A Welcome and A Warning and I Hate My Car
I finally decided to get a LJ for a number of reasons. I've been seriously neglecting my actual journal because once I get into a spiral of events I become too lazy and sometimes too anxious to seriously confront the issues at hand. My journal's generally full of anxiety-prone babble and I get sick of writing the same things over and over. I realized how repetitive I am after rereading some old high school journals and comparing them to my current one. It's a sad moment when you finally accept that your main focuses are all the same as your high school self. And a bit of an embarrassing epiphany. I figure that writing for an audience, who for the time being will be mostly you Roxana, will encourage me to write about anything more substantial than boyfriends, sex, and arguments with my sister. Take it easy on correcting my grammar, Fris already called dibs as my professional pedant.
As a warning I do complain. A lot, but you already know this. Lately things have been exaggerated by my PMS, but I have legit concerns. I hate my car, for one, and I hate my car insurance even more. It seems that my car decides to malfunction in one of those "probably-shouldn't-ignore-this-for-fear-of-my-life" ways just before I have plans to go out of town. Earlier this year, my car nearly lost it's life entirely to a crack in some important part of the engine. What ever was cracked was leaking air into something else and Nissan had to go and stop making that specific part. It was a boot! A-ha I remember! My ignorance on cars prevents me from delving into any further details; this rubber boot had a crack in it and it was leaking air in or out, whichever way is the bad way. My mechanic said that he could try to order one from some overseas company, but that would cost more money that I had. This was around the time that I had to get my smog checked and my mechanic, Tony, came up with an idea: since I get paid very little, he said that after two failed smog tests I could apply for state aid. With the boot issue it was a certainty that I would fail and I did, I applied for financial aid and was approved. So while my idiot brother was wondering what the state was doing with his tax refund, I snickered with the satisfaction that once again the government screwed him while it assisted me. I got lucky though, because it was shortly after that I had planned to go to Cancun.
This time around I'm not so lucky, the governments not around to help. Just my parents savings. Earlier this week I was suppose to go to Roxana's house (
I feel awkward talking about you rather than to you as you're one of two readers right now) on the way to Ryan's house I noticed that I was having to push the pedal further and further down to come to a stop. This has been a reoccurring problem within the last couple of months, and, though it didn't happen at the time, I'm sure the drive up to San Francisco only expedited the problem. After I had picked up Ryan and was on my way to the freeway the pedal was on the floor and I would only slow down, not stop entirely. That was the most terrifying moment I've ever had behind the wheel so far.
I took the car to the mechanic yesterday and he said my master cylinder had gone bad and needed replacing. $370 and half a day later my car was good as new, only not really. It seems my tires are bald, and the two on the front are spewing wires out like angry, rubber, metal-spewing demons. I'd like to see Allie Brosh draw one of those. Tony said that good tires would cost about $100 each, plus labor and I'd have to find someone to realign my candor. All that comes to about $500, I only have $463 in my account and my tires probably won't last another month, if I'm lucky. And I really don't want to push it, an exploding tire while driving will certain place first in "Scariest Moments Behind the Wheel". This really bums me out because the original $700 I had saved for our family trip up to Vegas for my sister's 21st birthday this month. I know I shouldn't go, but my parents keep offering ways to help me out so that I can go. I'm sick of being so dependent on them though, so I'm still decided the best course of action. On top of things my car insurance is making me pay double this month in a very legit yet assholishly roundabout way, for a mistake that nobody, meaning them, myself, or my bank, can track down.
And on a happier note, I've got a date tonight. Go me!
As a warning I do complain. A lot, but you already know this. Lately things have been exaggerated by my PMS, but I have legit concerns. I hate my car, for one, and I hate my car insurance even more. It seems that my car decides to malfunction in one of those "probably-shouldn't-ignore-this-for-fear-of-my-life" ways just before I have plans to go out of town. Earlier this year, my car nearly lost it's life entirely to a crack in some important part of the engine. What ever was cracked was leaking air into something else and Nissan had to go and stop making that specific part. It was a boot! A-ha I remember! My ignorance on cars prevents me from delving into any further details; this rubber boot had a crack in it and it was leaking air in or out, whichever way is the bad way. My mechanic said that he could try to order one from some overseas company, but that would cost more money that I had. This was around the time that I had to get my smog checked and my mechanic, Tony, came up with an idea: since I get paid very little, he said that after two failed smog tests I could apply for state aid. With the boot issue it was a certainty that I would fail and I did, I applied for financial aid and was approved. So while my idiot brother was wondering what the state was doing with his tax refund, I snickered with the satisfaction that once again the government screwed him while it assisted me. I got lucky though, because it was shortly after that I had planned to go to Cancun.
This time around I'm not so lucky, the governments not around to help. Just my parents savings. Earlier this week I was suppose to go to Roxana's house (
I feel awkward talking about you rather than to you as you're one of two readers right now) on the way to Ryan's house I noticed that I was having to push the pedal further and further down to come to a stop. This has been a reoccurring problem within the last couple of months, and, though it didn't happen at the time, I'm sure the drive up to San Francisco only expedited the problem. After I had picked up Ryan and was on my way to the freeway the pedal was on the floor and I would only slow down, not stop entirely. That was the most terrifying moment I've ever had behind the wheel so far.
I took the car to the mechanic yesterday and he said my master cylinder had gone bad and needed replacing. $370 and half a day later my car was good as new, only not really. It seems my tires are bald, and the two on the front are spewing wires out like angry, rubber, metal-spewing demons. I'd like to see Allie Brosh draw one of those. Tony said that good tires would cost about $100 each, plus labor and I'd have to find someone to realign my candor. All that comes to about $500, I only have $463 in my account and my tires probably won't last another month, if I'm lucky. And I really don't want to push it, an exploding tire while driving will certain place first in "Scariest Moments Behind the Wheel". This really bums me out because the original $700 I had saved for our family trip up to Vegas for my sister's 21st birthday this month. I know I shouldn't go, but my parents keep offering ways to help me out so that I can go. I'm sick of being so dependent on them though, so I'm still decided the best course of action. On top of things my car insurance is making me pay double this month in a very legit yet assholishly roundabout way, for a mistake that nobody, meaning them, myself, or my bank, can track down.
And on a happier note, I've got a date tonight. Go me!