shutitdown: taking one for the anecdote

Results tagged “driving”

On being awful

lina: i was driving today and a handicapped person cut me off
lina: and i was thinking
lina: i wish there was a hand gesture i could give that would insult their handicapped-ness
lina: like a limp wrist to a homo
lina: and then i thought
lina: max is right
lina: i am an awful person
max: what
max: what am i right about?
max: oh that you are awful
max: i only mean it halfheartedly
By Lina on January 9, 2006 5:34 PM

Things

1. Driving to work is decidedly colder with no heater.
2. My favorite song today: Go! by Tones on Tail
3. My favorite song 12 years ago: Anything, Anything by Dramarama
4. The song I was listening to when I got into a 4 car pileup on the Bay Bridge: I Love Livin' the City by Fear
5. Almost done reading: The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton
6. Just finished reading: Blink by Malcolm Gladwell
7. Statistically improbable phrases from Blink: rapid cognition, intuitive repulsion, sip test, adaptive unconscious, red decks, sentiment override, double fault
8. The statistically improbable phrase from Blink that I can most relate to: intuitive repulsion
9. Statistically improbably phrases from I. Lewis Libby's novel: assistant headman, tiny dancer, man with the pole, mountain trousers, old samurai, lacquer workers, liquid woman (Why no mention of bear rape?)
10. Oldest item on my wishlist: The Nightmare on Elm Street Collection (Been there for 4 years)
11. Current ringtone: Tubular Bells - Theme From The Exorcist
12. Watching right now: The Colbert Report
13. Last concert: Devo
14. Next concert: Depeche Mode
15. Things I feel guilty about: unread New Yorkers, four hour Lifetime miniseries, my inability to manage my 401(k)
16. Things I have vowed: never to date another man with neck tattoos
17. RSS Feeds: Wonkette, The Superficial, Gawker, Sploid, Nerve, Slashdot, Word Usage, New York Times, BBC News, Google News Top Stories, Weather, Word of the Day, Grammar Tips
18. For Dinner: Homemade split pea soup
19. Number of books in my stack of Evelyn Waugh titles, yet unread: 6, Read: 3
20. Favorite word from Mad Magazine: "Blech"
By Lina on November 8, 2005 8:24 PM

Cataloguing the destruction of my car

Breaking news:
Today, the heat and defroster stopped working in my car. When I turn the knob, it makes a sickly grinding sound, and then...nothing.
By Lina on November 7, 2005 9:23 PM

Nothing seems right in cars

I was driving down the freeway today listening the some new wave tunes, when all of a sudden, my car was attacked by what appeared to be a wrench. Of course I'm not sure if it was a wrench, because when a metal object is hurtling at your windshield at top speed, it's hard to tell what it is. I chose not to duck, but sadly I survived nonetheless. My windshield, however, was not so resilient. I was able to find some satisfaction in the fact that the most recent damage to my car was for once, not my fault.

Unfortunately, the satisfaction was short-lived. When I arrived at work, I cruised through the parking lot and confirmed my suspicion that I possessed the most pathetic vehicle of all of the employees there. Between the lack of hubcaps, enormous dent that my ex-boyfriend tried to fix with metallic spray paint and a hammer, the now shattered windshield, plethora of other dents and dings, and finally, the chain license plate holder I installed in an attempt to "keep it real," it now appeared that I was actually driving what I have now dubbed "the shame machine." When I am arriving in the morning, I avert my eyes in the hopes that my co-workers won't notice who is driving one of the most miserable chariots to ever be used on a daily 2 hour commute.

When I got to my desk, I called the employee assistance program, which offers short-term therapy for the hirelings at my company. "What is the issue you are experiencing that you would like to talk about?" the receptionist asked me.

"I hate my car," I replied. The silence on the other end was deafening. But then, I was offered a same-day appointment. Perhaps the receptionist hated her car as well, or decided that my willingness to request therapy about my car was indicative of a greater mental illness.

