Tag: car

College Ruled, Eyeball Drooled, and Car Salesman Schooled

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This post is beyond-asking-for-an-extension-on-an-extension late, but I am very busy right now so froggy readers on your lily iPads, please stop flicking your tongues at me and jumpin’ around. Speaking of which, this epic’s gonna be all over the place. BECAUSE THAT’S HOW LIFE WORKS.

Item Uno: Hallowed Halls Make for Historical Heckles

Two weekends ago, Hampton and I did a show at an eating club at Princeton University.

The main point I wanted to share from this experience is that, in the middle of my set, I was heckled in the form of a Ronald Reagan chant that went on for about 20 seconds. Can check that off my list of Never Have I Ever, but seriously, the audience was very jovial, obviously smart, and fun. I swear I even saw Blair Waldorf in the crowd.

Also here were some photos I captured in the ornate mansion where we performed. One is of graceful alum Jimmy Stewart in theater garb and the other is an old class photo. We were performing somewhere that clearly had a past! I felt accomplished simply by association.



Item Dos: Bloody Tears and Sweat

Nextly, I got a minor procedure on my eyelid at the hospital on Friday, which deserves another surgery saga recap, because I’ve set an arbitrary standard. Since JAWS was aptly named after a terrifying movie, I’ll call this one SAW.

Yes, I know what you’re judgmentally thinking. 2010 is the Year of the Scalpel! Or scal-pal rather, as it’s proven to be my friend. An even truer friend stabs you in the face.

This was in a different hospital than my other surgery and what a difference location, location, location can makka-makka-make. DJ Realtor in the house! Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeee/max!

The place was so busy, my mother appropriately remarked that it looked like a train station. The waiting rooms were stacked and packed with wheelchairs, family members, and old people wearing groovy cataract sunglasses and being adorable. Plus we showed up late and it felt like when you roll into the airport pushing the clock and the security line is far, far too long and you’re sure you’ll miss your flight.

Luckily, there was order within the chaos, and eventually, I found myself sitting in what looked like an old-fashioned armchair in the corner of a busy pre-op eye surgery prep room with a blanket to insulate my boots and flannel shirt. I was told the surgeon would sally on through any moment now.

They said I could keep all my regular clothes on for eye surgery and the only gear I got was a cloud hat, which felt very surreal. I felt like I was in a dream where nothing is quite up to code on the reality meter. A nurse did start an IV for me, after which I was convinced I wouldn’t be sent home. Not with the well-attended party underway!

I was finally wheeled into the O.R. where I got some conscious sedation and local anesthesia so I conked out for a bit (when you’re still in your street clothes, it kinda feels like a crime), but then I woke up for some of the surgery and heard various instructions on how and where to pull my eye flap. It was like a personalized interactive radio show.

Back in the recovery room, the nurse was regaling my mom with some aftercare instructions, and then I said, “I feel dizzy” and then they both go “Oh, that’s normal” and then I passed out LIKE A REAL DRAMA QUEEN. And then I revived slightly to hear everyone running around saying my lips looked gray and I was suddenly sweaty despite the cold temperatures. That’s a cozy feeling.

All’s well that ends well. After a car ride home in which I almost yarfed all over everything, I arrived home sweet home where I could document my tears of blood in peace. You see, that’s where the real fun starts.

My eye was super uncomfy and stingy the rest of the day because there were some stitches on the inside of my eyelid. Plus my eye was bloodshot (probably had been drinking while I was under) and was belligerent at what I had put it through. Sleep it off, Grampa!

But the next morning, I woke up to a oozy, weepy, apocalyptic eye, which needs to be documented. Don’t look if you don’t like the wonders of medicine, or are easily disgusted with gratuitous cellphone pics. Look out, webcam hotties!

Someone took the red eye home!

Oh, don’t cry! It’s only your face period.

Anyway, don’t worry. I’ve been wearing an eye patch around lately, mostly to keep the antibiotic ointment in, but also to keep the villagers with the pitchforks out.

GLAMOR CRONE PICS

Reporting for spells duty!

What? Take off my glasses? Oh, sure. I got time.

Feeling shy, eye do declare.

Oh, ok. If you must see the eyePad.

Finally seeing my true colors…

…but starting to like what I see!

Thanks for seeing (and staying) eye-to-eye on this with me!

This is the part where I do the big REVEAL…

…which leads to the big REVILE.

Time for a close-up!

Oh, the tales Grampa Eye could tell you! The things he’s seen!

Item Tres: Car Shop Til’ Your Eye Drops

This afternoon, my Dad and I went car shopping. It was fun to gauge the reactions of car salespeople to my eyePad. I think some of them feared it was driving-related, and here I was, trying to pull another fast one by attempting to buy a vehicle from right under their noses. The optic nerve of it all!

This one salesman wouldn’t stop talking from the moment he met us to when we said goodbye. He was talking up this car a mile a minute (his selling floor nickname is Motormouth), and the best part was that if you listened closely to him, nothing he said was a complete thought. He would just start ideas and then segue into other ideas but never finish a sentence. But nonstop! He was a machine! Also one of his eyes had a glassier shine to it than the other one so I felt an irrational partnership with him.

Also we looked at a car that has a small lever on the inside of the trunk so that if someone throws you in the trunk, you can pop the latch and run to safety. My favorite was the little diagram that explained this USING NO WORDS.

In conclusion, this entry has brought to you by the concept of whimsy.

My Secret Santa Bent the Laws of Physics for Me!

