Help Me, Honda

"And could you stop at the bank too?" I asked Hot Guy, feeling only slightly guilty. 

"Really? All I'm going to do is run around in the car all day!" he replied, exasperated. 

My car is in the shop. I think they need to rebuild it or something. Since we can't get a new car and the one thing I forgot to research when originally looking for a minivan was how well they last, I shouldn't be surprised. But 2 days without my own car is starting to get on everyone's nerves, let me tell you.

Bit of advice: Do not buy a Kia unless you want a cheap, safe car that you will only use for two years.   

Anyway, Hot Guy is sick of running errands and my mom has other stuff to do besides pick up the kids twice a day. Not that they are saying so, of course. But I can tell that my deep appreciation for their help is not making up for the fact that filling in for me is apparently kind of annoying.

Bonus: They're going to stop wondering why I don't accomplish more during the day. 

This is one of those times that I wish I was a famous blogger so that some car company would give me a car to blog about. Does that happen? Do people get cars? Can I pitch Honda to give me an Odyssey to blog about every day? Because I totally would. Every. Single. Day.

Thought: This is probably why I'm not a famous blogger. Only a car could get me to post every day anymore. 

Look at that face, Honda (or Toyota or Chrysler. I love Hondas, but I could totally be swayed). Wouldn't you love to use it to advertise your product? I will totally let you. . .as long as you give me a minivan. It can be used. You can even give me one of those horrendous gold ones, I don't care. 

Do you think that's a good start for my pitch letter? 

Is being dependent on others for rides starting to drive me insane? 

Was "Help Me, Rhonda" the worst Beach Boys song ever? 

My Car, Myself

Something I read recently asked, "Is Your Car A Reflection of You?" (Sadly, I can't remember what asked. It wasn't a blog. Or the school newsletter. Or the latest Peter Robinson novel. So probably a magazine or a website. Dang, I read a lot. No wonder my house is so messy.)

So it got me thinking about my car.

Like me, my car does have a fat ass and is really, really pale.

It's also kind of messy.

But show me a mom who doesn't have a messy car and I'll show you a woman with obsessive-compulsive disorder.

So is my glacier blue, messy minivan "me"?

I mean, it's a total mom car and I AM a mom. It's messy and I need a good hair cut. It's filled with stuff we might need and so is my brain.

But. . . it's not me, not any more than my old car was. My old car had obnoxious bumper stickers. It was red. It had make-up in the glove compartment.

I'd like to think that there's more to the concept of me than whether I'm a suburban mom or a single teacher. God knows they (and all my other incarnations) live in my head. But what does my head have to do with my car?

I can't accept that our society has become so shallow and materialistic that "car" and "self" can be synonyms. If your car is a reflection of you, why are fat, balding men always climbing out of sleek Porsches? Why do perfectly respectable people climb out of junker cars?

I mean, sure, the President, the Pope and Paulie the Pimp's cars reflect who they are, but I just don't think that's true for the average person. Do you?