I went to the therapist's office, and spilled my sad tale of woe. He looked at me quietly for a while, and then finally observed, "You seem upset."

Past tales of my car accidents:

  • car accident
  • car accident
  • car accident
  • car accident
    • By Lina on October 24, 2005 8:43 PM

    For the love of God

    The other day my mother attempted to convince me that the only way I would stop sabotaging my own life was if I started thinking positively.

    "Just repeat positive affirmations to yourself," she instructed me. "Try saying, 'I deserve to be happy' to yourself during the day. It'll really work!"

    So yesterday, as I was driving to work, I muttered to myself, "I deserve to be happy, I deserve to be happy, oh eff!"

    I had driven my car, once again, into another car.

    This, I decided, was God's way of telling me that I was wrong.

    My relationship with God, like all of my others, has been little more than fodder for the comedy routine I call my life. A few years ago, after I caught hand, foot and mouth disease from a subway train, I decided that God was punishing me for not believing in Him. I told my mother about this theory last night while crying about my latest vehicular "episode," and she responded by saying, "Oh Lina, I hope you aren't serious."

    "About what?" I asked.

    She sighed deeply and replied, "This evidence of some kind of faith. I'd like to think we raised you better than that."

    And they had. When I was in kindergarten, my teacher, Mrs. Smith asked the group of collected five-year-olds to have a moment of silent prayer for some major world event. Perhaps it was the Soviets' refusal to participate in the Olympics, or Michael Jackson's heinous pyrotechnic accident that result in severe scalp burnage. I sat quietly, while we prayed. I related the story to my parents that night at dinner, thoroughly confused. "Quiet time," was hard enough for me to comprehend, having experienced this at home so rarely. But this "prayer" thing, now that was a complete mystery.

    When my parents heard about it, they grabbed me by a pigtail and marched me down to the school, where they filed a complaint regarding my teacher's attempt to inject some sort of spirituality into my my day-to-day heathenism. My parents' complaint was effective. Never again was I asked to pray, or even for that matter, silently reflect. I was free to go on shouting "penis" on the playground as I was wont to do before they tried to break me--it was a more innocent time.

    Around the age of eight, I decided for a few weeks to pretend to be Jewish. This was something I did now and again when I wanted to cause trouble. Didn't want to participate in the school's Christmas Pageant? Must abstain, I was from a marginalized peoples. Before the time that I wielded Judaism as a tool to make my teachers uncomfortable, I actually gave it a serious go. Meaning, I read Anne Frank's diary and cried, and then insisted that my ungodly family have a Seder that year for Passover.

    For those of you not in the know, Seders can be seriously painful events, despite the alcohol consumption requirements. Imagine sitting at a table with your family for three long hours, eating hard, unleavened bread and reading aloud a hefty manuscript about God, the only momentary reprieve is getting up to open a door for an imaginary friend.

    My family solved this by creating a non-denominational, seven minute Seder. There was not a single mention of God, and the bulk of the seven minutes focused on the plagues. Vermin, boils, and locusts--now that's something my family can embrace.

    This display of religious fervor was matched by a Hanukkah celebration we had one year. The meal featured latkes (potato pancakes) and applesauce of course, but also a giant pork loin that my father had decided would be somehow appropriate. "What goes better with applesauce than pork?" he implored us, raising a meaty fist to the sky in celebration of that cloven-hoofed swine. The men in attendance, having no yarmulkes, put napkins on their heads and recited, "Baruch atah adonai...blah blah blah." Not able to remember the actual prayer, they mumbled for a moment and lit some candles before feasting on juicy pork.

    Never fear, our disrespect for Christianity was just as ardent. Our Christmas tree was topped not with a traditional angel or star of Bethlehem, but rather with a plastic lawn flamingo that had been hollowed out and stuffed with lights, giving it an unearthly pink glow. One year that I remember, we decided to not to celebrate Christmas on the 25th of the December, the anniversary of Jesus' birth, but rather on a day that we found more convenient.

