it was because Banner is exceptionally adorable and not because they were trying to get rid of us as quickly as possible.

And then my car died on the way home.  But I got it restarted and back in my garage, so I'm trying not to think about it.

Fabulousness.

The return of Mondays with Mommy...

The last two Mondays I've stayed home with Banner because I'm finally (knock on wood) healthy, and wanted to catch up with my favorite little man.

This week, we started the day with a playdate with Tessa and Grant at our house, followed by lunch and a two hour nap.  Which was amazing and totally unexpected since I had to wake his little butt up at 9 AM.  I sort of assumed the late wake up call would result in a naplessness afternoon, but I guess the combination of his trip to the Arboretum on Sunday followed by dinner at the club with The Fabulous Auntie Mimi and Uncle Bud really wore him out! 

Which, by the way, did you know that Banner can say "Hi" and "Uh-oh"?  Neither did we, but on Sunday night, after he finished eating, the little dude was on a roll.  He'd wander off in to the ball room, get bored, turn around, walk back on to the porch and announce his presence to all of the other diners with a giant, "HI!".  Luckily, everyone there either had youngsters themselves or seemed to enjoy Banner's antics.  Several even yelled "Hi!" back, and got up to greet him.

Ah, the kindness of strangers.

Banner also says "Uh-oh!" every time he falls down, throws his sippy cup on the floor, does something he knows is wrong or drops food or a toy on the ground.  No idea where he picked this little gem up...

("Uh-oh, Gypsy Kitty!  Uh-oh!")

Tessa also commented during our playdate that Banner consistently signs "more" when he...well, wants more of something (i.e. Grant's gram crackers).  I had never noticed (mother of the year, OMG).  This prompted me to make some inquiries at day care, and - sure enough - he has quite the little sign vocabulary.  Who knew?

(Whoops.)

But, I digress.  Back to Monday:

Around three, Auntie Amy and Uncle Adam came over and we fed the ducks at White Rock and burned off some of our extra energy running around the Arboretum like a maniac.

Because we always have extra energy these days!

(See?  I told you to expect many more mentions and photos of the Arboretum!)

When the Arboretum closed at 5 PM, the group of us returned home to our house.  I thought the B-Man would be winding down for the day, but NO.  He was still raring to go.  So, I took him into the backyard to burn off some steam.  The dogs were in the dog run, and it was hysterical to watch Banner interact with them.  He LOVES being able toddle up to the fence and pet them without being knocked over or licked to death.  It never gets old.  Over and over again, he would run up to the chain link gate, scream "DA!", reach through the gaps for puppy dog kisses before walking away (only to return 15 seconds later to do it all over again).

It was possibly the cutest thing ever.

Haskell is Banner's special buddy.

Trying to show the dogs the squirrel in the tree.
None of the resident canines noticed, which answers the age-old question:
Who is smarter; a dog or one year old?

I love that he is such a big animal lover.  The only thing that worries me is that he had no fear, and thinks that all dogs are just as sweet and patient as his own. 

In other news, I was rearended on Saturday.  Dealing with insurance companies is about as much fun as snorting wasabi.  Especially when you find yourself trying to explain to the guy-who-hit-me's insurance company (who has assumed liabilty for my damages) that it is going to take several days to a week to repair my vehicle and I need a rental car in the interim.  But not just any rental.  A rental that has four doors and a back seat.  Don't get me wrong:  Mini Coopers are adorable, but the insurance company said that it would pay for me to let a comparable sized vehicle while mine was in the shop.  And, well, the last time I checked my GMC Envoy is considerably larger than that tiny two door compact with nonexistant legroom.  I'm not saying I need an Escalade here.  I'm just 5'10 with a child who still rides in a rear facing car seat.  Both of us need to fit, and - call me crazy - I would also like to be able to access said car seat without moving seats and contorting my very not flexible body in order to get my son in and out of the vehicle.

I know, I know:  I'm super high maintenance.

But all my b*tching worked out in the end (and by "end" I mean "two hours later"), because I'm now sporting around town in a slightly funky smelling Nissan Altima.  Not that I'm complaining, mind you.  Because the mental image of me trying to get Banner's carseat in the two door Mini is still painfully fresh in my mind.

In other news...

I am currently driving a rental car while the hail damage on my hood, roof and tail gate is repaired from last month's freak east Dallas storm. I usually cruise around town in a small SUV, and my insurance covers a rental of a similar sized vehicle. This (sort of) explains how I qualified to rent an Escalade. Something that the ladies at Enterprise found to be tremendously exciting. Because very few people get to rent that car. In fact, had I taken it, I would have been only the second person EVER to drive it.

