The wheels are turning. Abbey, my long serving Subaru, is getting long in the tooth with her 211,000 miles. I've been shopping around for her replacement, and though I know it would pain her to know, some newer, sexier ladies are looking good.
I've been postponing this action for quite some time. Tens of thousands of miles, actually. I just kept telling myself that she'd change, that the rust would diminish and the fire would burn in those 4 small cylinders forever. Who am I fooling, though? We're both getting older, and maybe it's time to promote honesty to shotgun. As I get deeper and deeper into this relationship with Abbey, it just gets more expensive, and at some point, the costs have to outweigh the benefits. When you can't be sure you can go a week without some kind of emotional blowup, it might be time to part ways.
I've started kicking the tire on a new lass, a big body girl with a popped top. Yeah, I know fake hooters are vain and silly, but I can see myself kicking back with her on road trips, climbing rocks during the day and playing cards on her fold out table or sleeping in her beds at night. I don't know her name yet, but as my friend Pepe from Spain once yelled in a crowded bar one night, "Estoy enamorado. Do you know what that means? I'm in love, man!" He happened to scream this epithet over the pulsing of bad techno, and was talking about an ugly Pakistani who could best be compared to an abject mule, but whatever.
I'm talking about my lady, a burgundy 2001 VW Eurovan, and she's no donkey. I can't yet answer the question my secretary posed yesterday as to if it came with a free bag of weed, but I'm excited at the prospect even if Ms. Burgundy doesn't. You can always find an eighth in Boulder, ya know? After all, estoy enamorado.
I've been haggling with the dealer who's pimping her on his lot. He and I are negotiating some kind of trade for Abbey, and even though we've had our spats, I want to get an unreasonably high trade in value for her. We'll see if I can work out some kind of deal, and I'm hoping that Hans' experiences with the Drunken Fan Van, the gold painted Dodge conversion van with CU Football decals on the side, wasn't indicitave of all van owners' experiences. If owning a mini RV means I've got to drive through the ghetto of Junction City, Kansas with a horn that won't stop honking, regardless of the fact that no one is pushing on the steering wheel, I just might pass.
Am I the kind of guy who should be owning a van? I thought about that yesterday, St. Paddy's day, as I was walking through downtown Denver. There was a horde of green clad drunken college kids, the executives exiting the office towers, and me. I wasn't sure I wanted to be one of the drunk kids, and I didn't even have a green shirt on. Nor was I wearing a green thong, though a very inebriated DG on 16th street was trying to show the free mall ride her equivalent. Oops.
I thought that maybe I should be one of those guys in an executive business suit and driving an Audi. He was rushing from his luxurious office and its cush leather chair try to make it to the Nuggets game where he undoubtedly had box seats and some bimbo bombshell waiting for his arrival. Just one such sportscar tore out of an underground lot and narrowly avoided killing me, but I was too enamored with the thought that I'd just seen myself pass by behind the wheel to angerly shake a fist. Thinking, "there I go," I watched his car head west but noticed a McCain / Palin bumper sticker, and settled my little dilema, right then and there. I'm no business exec. I don't need an Audi. And then a van drove past, honking.
The half dozen 20 somethings in the auto laughed and yelled, wishing me a happy St. Patrick's day and told me that the luck of the Irish was with me, given my name and all. They drove past, and pulled over just ahead. I looked up to see an Access Fund sticker on the rear windshield, and heard Groundation pouring from their speakers.
One of them then slid open the door and puked on the curb, only a few feet from my shoes. "My people!" I exclaimed, and hopped in. And off we went for car bombs. I voted for Obama, anyway.
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