    My apartment is adorned with a 3-D picture of Jesus, that at different angles is a portrait of the Virgin Mary. My parents brought it back for me, on a recent trip to Italy. They like to feed my adoration of (usually violent) religious imagery. It is framed with shellacked pink Peeps, that ubiquitous Easter treat, and a gastronomic celebration of Jesus' resurrection. It hangs slightly crooked, unable to keep a straight face.

    A few years ago, I found a gift under the tree with a name tag that read:

    To: Lina
    From: The Baby Jesus

    It's no surprise then, that I reached adulthood, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, without the presence of a higher power in my life. I've been lucky though. I've managed to fill the spiritual void with a lethal cocktail I've concocted, comprised of shopping, carbohydrates and hibernation. I mean, what more can you expect from an infidel?

    By Lina on May 19, 2005 8:34 PM

    Not my fault.

    Well, well, well, what a turn of events we have had here in the shutitdown world this past week. As you know, my driving skills can only be described as "challenged." So when I got into this last accident, although it was not my fault, I accepted that I must, in some cosmic way, be to blame. So when I got a phone call a few days ago from the officer who responded to the accident, I was pretty surprised. Between bites of his doughnut he said to me, "Well, I know you were pretty upset at the scene of the accident. You said it wasn't your fault a number of times. So I decided to consult with some of my colleagues with more experience in the field and we went back to the intersection, and we have determined that you are correct. You were not at fault." Although I am in a fiction writing course this semester, this last paragraph was not an assignment for that class. It's all true. Let me summarize. A cop admitted he was wrong. I was in a car accident that was not my fault. It's like some tectonic plate under the earth shifted and all of a sudden I was caught in some parallel universe where things--unlike in my regular day-to-day life--were as they should be. So now I am going to have the riches of the insurance company and hopefully a golden tiara at some point soon.

    Regarding the therapy, so far my therapist has decided one crucial piece of information about me. I need too much outside validation. And I haven't even told her about the webpage yet... Imagine?

    By Lina on September 11, 2003 4:24 PM

    More validation from the medical field...

    I've had a very busy week, hence my lack of updates. I started school this week, got in a car accident, and got fired from my job (yet still work there).

    More exciting than any of these things is the trip to the dentist that I made last week. I had a sort of introductory exam with my new dentist, and along with all the other standard things that dentists do, she instructed me to open my mouth as wide as possible. She then whipped out a metal ruler-like impliment and measured my gaping maw. I said, "So doc, how did I do?" She proceeded to tell me that I, shockingly enough, have the ability to open my mouth wider than the general population.

    This, in conjunction with my incredibly inviting cervix, would make me the perfect woman if I would only consent to the voicebox removal surgery. Not yet my friends, not yet.

    More news from the therapy front--yesterday I went and signed up for therapy, as I can hook it up for free at school. This is very exciting, because I have been talking about doing this for more than six months. I'm hoping to work through my daddy issues and perhaps get diagnosed with something more exciting than, "hysterical neurosis" or plain old depression (BORING). I had to fill out a form that, among other things, asked why I was choosing to seek therapy at this time.

    I wrote, "Because people keep telling me that I am 'crazy.'"

    In other news, I have once again crashed my car into another car. In reality, she crashed her car into me, but because I was making left-hand turn, this is my fault according to the police at the scene. Nevermind the fact that she was coming out of a driveway and had about as much right-of-way as a fat woman on a tightrope.

    By Lina on August 29, 2003 4:35 PM

    Quoth the Frances (and my mother and the mechanic...)

    My Mother on my Upcoming Root Canal

    My Mom: I think this is one of those situations where it's appropriate to raise your fists to the sky and curse your faggot God.

    Frances on Meat

    fran: haha
    fran: i loved meat when i was 8 too
    fran: i used to suck the blood out of steaks
    fran: yumma

    The Mechanic on my Driving

    Mechanic: Well, you might want to tell whoever has been driving your car to STOP RIDING THE BRAKES.