Y'all, I couldn't handle the pressure.

The Enterprise ladies did everything in their power to convince me to rent it. Apparently, it was fully loaded, and had features inside that I've only ever dreamed about.


Enterprise Lady 1: "It is seriously the most fabulous car I've ever sat in."

Enterprise Lady 2: "Complete luxury."

Enterprise Lady 1: "You name it, it has it. Flat panel TVs, heated and cooled seats. The interior is a work of art."

Enterprise Lady 2: "It is absolutely fabulous. I dream about it. Seriously."

Me: "Don't get me wrong, it sounds great. I'm just not really sure I need all of that stuff."

Enterprise Lady 1: "Well, don't you have kids? You need that extra room!"

Me: "I have a baby..."

Enterprise Lady 1: "I'd bet he'd LOVE that flat panel TV in the back."

Me: "Except he is only 30 weeks old, and has to ride around town facing backwards in his car seat."

Enterprise Lady 1: "Oh. Well, the Escalade really isn't that much bigger than your Envoy. It is the smaller version. It is the closest thing we have to what you drive normally. Plus, your insurance covers it. I mean, why not?"

Me: "The only reason I'd need a larger car is if one of our dogs got sick and needed to go to the vet..."

Enterprise Lady 1: "Dogs aren’t allowed in our cars."

Me: "Right. So there is absolutely no reason why I need such a big car to go to and from work and day care for the next week or two."

Enterprise Lady 2: "But it is an ES.CAL.ADE."

Enterprise Lady 1: "I can’t believe this. Are you really saying you don’t want the it?"

Me: "Yeah, I think I would rather save some money on gas."

Enterprise Lady 2:  "Wow.  That's a first."


Some how I still managed to land in a brand new, fully loaded Chrysler 300. The thing has more bells and whistles than I've ever seen. It took me 10 minutes to turn on the freaking radio Tuesday morning. Kid you not. And don't even get me started on trying to put fuel in it last night. It took me 20 minutes to find the button to open up the gas tank. I opened the trunk twice by mistake, and was asked by another motorist if I needed help after he overheard me swearing at the car while frantically looking for an owner's manual and hitting buttons on and around the dash at random. It wasn't pretty. And the 106 degree temps weren't helping matters either. I am fairly sure I looked like a crazed lunatic. Even the lady that reeked of alcohol and was asking for money from other gas station patrons for cigarettes in the parking lot left me alone.  I saw her stumble in my direction, shake her head, turn around and walk away.  I looked THAT bad.

Sometimes it takes driving something new and spiffy to make you appreciate the simplicity and familiarity of the good ole’ tried and true.

Plus, the thing is white.  I don't know if I've mentioned this before or not, but I LOATHE white cars.  Don't ask me why.  I just feel very strongly that cars shouldn't be white.  Drives me crazy for whatever nonsensical reason.  Which, of course, means that Trevor thinks it is hysterical that I'm sporting around town in one for the foreseeable future.

Groan.

On the bright side, the Chrysler handles better than my last rental.  Of course, I didn't feel the need to get the extra $15 a day insurance with the Vibe.  The Chrysler, on the other hand, is just too new, perfect and sparkly, and is just begging for something to happen to it.  I can sleep better at night knowing I have bumper-to-bumper coverage, and can simply walk away from any accidental dents, scratches or dings.  Because, let's face it:  I don't have the best of luck.  Which sort of explains why I found myself traveling behind a gravel truck on Central Expressway this morning.  Rest assured:  nothing happened.  Still, OMG.

I don't know why I thought any of this was worth writing down...

I left work an hour early today because I couldn't breathe properly, and was starting to have irrational thoughts (brought on by oxygen deprivation, no doubt). Except when I finally got behind the wheel, I was instantly reminded that I needed to have my flipping car inspected because it expired at the end of November.

Granted, this was sort of on purpose. I've had 6-6, 7-7, 8-8, 9-9, 10-10 and 11-11. It seemed only natural that I'd also go for 12-12. Except I was going to get my inspection done over this last weekend, but then I got sick I didn't get out of bed. And on my way to work this morning I saw no less than five cops. Which - combined with the six I saw on my way home - made it seem like going more than five days with an inspection sticker that read 11-11 might be pushing my luck a little bit. So, regardless of the fact I still couldn't breathe, I made a brief detour and had my car inspected instead of making a beeline for home and the comforts (and relief) of laying horizontal on my own couch.