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Call it a seasonal miracle because I had an experience coming back from work tonight that can only be described as holy moly!

As I was braking my car to miss a posse of marauding raccoons that abruptly scurried across the road that separates suburbia from the 40 ft. by 40 ft. park across the street (the woodland equivalent of the projects), my large coffee flew out of its makeshift cup holder and landed at the foot of the passenger seat.

I was dreading the sticky mess I’d find once I had time to pull the car over plus barely began to consider the implications of an overcaffeinated floor rug, but here’s the thing. It didn’t spill. Even though it landed sideways. It all stayed in the cup (save a drop or two). I have no idea how or why, but it just did. Can you even imagine the delight!?! The mystery?!? The wonder!?!

Now, I’m not saying there was a greater force behind all this (see title), but it was the perfect set up for a dastardly spill, yet the universe decided to go ahead and do me a solid by keeping my liquid in check. As for the raccoons, they caroled behind the car all the way home. And by caroled, I mean threw gang signs at me.

If chipmunks went rogue…
photo courtesy of Flickr and striatic

P.S. I feel as though I somehow maxed out my karma credit with this piece of good fortune, but it was totally worth it.

**UPDATE** The same exact thing (minus the raccoons) happened on the way to work the morning after, and guess what? Coffee everywhere, and especially in all the car’s hard-to-reach places. Guess we’re back to reality. The universe is making all kinds of points, but I am having trouble understanding what the feel-good takeaway is from this twin set of drama. And don’t say “Clearly, you should refrain from driving with coffee in the car,” you literalists!

One Long Saab Story Except It Was a Volvo

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i’m feeling pretty jazz(hand)ed right now. i had a man v. nature type weekend and i think it’s fair to say i at least established my dominance in the genetic kiddie pool…

sADVENTURE #1

dude, where’s my karma?

– i tried to go to a blood drive saturday afternoon because i was feeling charitable, worldly and all-around generous. it was being held in a lurvely little part of town that puts the W(ealth), A(ffluence), S(nobbery) and P(reppiness) in WASPitude, with the only thing lacking being parking spaces. after finally shifting my car into a hidden cranny (all the while thinking ‘mmhmm, i should probably remember where i’m leaving my car…ha ho hum hey hiddly hee’), i initiated both a well-intentioned and decisive power walk in the direction of the blood drive.

i soon gave up after a few blocks since the event ended within the impending few minutes and i wasn’t any closer. i became caught up in the allure of the store windows around me. hobo handbags. sandpaper skirts. burlap bras. and newspaper hats (back IN for the season)! then i decided that even all good frivolities must come to an end so i decided to head home. and then i walked up a few blocks and around a few blocks. and guess h’what, buffy? no car.

i had a good chuckle at my absentmindedness and continued walking. and circling. and pacing. trying to come up with a scientific method/formula for car searching. 2 hours later, i phoned a friend with an air of affected desperation. then another. all the while still slightly amused at the circumstances. i felt like i was on the truman show. everything works out in the end! it was still daylight, after all. things could have been worse.


i found so many bizarro-my-cars and not enough actually-my-cars
photo courtesy of Flickr and ponanwi

an hour later, it was dark. my feet felt like bricks. my phone was almost dead. i had gone through the entire grieving cycle over my car, and had arrived at a strange sense of peace (like when people are lost in the arctic for days and days and days, and they finally accept the inevitable). i stopped at a sandwich shop to use the facilities and console myself with melted cheese on baked flour. people were starting to give me ‘are you homeless?’ looks since i had been stalking the same 10-15 blocks for the last few hours, looking evermore frenzied and hopeless. men walking with female companions pulled them closer when i passed, costumed halloween revelers found me relentlessly uninteresting and i decided i would not, under any circumstances, call my parents or ask a cop for help. we make weird rules under dire circumstances.

finally, after i started hallucinating sneaking into a college campus dorm lounge for the night (not to sleep but to weep), i came to a junction, and there it was. i found it, about 2 blocks off from where i had been searching all the live long day-to-dusk, sitting there cool and calm and ready for use. we didn’t say anything to each other. i merely got inside and we went home, like the last 4 hours were just a pipe dream, starring me. roll credits.

sADVENTURE #2

dance fever (mostly the shakes)

– on sunday evening, i had a 6 hour dance practice with one break(ing point) for mcdonald’s. i ate a bun with mayo on it (which tasted like the finest baguette with a smattering of freshly churned butter) and some “here comes the sun”chips. delightful.

towards the end of practice, my mind started to go, and in one of the partner steps we have in our piece, i kept getting manhandled by my partner. in his defense, he had no choice. since i kept forgetting moves and stepping on people li-toe-rally, he would just throw me in the direction in which i belonged. it felt like middle school square dancing all over again, but less graceful and even more sweaty.

it’s a good thing that when your mind goes, your ego goes with it. 6 hours of doing anything builds character and destroys friendships. have you ever looked into a comrade’s eyes and realized you’ve memorized them and not by choice but because you’ve had to look at them for the past 5 hours? exactly. it’s not powerful. it’s demoralizing. it’s lifechanging in the way that accidentally misplacing your car for 4 hours is lifechanging. without a modicum of difference. however, i can faithfully say to that group of people with which i spent it, “i know what you did last sunday night” and may that information bond us in a horrific circle of backstabbing and passive-aggressive twirling forever more.


similar to these girls, at least our costumes are synchronized!
photo courtesy of Flickr and StevenM_61