    *(this fellow obviously has no experience with CRASHING HIS CAR INTO FOUR OTHER CARS ON THE BAY BRIDGE AND THE RESULTING PARANOIA. fucker.)

    By Lina on July 30, 2003 4:59 PM

    Blah blah blah.

    So here it is. I haven't posted in a few days because I have been too busy crying and whining. Now I shall tell the tale you have all been wondering about--the tale of woe that befell the house of Lina--the story of how I drove my car into four other cars and lived to tell about it.

    Here is what happened. I was on the Bay Bridge going in to San Francisco. I was in the left lane. The dude in front of me hits the brakes. So I hit the brakes. The dude's car swerves, and hits the wall on the left side. I see him swerve, and that's when I realize that this is not the time for normal braking, this is slam 'em time. So I slammed on the brakes, and a moment later my car slams into his. It was a real bummer. Of course his car was fine, and my car was "totalled" (that would be using the insurance definition of the word totalled). Anywho, I get out of the car, and have just hoisted myself onto the railing of the bridge with the intent of plunging myself into the icy depths of the San Francisco Bay when I see the reason that dude slammed on the brakes. There was another 2-3 car accident directly in front of him. The reason I can't tell the difference between 2 and 3 cars is that they all, except one, left the scene immediately. It was great. Had my antifreeze not been all over the highway and my hood through my windsheild, I would have left too.

    Anyway, I cried. The cops were mean to me. I got towed. I called my insurance company. I don't have collision coverage, or towing or anything. I went to a doctor and got a whole bottle of muscle relaxers. I plan to sell them one by one on Ebay. I went to a body shop. The car shop dicked me around. It was cool because they didn't answer their phones so I had to constantly go down there to talk to them, and there were usually 4 or 5 homeless guys hanging around in the shop drinking 40's out of coffee cups and taking shots off a bottle of "Milk Chug." After 4 days, (mind you I am paying for a rental car this whole time) they tell me they don't want to work on my car because they want to go on vacation instead. So I go to another body shop and this time take my daddy with me. Apparently, men are only interested in working on the cars of other men. Because once I brought my dad, everyone was much nicer, cheaper, etc. This is especially interesting because my dad knows about cars on an equal level with like, one of JonBenet's competitors. Nonetheless, the price went down and is hovering around $1800-2000. I have already bought $800 in car parts on the old credit card. And I'm renting a car. LIFE IS GRAND!!!

    What is especially lame is that I have really set up my life so that I need a car. I live in the middle of nowhere, I go to school in the middle of nowhere. I have an internship in the middle of nowhere, a job, likewise. I do my volunteer work in the middle of nowhere. (Yes Wondergirl I do have a job and do volunteer work!) So seriously, I don't think I could live without a car unless I move. Which isn't very realistic for me.

    Anywho, if you want to help me, that's totally rad. If you don't, that's okay too, but I hate you. Just kidding. Anyway, the easiest thing you can do for me is to just sign up for the porn I advertise over there in the sidebar. It's free or a $1 or something, but you do have to give them your credit card number. I signed up and it really wasn't a big deal. I haven't been ripped off or kidnapped or anything. So you sign up and it costs you nothing, and I get the $20 referral money. You also get the added benefit of getting to see 18 year old girls who took gymnastics naked. Or something like that. So it's win-win. For those of you who want to step up to the next level, you could paypal me some cash. Now I know this is ridiculous, but I have to assume that there is the off chance that there is someone here who actually cares that I got into a car accident, and isn't just waiting around hoping I will take off my shirt someday. Anything REALLY helps, and even when it is only a tiny amount it makes me feel good to know that you care about these amusing little scrapes I continue to get myself into. Or just send me a yahoo card or something. It's all good. P.S. Tracy gave me $25 because she is a FREAKING ROCK STAR!!! Thanks darling. And someone else too. :D

    In other news, my friend Stacy looks particularly cute when she holds babies. I have proof. But my scanner is unplugged so I will have to post that tomorrow.