Of course, had I been pulled over I was planning on using the whole I-am-sick-and-nine-months-pregnant-don't-you-feel-sorry-for-me-officer card, except my coworker said it wouldn't work because no cop would ever believe I was due to pop out a kid sometime this month.

(Sigh)

All things considered, though, I probably couldn't have picked a better time to go because there were FOUR GUYS that swarmed my car when I pulled up. And those four guys had my car inspected my car TOGETHER and had it ready to go in less than ten minutes. Apparently, I always need to get my car inspected on a cold, dreary Monday afternoon when the guys that work there have nothing to watch on TV except old Judge Judy reruns (I know because they told me and because I got to watch Judge Judy while I waited). I think it took me longer to find my proof of insurance. And, well, that is somehow Trevor's fault, because for some inexplicable reason I have the proof of insurance for The Lexus in my glove compartment. Which I am assuming Trevor stuck in there on purpose to remind me that he drives a Lexus, and I don't.

Because I drive the OLD car that has the car seat set up in it, and can be "leaked on" by THIS pregnant woman in labor who refuses to wear a black trash bag on her way to deliver Trevor's first born.

Speaking of which, I have learned that pregnant women should avoid blowing their nose in public because, well, gas happens and I am at a stage where I am not always able to control it.

Trevor just said I should also add laughing, sleeping and sneezing to this oops-I-just-accidentally-farted list.

I would smack him, but he is currently sitting clear on the other end of the couch and that would require a whole lot of effort on the part of someone who still can't breathe.

(I married an a$$hat.)

In other news, I learned last night that I can no longer sit in the same position for more than an hour without standing up, walking around or otherwise dramatically shifting position. So much for seeing any more movies in the theater until Thor makes his debut. Which is sort of too bad because I really want to see Hugo, The Descendants and the new Muppet movie.

Have I mentioned that late stage pregnancy really sucks? And it isn't just physically, either.

Case in point: I also should avoid answering the front door since I have lost the ability to turn away solicitors and/or potential conartists. A couple of weeks ago I even had to stop payment on a check because the more I thought about it, the more I realized I had just contributed to a scam. Worse still, I had willingly opened my front door after dark to two large men with a small dog while I was alone in the house. And I only mention the small dog, because THAT IS THE REASON I OPENED THE DOOR. Which is irrational considering both of the large men standing there were still - in hindsight - incredibly sketchy and had "don't open the door" written all over them. Especially after dark. With or WITHOUT the little, cute dog.

Lord. I am such an idiot.

So, I've instituted a policy of Deals-doesn't-answer-the door-after-dark-because-she-is-a-moron. And I was SO proud of myself when I managed to ignore a knock at the door earlier this evening. I even gloated to Trevor about it when he got home. And then he opened the front door and discovered that the knock had only actually been a delivery. A delivery that, according to Trevor, we are lucky was still there considering that the number of sketchy solicitors in the neighborhood has greatly increased thanks to the stupid pregnant lady that can't help but answer the door and write checks to strangers with highly questionable stories. And then hugs them.

Did I forget to mention that I hugged them? Yeah, I HUGGED THEM. Seriously. I am the easiest con in Dallas. I will open my door for you after dark, write you a check and then hug you for your trouble. I even took the time to coo and pet their tiny, little dog.

(Although, to be fair, I don't think you can hold the dog liable for associating with those two. He was on a leash after all.)

OMG! When did I turn into THAT PERSON?! I know better! There is probably a really good reason why pregnant women are at greater risk of becoming victims of violence and murder. The baby has turned my brain into a gullible pile of mush. I am a walking, talking (and farting) disaster.

The baby better come soon. I'm not sure how much longer I can survive take all this!

Top three reasons why Trevor is currently uninvited to the birth of his son...

1. I was starting to brainstorm ideas for my sister's bachelorette, and one of them would (possibly) require me to go out of town for a weekend in February or March. Trevor's response? "You can't do that! Who will take care of the baby?"
   
   Me: "That would be you, Trev."
   
   Trevor: "But who will FEED the baby?"
   
   Me: "Again. That would be you."
   
   Trevor: "But I can't do that!"
   
   Me: "Yes you can. Because you are THE FATHER."



