Gas in my car

I have once again manipulated Royce into putting gas in my car. Is it manipulation if someone knows they are being manipulated? Hm, I dunno. Why do I hate to put gas in this little volvo? I never had a problem putting gas in my old jeep and man I was putting gas in that danged thing every other day. Oh my jeep (snif, snif).

We were talking about this the other day and I said resignedly, "I'm o.k. with the volvo. I know we had to get it for safety and economy, but I also know I ain't keeping it forever..."

Royce was like, "Well what are you going to get?"

I just looked at him and glared. He knew.

I always feel like I'm getting in someone else's car when I get in that tiny little... thing. It's so short. I pull up to the bank drive-thru and I just hate the feeling of having to stretch up to get the cannister. And I'm a pretty tall woman. I dunno. And it smells like really bad garlic breath. Royce says that is the smell of the Italian leather. Is he joking? I don't think so, I think he's serious. (shaking my head)

We sold the jeep to this guy in Alabama. Now get this: he buys it offa Ebay for 2 grand, then flies here to pick it up and then drives it home. He must have had to put 500 bucks in the tank. It got 9 miles to a gallon. That's NINE. I think a Kenworth with a full load of frozen chickens would do better. He was very nice, but very southern fried and incredibly tall ~ like 6'5" and he was huge, probably close to 250 or better. Way too big for the jeep in my opinion ~ even though it accomodates large people, he didn't look right in it driving away. He was going to use it for hauling equipment for his weekend DJ gigs. Ugh. I can only imagine what is on the cd player right now.

Last time I drove it I was playing Marc Broussard, who happens to be southern like the guy who bought my jeep.

Stoplights turn into skyline
And my mind turns to you
200 miles behind off to this roadside dive
Wonderin' how this cup of coffee's gonna see me through
But this has been our story, same sad song
Ever since the day...
The day you came along

It's a lonely night in Georgia
And everything I do
Reminds me of being with you
It's a lonely night
But I'll be alright
'Cause I'm comin' on home
Comin on home to you...

Can you get more sentimental about a car? I don't think so.

But it ain't about the car, it's about sensuality and living that certain.. life surge inside in the most genuine way. It's kinda like when I do the dishes and I won't let anyone get me a dishwasher. The convenience is fine, I understand that. But the process of doing dishes by hand ... filling up the sink, the hot water, putting in the soap and the bubbles, letting the forks and knives and spoons soak for a bit while I wash the bowls and plates. Taking the sponge and moving it in this slow circular motion, back and forth, up and down the sides... and the satisfying final rinse...

There are certain things that maybe shouldn't be compromised and there is this certain richness in old things and old ways, a sexiness... like when you go by a coffee shop that's been around for awhile and is called something not... trendy.. and there is art on the walls and the coffee brews, fresh baked pastry brought in from one of their baker friends up the street... and you go in and you say hi to the owner and you check out the wall for the musicians and the poets who will come in during the week to do their thing..

It's real. And delicious and deeply a part of something that people have been doing forever ~ the design of that jeep had been made for decades and it was a true sensual experience to drive that old cool carburated woodwagon...

Plus in it I could crush little volvos like popcans if I wanted to.