    If you are looking to spend money on an internet stud (other than me), please give Shaun a shout. Luckily for us, he's on AOL so feel free to add him to your buddy list. He sounds like a real winner.

    From the shutitdown guestbook:

        03rd October 2002 - 09:21:30 AM    
    208 : Shaun
    Do you buy naked photo's of people. I was told you did, and if this is true, then I am skint enough to want to make some money in this way. I am male, 30 years old, and live in the South East of England. Let me know...

    One last thing, I only get 14 people a day here now. My moment of glory is over. So unless you want me to end up like Serra you better go click on this link. It's just a cam listing directory, but it gives me a little traffic which I like. Also, there are a particulary flattering picture of my cleavage on it, so go check it out. Also, just go back every day and vote for me. Okay? OK!

    The last thing I have to say is that I wrote two papers this week, and have two more to go. I like one so much that if I get an A I will post it here. I like that I got a dig at Jesus in it. Digs at Jesus are always funny. So send me money. YAY!

    By Lina on October 9, 2002 11:40 PM

    car wrecked.

    I hate my life.
    By Lina on October 3, 2002 6:34 PM

    strike that last entry.

    I told my mom about the motorcycle ride incident and she said that it was appropriate that I wore an "I'm retarded" helmet, because I must be retarded to get on a motorcycle. If that wasn't enough, she also mentioned the likelihood that I would become retarded after an accident on said motorcycle. But, "not retarded enough to enjoy it, you would still know everything that you had lost." Then she tried to force me to say I would never do it again. So I told her I was going skydiving this weekend. xoxo
    By Lina on August 28, 2002 12:06 AM

    So cool.

    Today I had a life-changing event happen. My friend Ben is visiting right now. If you will recall from prior updates, he is from Oakland and moved to New York to be my friend. Anyway, he's in town right now which makes me super-happy because I only have like, 2 friends here.

    To get to the life-changing part, he took me for a ride on his motorcycle. Now, I am not the motorcycle sort of girl. I am concerned with safety--I wear a seatbelt, etc. Also, I am a wuss. But Ben is my little buddy, so I hopped on and had THE BEST TIME. I swear, it was like, the best thing that happened to me since I discovered warehouse supermarkets. We went up to the hills and saw a view of the whole Bay area. It was rad. And I looked really cool. What made me look particularly cool, other than the fact that I was on the back of a motorcycle, was that I was wearing a helmet that said, "I'M RETARDED" in two inch block letters on the back.


    God, I am cool.

    Anyway, to get to the point, I have now decided that my potential boyfriend will have to have a motorcycle. So far the only other requirement is heterosexuality, so this shouldn't be too hard.

    <3.

    By Lina on August 25, 2002 9:29 PM

    Friday Five - car talk?

    1. Do you have a car? If so, what kind of car is it? I have a silver Toyota Camry. It's very boring, and I look like a soccer mom. But that's okay I guess.

    2. Do you drive very often? I drive often, but not far. I haven't filled up my tank in almost 3 weeks.

    3. What's your dream car? I used to have the cutest car. It was an '86 Volvo. Here's my brother in front of my baby. I love the older Volvos, like from the 50's and 60's. I'm not a car person though, so I really don't care.

    4. Have you ever received a ticket? Only parking. But lots of those.

    5. Have you ever been in an accident? One time when I was 16 my dad told me that if I didn't get into college by that fall he was going to put me in a foster home. So I left the house crying and got into a car accident. It was really just a little fender bender, the car ahead of me didn't even have a dent. But the police were called, and I was still crying, so it looked really bad.

    And then the guy I hit claimed to have whip-lash, so it became an at fault accident with bodily injury. So my record was all screwed up. But I moved to a non-driving city (NYC) for a few years and let my record get all clean again. So now I am driving. And I love it. LOVE IT.

    I think in honor of this Friday Five I am going to go get a car wash after work.

    Word.

    By Lina on August 9, 2002 3:40 PM
    1