2. He told me I wasn't allowed to ride in his new car if I went into labor. Why? Because I might leak. He later amended this statement by saying we could either take my car or he would consider putting a trash bag down to protect his leather seats in the event that my water broke.



3. While getting dressed for bed he told me I looked like an old, fat man. Not pregnant and beautiful. No, no. Like an elderly dude with a giant beer gut. Because my hubby knows how to make a girl feel special at the end of a long day.

Since Trevor is currently a contender for father husband of the year, I've decided he is on a need-to-know basis when it comes to the whole labor and delivery thing.

And I am only sort of kidding.

I mean, obviously.

Can you blame me?

Goodbye Sandy...

After ten years and nearly 200,000 miles, Trevor and I said goodbye to "Sandy" the Chevy Trailblazer.

It was a sad day for me, because I am nostalgic. Trevor and I started dating just a couple of months after he purchased Sandy, so, in a way, the car will always remind me of the early "us". We went on our first date in that car (Trevor still insists I only started dating him because I was swept off my feet by his new ride). We have been on countless road trips to the ranch and Durango in that car. We were an engaged couple in that car. Homeowners. Newlyweds. I even spent the last (nearly) eight months being pregnant in that old champagne colored SUV. Funny how an inanimate object can represent so much personal history somehow. It was hard to say goodbye, and I made Trevor promise to take a few last photographs of Sandy in the driveway before he took her for their final ride together on Saturday.

Trevor, on the other hand, was excited. Because he got a new car.

Out of respect for Sandy, I won't blog about Trevor's new car yet. He hasn't named it, and so far I've only been irritated with all the newness.

Actually, no. I've been irritated with Trevor because he is being a little anal with his new ride.

Thanks to Halley, I'm not allowed to drive the new car. Something about pregnant women and questionable driving. This may or may not also be the reason why I've only been allowed to ride in the car ONCE. And that was in the backseat.

Secondly, it took Trevor 30 minutes to park the new car in the garage because he was so worried he was going to hit something. This might be a rational new car owner thought if it weren't for the fact that my mother was helping to spot in the front and I in the back. Despite all this, however, Trevor STILL managed to not pull in the garage enough to allow the door to close, and had to back out and start over.

And, yes. Our garage is plenty big for both our vehicles and is recently cleaned out and free of any obstacles or debris.

Then it had to go and hail last night, which Trevor took personally EVEN THOUGH his new car was safely tucked away in said clutter free garage.

But the best was this morning. We took separate cars to Sunday School because I had my first baby shower at 11 and Trevor was going to the Cowboys v Rams game. Trevor left about five minutes before me with all the Sunday School materials, but I still managed to get there nearly TEN MINUTES before he did. Trevor blamed it on "traffic", but my sister later passed him on Mockingbird going 20 mph. Apparently, having a new car has turned Trevor into the driving equivalent of a ninety year old blue hair.

I keep threatening to spit in it just help muck it up a little so he can get over it already.

Which again might explain why I'm not allowed to go anywhere near his flawless new vehicle.

Miss you, Sandy! You were fantastic, loyal and surprisingly hearty regardless of your advanced mileage. Plus, the dogs and I were allowed to ride in you which is more than I can say for your replacement.

At this rate I'll have to drive myself to the hospital when I go into labor. A) Trevor would never let me near his new car if my water might break inside it, and B) At the speed he drives the new car, I would be forced to give birth by the side of the road. Trevor would never be able to drive the FIVE MILES to get to the hospital in time! That would require him to go faster than, say 3 miles an hour and he might hit a pothole or something.

If only I were kidding...

Apparently I drive a little less than 10,000 miles a year...

My car turned 70,000 miles today.

It rang in this milestone with a trip to the dealership because the "Check Engine Soon" light came on sometime on Monday, and it started making a weird noise. And wouldn't you know the blasted "Check Engine Soon" light went off on my way to the dealership? The noise also became suddenly silent, as if the car knew where it was going and why and wanted me to look like a crazy lady.

Seriously, I am lucky that way. The people at Sewell think I am a car hypercondriac.

Luckily, they were able to diagnose the cause of the engine light. The thermostat in the engine was broken so my car didn't know how hot it was getting. The noise, on the other hand, is still a mystery.

In other news, Trevor is finally dealing with the fact that his car is slowly falling apart after ten years and nearly 200,000 miles. And as much as we have enjoyed not having a car payment in YEARS, I think he is ready to go test driving this weekend. We are leaning towards the new Lexus hybrid. Tres exciting. The garage is already cleaned out in anticipation!