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I have never had good luck with cars, or anything motorized, for that matter.  The first  incident occurred when I was three, and I fell out of a golf cart and smacking my head on the ground.  It was a drought year, so the Midwestern clay was particularly hard, and all I really remember is being in the hospital for hours, throwing up on my favorite blanket, then demanding that the nurse wash it over and over because it still smelled like puke.  I sometimes wonder if she actually did re-wash it, because it seemed to come back awfully quickly, and never smelled any cleaner.

After that, there were series of minor accidents with golf carts culminating with me somehow driving onto a small evergreen tree and getting stuck bouncing up and down and not knowing how to make the cart go backward.  I think my parents had to pay for the tree, and my friend’s dad hated me after that.

I borrowed a friend’s moped for a quick ride around the park, hit a patch of wet grass, and flopped over at 10 m.p.h.

Even though I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 18, I totalled two cars by age 24, and had a series of ridiculous mechanical malfunctions that resulted in me being on a first-name basis with the head mechanic at Luther Family Ford.

In Winnipeg, MB, someone broke into my car and stole my stereo, purse, and friend’s jacket.  My purse had my passport and social security card in it–plus it was awfully cute.  Thankfully, I had my driver’s license in my pocket, so I was still able to get back into America.  When I told my mother that I had been the victim of a crime, she yelled at me for leaving the country. When I told the police, they just shrugged.

One of the reasons that I picked Providence to move to, is that the internet told me it’s a very walkable city.  Unfortunately, I’ve never actually had a job in Providence, so I’ve been commuting since I got here.  I’ve also had two car accidents in this state, in less than two years.  I’m starting to lose count of how many car accidents I’ve had, and I’m increasingly anxious on the road.

Last Thursday, Gentleman Caller (who shall soon get a new nickname, but I haven’t thought of one yet) and I went to Trader Joe’s.  After the shop, we put the bags in the trunk of the car, but I decided that we should take out the peanut-butter filled, chocolate covered pretzels for the ride home.  He didn’t realize I was going back in, and slammed the trunk door on my head.

Since I don’t have health insurance, there was nothing to do except take a lot of ibuprofen and feel sorry for myself.  I’m fine, didn’t die, probably wasn’t even concussed, but it hurt like a bastard.  I spent the next few days convalescing, and we came to the decision that I will be in charge of closing the trunk forevermore.

Late last night, Gentleman Caller was getting a beer out of the fridge when he glanced out the window and saw someone rifling through my car.  We ran downstairs, but he was already gone along with my GPS, some cash, and my CDs.  The Yakov Smirnoffcar was unlocked, so he didn’t break a window (thankfully), but I’m left with a lot of questions: Would he have broken my window if the car hadn’t been unlocked, or was this guy just walking around the neighborhood trying door handles until he found one open?  What drew him to my boring, unappealing Chevy Malibu in the first place?  Why would he take almost all my CDs, but leave Madonna, and my Yakoff Smirnoff book?  Who in the world takes CDs anymore? Why in the world do I still have that Yakoff Smirnoff book?

Now my car looks different to me.  Even though he didn’t really take anything that mattered too much, he left me with an uneasiness that I really don’t care for.  I keep looking out the window at my car expecting to see him in there looting, I expect it to smell different, and I expect to find something else missing that I really did want. We tried to arrange a sting operation by finding someone on Craigslist selling the same brand GPS that was stolen, but the person didn’t write back.

I’m taking to the woods this weekend with Jewish Friend to soak up the nature, smell of hippies, and knowledge of Washington Irving.  Let’s hope I don’t get mauled by a bear.

Is that children simply love to climb things, like fences, and garbage cans placed against fences to stop them from climbing the fence.  I’ve been sitting in my reading chair trying to work on a paper (yes, playing word games on the interweb), and the little bastards are tearing through my yard like they’re being chased by wolves.  To stop this, I:

  • turned on the outside light to stop the appeal of sneaking

Well, these children aren’t very stealthy, which is why I’ve already caught them listening to phone conversations, and why I can hear them running around the yard and jumping over my fence, so why would a little excess light be any kind of deterrant– silly me.

  • I started peeking out the window and looking directly at them mouthing words like “go away” and waving my hands

They don’t care.

  • Finally when they were clustered around my car for reasons I’d rather not know, I hit the panic button on my remote car opener, which turned on the lights and the horn and made them scatter like ants.

Naturally, they were back in two minutes.  This is really making me hate holidays and mild weather, which are two things I’d rather like a lot.  Maybe if they’re in the driveway when I try to leave, I can charge them and make them think I’m crazy– or I can call the police.

  • I’ve saved quite a bit of money on gas (obvious).
  • I’ve gotten a bit of a tan.
  • I feel now that I have more license to eat whatever I want since I’m getting exercise– not that my not getting exercise stopped me before, but I’m sure this has alleviated a bit of guilt that I may or may not have acknowledged.
  • A girl on the street told me that she liked my dress.
  • A rather unkempt man wearing a Harley Davidson shirt spit on the sidewalk in front of me, which grossed me out, but then without my even indicating that I was going that way, hit the walk button on the stoplight for me, then continued on his way.
  • I got hit on by a tall urban youth with nice shoulders.
  • A grizzled old man told me that I’m beautiful.
  • The crossing guard who works in my neighborhood stops traffic for me and allows me to cross safely even though I am clearly not a ten-year-old.
  • Oktoberfest beer is in season again, and this year I stocked up so I won’t run out before the end of September.
  • One of my bosses at my new job told someone else that I am “amazing”, my other boss told me, “we are so happy you’re here.”
  • I’ve been working half days and was told that I’d also better take off Friday, but this will not affect my paycheck in the slightest.
  • Jewish Friend’s car got backed into by an engineering professor, which is not a good thing, but it allowed me to refer her to my mechanic who I love, and love to give business to. She has also acknowledged that he is a wonderful human being, and he remembered me fondly telling her “Andria needs to keep her car cleaner.” I’m still unsure if he means the inside or the outside.
  • Since I’ve been working half days, I was able to have a lovely two-hour lunch with Curly-Haired Religious Scholar Friend and we caught up on all we had missed over the course of the summer.
  • I visited New York City for the first time and had a seriously kick-ass time.
  • With all of this free time I’ve had, I discovered that I too can make a delightful macaroni and cheese from scratch. I will use this knowledge this winter and subsist nearly exclusively on macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes, and feel more like a grown-up because I’m cooking for real and not from a box.