Saturday, April 13, 2013

Crying Jag

My car hates me. As a wedding present Barney bought me a brand-new Jaguar. I drove it for a couple of years but when he suggested I turn it in for something newer I just couldn't part with it so it sat in the far stall of the garage while I drove one of the newer cars Barney leased every couple of years.

When I met Barney I'd been driving my sixteenth-birthday-present 1992 Volvo 240 and I was ready for something 'classier'. I'll never forget waking up on my sixteenth birthday and rushing to the window to see my new car. I knew my parents were buying me one and I'd hinted plenty about a Camaro. Seeing that tan Volvo parked where my red Camaro should have been was disorienting at first. For a split second I thought I'd better go outside and look behind it to see if my pretty red car was hidden there. Anyhow, Barney convinced me to sell it right after he gave me the Jag. Stupid move.

When we split I was allowed to keep 'my' car, as per the prenup. If I'd only known that he was planning to dump me for a newer model I'd have let him gift me with a new car every couple of years. And they'd all be Volvos.

So now the Jag and I are stuck together, lurching our way down Santa Monica Boulevard each day in search of cheap food, wifi hotspots and gainful employment. That car is nickle-and-dimeing me to death, only the nickels and dimes are really $500 and $1000 repair invoices. Within a few hours of getting my alimony check the damn car lost its transmission while I was stopped in traffic. I'd just turned off Lincoln toward the 99-cent store (yes, it's becoming an obsession) when - Varoom! Varoom! All rev and no motion. What a nightmare. Everyone was honking and screaming at me to move my fucking car and I just froze. I had absolutely no idea what to do. I sat there hoping Scotty would beam me up or Calgon would take me away. Instead, a couple of hunky guys pushed it into a parking lot. They were so sweet and friendly; I was considering the bend-and-snap (rent 'Legally Blonde if you don't get the reference) but the way they called me 'Ma'am' was crushing, all respectful voices and downcast eyes. If I'd actually done the bend-and-snap they'd probably just assume my orthopedic hip was giving out along with the transmission on my rattle-trap old-lady car.

After waiting an eternity for the tow-truck I finally got it in to Jose, my mechanic. The transmission isn't completely gone but it needs about $700 worth of repairs. Jose is a good mechanic, and fair. And since Barney and I split he's been giving me discounted prices. Even with all that it knocked the crap out of my check.

So here I am again - rent paid, bills late, $127 between me and starvation, and 26 days until the next check. I need a job, and quick!


  1. Have you ever worked????? Too good to flip burgers?? Can you do anything besides whine? Sell the fricken lemon and get an old Geo, like the rest of us poor people.

  2. What is it with you? I live in L.A., remember? The burger-flipping jobs are all tied up by undocumented workers. I could work at Starbucks - except they only hire pierced 25 year olds who are getting degrees in stupid shit like public administration. I'm 36 years old - that's, like, 56 in L.A. years. I like your suggestion about the Geo, though. I'll look into it.