A few days ago, I got a phone call from Matt, a friend of mine back in DC.

"So, I have something to tell you."

"...er, what?"

"I'm standing in the middle of the AU parking lot, in front of this SUV."

"... okay."

"It's green. Texas plates."

I had a flashback.

"The SUV that was carrying the carload of sorostitutes who made the illegal left turn and plowed into my car while you and Amanda were driving with me last fall that took months and month to get fixed and reimbursed because they claimed that they weren't doing anything illegal and refused to file a claim with their company?"

"Yup."

"You sure it's the same one?"

"Let's put it this way - I can see where they hit you, still. And it's the same plates and bumper sticker and everything."

"Ohmygod."

"And what's even better is that I can see at least five more accidents' worth of dings and dents and scrapes on this vehicle."

"... you realize this makes my week, right?"

I could hear his grin, even over the phone. "I figured it would."

We chatted for a bit about California, but then I had to go to work.

But yeah. Just wanted to share. In a way, I feel that poor Beatrice has been vindicated.



In other fun news, on Friday night, I was working and Eva's roommate Mica and her girlfriend Gladie were hanging out in the apartment.

We were in the middle of Eva's shower when the lights flickered, dipped, and then completely went out.

The bathroom was pitch black. I made sure Eva was secure and then went out to the living room.

The power went back on, but only slightly (something that I now understand to be called a "brown out"). The television in the living room was blue with lines of light shooting across the screen.

"Guys?"

Mica and Gladie appeared, Mica using her cell phone as a flashlight. I went and got the flashlight from my backpack (I have a little flat one that I carry about with me). I went back into Eva's room to finish the shower.

Mica stuck her head in the door. "Uh, guys? There's some kind of alarm going off downstairs. Do you think it's a fire alarm? Should we evacuate?"

Adrenaline flooded my system as I listened for the alarm. If the elevator was down, that means that we'd have to walk down five flights, and I'd had to either put Eva in a manual chair, or carry her down the stairs.

I ran into the bathroom and got her dried off and in her pajamas. Mica came back in.

"I don't think it's a fire alarm, I think it's just from the generator kicking back on," she said.

We plunged back into darkness.

"Uh..."

Mica and Gladie lit candles. Eva snuggled into bed, we set up a table and chairs in a half moon around her, and by candlelight, I read from Different Loving, which is a book on S&M that I'm currently reading.

"Today's reading selection is from... Different Loving," I intoned, to a fit of laughter. We read about infantilism (adult babies) and spanking and even had a small discussion. The candlelight flickered and we speculated about the blackout and told jokes and when Casey called me, they made faces and made me laugh.

As my shift came to a close, Kat and Tali, the two other roommates, arrived from their vacation to Jamaica. We all hung out and laughed and reminisced, since it's been weeks since I've seen them and I miss them and despite the fact that I've only been working for Eva for two months, it's been seven hours a day, five days a week, and I feel like I've known Eva and her roommates for ages.

It was fun.

All right, time to get my day started.

I'm putting together a community for The Next Great Adventure, and I want a referential post about Beatrice! So here I am posting two pictures of Beatrice, looking all lovely in the mottled sunlight. I also want to say that her voice sounds like Poe, she's the most sturdy, awesome car ever, and also, baby got back. As you can see from the pictures.

( pictures! )

I have often thought about this invention. In fact, every time I attempt to park my car somewhere in the city, I think about this invention.

Except in my head, I could just put it in a little case and carry it around with me. Like a camera.

Do you ever imagine your car has a voice?

I do.

That's because I'm crazy. Or, as Amanda would politely put it, "a little eccentric." But I do have strong relationships with certain inanimate objects (my car "Beatrice," my computer "Penelope," and certain other Battery Operated Objects That May or May Not Vibrate), and Beatrice and I have an special, close bond.

So, the voice.

I left work around 12:15 AM, freaking exhausted and ready to go home and crash. I walked the half mile to where Beatrice was parked next to an embassy. And I tried to unlock her using my little battery operated unlocking thingy.*

Beatrice flashed dimly, let out a feeble yelp, and then went dark.

Alarmed, I manually unlocked the door, got inside, and tried to start her up.

One more sad, faded cry, and then nothing. I turned the key. Nothing.

"Beatrice?!" I shook the steering wheel. It was sort of the vehicular equivalent of someone down on their knees, clutching the body of their friend who has fainted dead away, crying out their name. "Beatrice? BEATRICE?"

Silence.

I got out and walked to the end of the bridge, where there was a gas station. It was closed, and locked. And why not? It was TWELVE THIRTY IN THE MOTHER-LOVIN' MORNING.

Speaking of mother, I actually called mine. I woke her up.

"Your... car... wha?"

"Won't start. Won't start. Beatrice WON'T START."

"You have... AAA. Call them."

AAA! I do have AAA! I dug in my wallet and found my AAA card.

Which is how I found myself sitting in my very dead (no, no, fainted, FAINTED) car, in a cul de sac outside of some random embassy, waiting for someone to come wave smelling salts under Beatrice's proverbial nose. I called Rebekah because I love her, and also because she's on the West Coast and it wasn't a ridiculous, ridiculous hour there. We chatted about my hopefully soon move to San Francisco (*squeal*).

A man finally came. His name was Michael. He was my hero, and I told him as much, over and over. I popped the hood of my car and he brought this cute little jump start kit with cables over. He places the clamps on the battery. A finger of electricity snapped between them.

Beatrice sprang to life. Her alarm started going off. I turned it off, got in, and started her.

She rumbled cheerfully. I tested the little battery thingy. She chirruped happily. Success!

I hugged Michael. He looked startled. I imagine he doesn't get hugged by customers very often.

And now I am home. Home home home.

Bed bed bed.




* what the hell is the actual name for this device? And while we're at it, you know those little greenish hot peppers that you get in Papa John's pizza and at Italian restaurants and stuff? What are they called? I thought they were jalepenos, but they're not. There's another name for them. Where can I buy them in large, ridiculous quantities? I'm so addicted. I had, like, eight of them at dinner.

I need to take Beatrice to get fixed, but I can't not have a car for three days with all of the things that I have to do. So today I called my insurance company to see about getting a rental car.

My plan doesn't cover rental cars. But, the woman on the phone said, if the accident isn't my fault and the other company assumes liability, they can pay for a rental car.

Did they assume liability? I asked her.

She said she'll call them and she'll call me right back.

Twenty minutes later, I get a phone call back from my company.

Apparently, the girl who hit me NEVER FILED A CLAIM WITH HER INSURANCE COMPANY. Why, I suppose, is anyone's guess. Didn't want her premiums to go up? Gets into a lot of accidents? Didn't want to tell her parents? It isn't as though her car isn't damaged - the whole side was dented in from where her behemoth Tahoe ran into my poor Beatrice. But regardless of her reason why, she never did. Now, my company has to get into contact with the family directly and then go through the insurance company. So if she didn't want her parents to know before... well, I guess they'll know now.

I am SO ANNOYED by all of this. I just want my baby to get fixed and not have to pay through the ass for someone else's stupidity.