Tuesday, August 28, 2007

My adventure with cars and a ditz

Yesterday evening, my mom had a meeting at church, and she also wanted to get some grocery shopping done. So she asked me if I would drop her off at the church, go get groceries, and then come back and pick her up. No problem. So I go drop her off, and as I'm pulling out of the parking space, I don't turn sharply enough, and I scrape the car behind me. Shit. So Mom comes hurrying back across the parking lot, and I hop out of the car and we go inspect the damage.

You can hardly see it. I mean, I didn't think I hit it very hard, but it was even less than I'd expected. No dents, barely a scratch; nothing much that won't come off with a bit of buffing. So Mom said to go on and get groceries, and she'd go in and find out whose car it was (assuming it was somebody in the meeting; I mean, who else would be parked in the church parking lot, right?) and it would be no problem. Seriously, if you didn't know it happened, you wouldn't notice the mark.

But no. As I'm getting back in the car and she's turning to go in the church, this chick comes running up from the house next door, looking like the sky is falling. Apparently the car belongs to her fiancé, and they can't park it in the garage or driveway on their property, due to some vague reasoning having to do with the landlady. (Right.) She asks if I hit the car, and we reply that yes, I did indeed make contact. She comes around to look at the front of her (fiancé's) car, and has to ask where the damage is. I would assume that having to have the damage pointed out would make one realize that it's not serious, but no, she says her fiancé is "paranoid" about his car and we'd better just call—well, who do we call? The insurance company, right? Or the police? She doesn't know—she's apparently on the point of a nervous breakdown or something. So my mom, amazing person that she is, is trying to communicate to the woman that we don't have to call anybody; there's not enough damage to meet any insurance deductible in existence, so we exchange phone numbers and info, and if repairs are required, we'll pay for it. No big deal. We'll come and buff it out ourselves; it's not difficult.

Well, no, we have to do it exactly by the book, 'cause her fiancé's paranoid, and he'll kill her if anything happens to his precious car, blah, blah, blah. (Sidenote: It's a dingy-looking, late-90s Pontiac Grand Prix. Does anyone else see the ridiculousness here?) So who do we call? Well, my mother says, first you call the police. The ditz is ready to call 911, I swear to god. So my mother (I'm really glad she was there; I woulda killed this chick. As it was, I didn't have to talk much.) explains to her that no, you don't call 911 for a parking lot ding, if you insist upon calling someone, you call the local police station. So she does, and we wait half an hour for a cop to finally show up, and when he gets there and sees the "damage," you can tell, he just can't believe he got called for this. So he gives us "exchange of information forms" and we exchange information, like Mom suggested we do in the first place, and so we ended up wasting 45 minutes getting each other's phone numbers.

My god, the stupidity.

So now we get to wait and see if her fiancé's as big an idiot as she is. I swear, if I end up paying for them to repaint the bumper on their decade-old Pontiac, I will lose what little faith I have left in humanity.

Monday, August 20, 2007

relaxing afternoon

It's been raining all day. Most of the past few days, actually. This rather limits my mobility, given my current driving policy and my desire to stay relatively dry. I was feeling particularly disappointed this morning, because I'd composed a couple of emails last night and was hoping at least to get to the library today to send them. And of course, I haven't been on a decent bike ride in at least a week, and was considering this as a possible addition to my afternoon activities. But no, the morning's thunderstorms have been followed seamlessly with a strong, steady rain that has rendered me stationary, at least until four o'clock obliges me to go pick up Michael when he gets off the bus.

Having little else to do, I retired to my room and commenced reading, thinking to finish a few more chapters in Frankenstein before I got too bored. I had previously found the book oppressively dull, and so I despaired of finding some way to entertain myself when it grew too tedious, but I resolved to cross that bridge when I came to it, and settled down to read. I found myself pleasantly surprised, however, with the rest of the story. Perhaps it just suited my mood today; at any rate, I ended up finishing the whole thing.

I must say, I'd forgotten how delightful it can be, on a gray and dreary day such as this one, to sprawl out upon one's bed and become entirely lost in fiction. The house was quiet, save for the faint murmur of the TV downstairs, and my only soundtrack was the steady tapping of the rain outside my open window. I began with the intention of reading another few chapters, spending perhaps half an hour, and ended up over two hours later, looking up from the last page with the realization that my feet were numb with cold and I desperately needed to use the restroom. I haven't done that in a good long while, and it reminded me quite pleasantly of long afternoons I used to spend thus occupied as a child. It's good to know I can still do that.

And now four o'clock approaches, and I must be off to pick up Michael at Mom's house. I shall use the wireless internet there to post this and send my emails. Excellent.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

I live! and other miscellany

Woo, I return! So, the past three weeks, Kim was here, and then I was at Kim's, and in short, I wasn't online like, at all. I know, I know, you missed me terribly, all you imaginary people who read this stupid thing.

Anyway, yeah, well, nothing much has been going on anyway, so it's not like I've failed to report anything noteworthy. My mother's in China, and I'm chillin' at Dad's, like I have been for most of the summer, so, nothing new. I went to a ballroom dance at IPFW on Saturday with John, and it was pretty frickin' sweet. Except, of course, for the fact that I wore my new shoes, forgot to bring Band-Aids, and ended up with a grand total of seven more or less huge blisters on my feet. I was limping all of yesterday. But it was fun nonetheless. AND (drumroll please) a guy asked for my number. Of course, it couldn't be some hot college student (honestly, I didn't really see any of those there, though there were college kids around); no, it was this guy, I'm pretty sure his name is Scott, but I could be completely wrong, as I'm completely awful with names. But anyway, I've seen him at the studio I've been going to with Mom, and we've danced before, and he seems like a nice enough guy, if a little on the geeky/socially awkward side. But the thing is, I was (and still am, honestly) under the impression that he was significantly older than me, like, late twenties at least, possibly thirty or so. So, I'm not really sure how this rates on the creepy scale. I mean, I hardly know the guy (I can't even for sure remember his name!), so I don't wanna pass judgment or anything, but, well, eh. I dunno. I told him I didn't have a cell phone and gave him my email instead, so, we'll see. He hasn't emailed me yet, which I take as a good sign; hopefully that means he's not creepily obsessed or something. *sigh* Where's my prince charming, dammit?!

Anyway, in completely unrelated news, my dad is being weird this evening and it's getting on my nerves. Adults should not be allowed to act like children. Just...no. But I made a reasonably non-disgusting vegetable stir-fry this evening, and for a first attempt, I consider that a success. Michael actually said he liked it a lot, which amazed me, being that it was composed entirely of vegetables and tofu. I love being pleasantly surprised. It was kind of funny though, when I went to the store; going through the checkout line, I had a sudden image of what the lady checking me out was thinking of me. Here I was in sandals and a tie-dye t-shirt, my hair in braids, checking out with a bunch of fresh (some organic) produce and package of tofu, explaining to my little brother the difference between two brands of veggie burgers. Total hippie, you could see it on her face. But she seemed to not mind and was quite friendly, which is not always guaranteed around here. I enjoyed myself, anyway, and my dinner was, if not the most delectable thing I've tried, at least passable. My skills shall improve, I am certain, with practice.