I am back! We still haven't set up innernet at our apartment, so I have to sneak away to the coffee shop when I can. I have been working on this post for a couple of weeks, but never had a chance to actually post it. This morning, I got to work a little early, and had time to proofread my post and upload some pictures. Also, I am wearing red heels. Did you know that only whores wear red shoes? Seriously, once during my clinic class we were talking about women, the law, and sexuality, and one law review article quoted a judge stating that, in his opinion, "only whores were red shoes." Funnily enough, I was wearing red heels that day, and I proudly marched around the rest of the day, proclaiming my apparent whoredom.
Okay, as I noted in my last 3 volume sized post, I have been car shopping.
The transmission in my faithful Buick died and the Knight and I decided that rather than fixing it, it was time for me to have a car that I loved.
See, ever since I was 16, I have driven hand-me-downs. Now, I am not ungrateful. And, I realize that many other people would be so glad to have driven the cars that I drove. It's just that I am a tiny bit of a car person. Like many people, I am invigorated by driving fast, turning up the radio, and singing at the top of my lungs. When I was younger, I dreamed about my first car like some girls dreamed about their weddings. But, over the years financial common sense and practicality won over good looks and fast engines, and so I have driven a host of donated cars.
First, when I turned 16 I got a 1990 Chevy Corsica. I think we named it Carrie, but I can't remember. My grandmother gave it to me, and it was a very cute starter car. It was fairly reliable, and great for a new driver to learn on. After I got in an accident and totaled out the Corsica (my freshman year of college), my aunt sold me her purple 1996 Dodge Neon for about $500. My friends and I endearingly referred to that car as the Cupcake because of its size and color, but whatever it had in cuteness it lacked in reliability and safety. The Cupcake let me down too many times to count, and I know I paid for that car many times over its worth in repairs. The Cupcake met her demise on the side of the road in Arkansas in the middle of a 108 degree day (timing belt issues). I safely hitched a ride with a trucker, and though I later got it fixed, Cupcake was never the same.
After the Cupcake, my uncle (who is married to the aunt who sold me the Cupcake) felt so bad about the Neon that he gave me his old 1997 Oldsmobile Cutlass. Although it was an Oldsmobile, I have to say that it was pretty cute one. It had a sunroof, leather seats, and radio controls on the steering wheel. The Oldsmobile was the first car that was somewhat reliable. Unfortunately, the motor for the sunroof quit working during its tenure as my car, but other than that, it was a nice car.
Right before the Knight and I got married, his grandmother passed away, and somehow we were chosen to inherit the infamous Buick LeSabre. The Buick had been driven by a granny and when we received it, it only had 36,000 miles on the odometer. My Oldsmobile had about 150,000, so the Knight and I decided to sell it and I would drive the Buick. They always say that hindsight is 20/20, but looking back I wish I would have pushed more to just sell both the Buick and the Oldsmobile and buy something that I would have loved. But, at the time, the Knight felt funny about selling his granny's car, and we weren't married quite yet, so I just stayed out of it.
I have driven the Buick (better known as the "hooptie") for the past 3 years. It has been an interesting experience and the Hooptie and I share a lot of memories. I was in the Buick the day that I got lodged in a car wash and was stuck inside for a couple of hours (talk about terrifying). I started and ended law school in that car. The Knight and I have taken countless road trips sitting upon its burgundy velour seats. We used to joke that the Buick was a hotel on wheels because of the number of naps taken in there and its plushy old person comfyness. I used to get tickled every time I'd drive the Hooptie on the interstate because I could look in my rear view mirror and see a line of cars behind me - their interiors contained drivers cautiously eyeing my car's appointments, trying to determine if I was indeed a "plain white rapper" (undercover cop car) or just some elderly lady driving to get her hair done. Once each car would figure me out, they would zoom by, relieved to have confirmed that their speeding would not be addressed by me.
The Buick has not been a great car, but it seemed to know that the Knight and I needed it to last just a little while longer. Although we have known for about 2 years that it needed a new transmission, our theory was that we would just drive it 'till it died. We both prayed numerous times "just make it through this road trip" or "just last us until law school is over" and "please don't die until we can afford to fix you."
A few weeks ago, the Knight and I spent a good deal of time driving around different areas of Memphis and northern Mississippi looking at nice places to buy a home. We were talking about what to do with the Buick now that we have paychecks. Should we try to fix it or sell it? Almost on cue, the Hooptie's transmission starts to go haywire and our thoughts jump from future repairs to "Are we going to make it home?"
