stereotypical single woman

Remember how, in my last whiny little post, I had expressed a great urgency to get my car fixed while it was in lovely suburban Grand Rapids because I had this irrational fear of it breaking down in middle of downtown Detroit? Seriously, I am terrified of this happening. There’s nothing that says “go ahead, mess me up” like a middle class white girl in a broken down Saturn sedan on the outskirts of the Detroit ghetto.

In order to take every precaution that this wouldn’t be happening, last weekend I left my car with my parents and borrowed my mom’s minivan for the week, with plans to return it this weekend. A nice, reliable, never-given-us-any-problems Pontiac Montana. A soccer mom car. A safe car. A car that, last night, in the freezing (literally, it was 12deg here), snowing darkness left me stranded. Only a couple of blocks from my apt., but still, that fucking minivan, it KNEW it was fucking with me. Bastard loved playing the little “Let’s make Sara completely lose her shit” game with me. And it won. I’ll admit it, I started crying like a little girl (okay, the added stress of a big project for school that is not going well, still being sick and in pain, and work problems added to the general hysteria, but dammit, I DID NOT NEED THIS RIGHT NOW YOU FUCKING PIECE OF METAL.)

Luckily, after a few pleas to whatever benign power is out there (I believe the exact words, screamed at the top of my lungs, were “Is this funny asshole? Really, do you get your kicks out of leaving single women stranded in the middle of an intersection and letting them freeze to death? Huh? Happy now?”) I was able to get the car going well enough to get me to the apartment complex driveway. Where it died again and had to be towed to the repair shop. The diagnosis? Either the head gasket has cracked or a cylinder burst. I am cursed.

Oh, and I just found out, my car? They can’t find anything wrong with it. There’s absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t be driving it. If I wasn’t on such strong painkillers right now I’d be drinking in order to cope with this cruel twist of fate. Heavily.

(someday soon I will have something happy to tell you, I promise. I don’t know what or when, but it better be pretty fucking good, and it better be soon, or I am going to lose it)