Mike says I should not say stuff like that where the car can hear me, but by God, I hope that jalopy hears my whine, feels my rage or at least feels a steel-booted toe to the tire.

On the way home from work, with nothing but the air conditioner and the radio on, my alternater light went on. I shut off my air conditioning and the radio; I prayed, hung onto my steering wheel with white knuckles, and drove the thing to my garage. I had hoped to test it to see how it was charging yesterday.

Fucking car.

My mechanic is one of the nicest guys around and he looked at me yesterday and as he tested to find that the alternater was already gone, with his nice Californian Central Valley accent he said,"Wendy, I hate this car." Enraged at my car, I nodded and said,"I do, too. In hindsight, I'm awfully glad I brought you guys that zucchini bread."

Fucking car.

I wish I could just take a big gigantic sledge hammer and pound it all over the car. WHAM! goes the windshield. WHAM! goes the door. WHAM! goes the rear window. In lieu of my fantasy, I called the car rental place and had them pick me up at the garage and they gave me a real car. Of course, it's a Mitsubishi for a fee, but at least it runs.

Then the real paying through the nose stuff had to happen.

This morning, I called my parents.

Geesh, why didn't I just cut off an arm, sell a kidney or donate all my blood instead? It would have been more pleasant. Rather than listen to the phone call, my big fat hairy chicken husband preferred to run like hell for the shower, but I made him listen to the call anyhow.

My dad wasn't there. I told my mom that the car had had an ongoing alternater problem and had gone through something like 6 alternaters in eight months and that my garage had torn the thing apart and not been able to find what was wrong. I told her that we'd been spending increasing amounts of money to rent cars to get to work and that the car was becoming a money hole.

My mom said Dad would be mad because the last time they bought me a car, I was supposed to make payments to them for just such a contingency. Only, I never was able to make payments. I'm always so damned broke. I told my mom, that I'd already assumed Dad would be mad and that Mike and I were both willing to sign a promissory note, if they wanted. My mom said,"...there's no need for that."

I dunno. I think there's a need. At least if it's official, I'd feel more motivated to sell organs to pay it. I just wish my stupid car would hang in there for another year until Mike can graduate into a $60K/year job. It's tight for a family of 4 to live on $40K a year in California, especially when one of those people has to pay for school, too. Our rent is one-third of what I make with my raise! Never mind that Genny seems to be growing through her clothing so fast that I can't hardly keep her clothed. I'm going to have to start squeezing time into my schedule to sew for her, just to save money on clothing. What the hell do I need sleep for, anyhow? I'm working on websites on the side, so I'm using a lot of excess time to that end, but what's a few more inches burnt off the ole candle o' life, hey?

Fucking car.

My mom asked what ballpark we were talking and I told her $7-9K from what I'd seen online, but that I hadn't been to any dealers to check out the real universe. My drive-by the certified used Hondas in Davis appeared more expensive than that, anyhow. Through a dealer versus private seller, I figure I can get about $2000 trade-in on my car, if I'm lucky because the Kelly Blue Book on my car with a perfect windshield, a good paint job and clean upholstery is $4500. Being that I don't have any of those, I might be able to get $2000 out of it. Maybe. Like in a pig's eye or something.

Fucking car.

Now, the question is do I bother to drop the money on it to take it to the dealer and let them fix it or not?

I've juggled the books into a whole new level of dexterous numerical ridiculousness. Paul has been robbed blind and Peter is making out like a bandit. The problem is that there seem to be a lot more Peters around lately than Pauls.

Fucking car.

On top of my fucking car, the reason my dad wasn't there is because he was helping his father get settled in a nursing home. Apparently, Grandpa S. has been struggling all summer with a cold that went into bronchitis and he's 91 years old and feeling pretty wiped out. My grandmother didn't feel she could care for him at home, so he's been placed in a nursing home until he gets better.

These are the same grandparents that I'm dying to take the kids to meet before it's too late.