Since then, I have shopped for a car like it was my job. I have Autotradered, CarFaxed, CarMaxxed, ConsumerReported, Kelley BlueBooked, and NADAed the heck out of some car shopping. Finally, about 3 weeks ago, the Knight and I found an extremely nice, extremely well-taken care of Lexus at a local broker/dealership (CITY AUTO). We were literally about to open our mouths and make an offer when the Knight's dad called to say that one of his good friends was selling his old BMW 330ci. And asking an extremely fair price. As much as we hated to tell the oh-so-patient car salesman that sorry, we are going to have to wait, but we simply cannot buy his car unless we go look at this one first, we told him just that and drove home.
The anticipation killed me the rest of the week. I wanted that car so bad I could taste it. I even made a little Word document of cut and pasted pictures featuring the car's body, color and interior. Whenever I would get restless, I would just open that document and start dreaming about my new car.
Well, that weekend we drove to McMinnville to see the car. It was a beauty. Even though it is 7 years old, it looks brand new. Apparently, the lady who drove it got it detailed every week. Every week? Who does that? Amazing.
Anyway, we totally bought it. And it is beautiful. I have never felt so excited about something. Well, okay, maybe I was a tad more excited when the Knight proposed. And getting Betty was a pretty big deal, too. But this car is right up there.
Anyway, here is a picture. The Knight was cute and found a big red bow in the attic, just like those Lexus Christmas commercials. He is too funny. Goodbye Buick, HELOOO BMW!
Here is the best picture I have of the interior. Please don't mind the drunk girl holding the dog in the background. Someone needs to stop feeding her cosmos, that is FOR SURE!
OKAY, you are probably all thinking, MOVE ON, ARTSY FARTSY! We don't care to read 10 pages about your new used car.
If that is so, then we can't be friends, because quite honestly, that is the most exciting thing going on.
But, I guess I can drum up some other gossip. I have a new haircut. I'm not sure how I feel about it. It is kind of a cross between a mullet and the Rachel cut. I think it has potential, but I just haven't quite figured out how to fix it.
The Knight is turning 29 this weekend. He's been kind of pitiful about it, and I don't know what to do to cheer him up. Any suggestions?
The Knight and I are all done decorating our apartment and moving in. So far, we like our location, and generally our apartment complex. Unfortunately, this Sunday both our kitchen sink drain and our guest bathroom toilet got clogged. Nothing says fun like getting awakened by the Knight at 1 in the a.m. to make a mad run to the Walgreens for a plunger. Also, our neighbor is slightly creepy...actually, he is creepy enough to make me ask the Knight to walk out with me at night when I take Betty outside. I can't put my finger on what it is, but all I know is that he gives me shivers...and not in a good way.
I am really starting to like Memphis. There is tons of stuff always going on, and I have already made new friends. Memphians are FRIENDLY! In fact, I have made two Memphis friends via our blogs. First, Amy at Worrell Wind Life and I had lunch when I first moved here. We haven't done much since then, but we're going to have to change that. Amy, I want to hear all about your new job!
Also, Jess(ica) from Fiat Lux and I have had some serious bonding time. Hi Jess! She may disagree, but I think we are well on our way to being good friends. Plus, her hubby and the Knight get along, so that's always good. She is clerking for a judge here, also, and she has an adorable little Yorkie named Reagan. He and Betty are in love, and so we try to do our best to get them together.
As expected, I have become obsessed with the Pottery Barn and Williams Sonoma outlets. Of course, it isn't all my fault. At least that's what I keep trying to explain to the Knight. Can I help that my Nashville friends keep coming to visit me and they want to go? I have to be hospitable, right? Who am I to deprive my friends from one of the most holy bargain-hunting experiences?
Okay, well, that is all I can think of for now. Hopefully, in the next post I can put some pictures up of the apartment-ay, and the new painting I did. Also, I will try to put some footage of Betty in her Ballerina costume. Priceless.
Also, Daisy is in town for the entire week, so I am a happy little bee. Last night we ate inexplicable amounts of sushi at Blue Fin and promised to not feel guilty about it.
Ya'll have a good Wednesday!
Artsy Fartsy is trying to figure out where in the world she can buy cool and conservative graphic tees for a soon to be 29 year old that aren't sexual, crude, or frat-tastic. Seriously, who wants a t-shirt that reads "Orgasm Donor?"