Are you fucking kidding me? A memoir

     No one is ever going to believe this.

    Picture this, okay? I'm getting home from a date, ready to sleep for three hours and hit the road, two cans of tripleshot espresso in my fridge. Everything goes according to plan. I'm ready to see Oxnard State Beach.

I have an insulated lunch box to keep my iPhone from getting too hot. And my uncle made me bring water.

    It's an amazing drive. Excluding the fact that my car is old and has a tendency to get too hot on long drives-- easily fixed by turning the heater on full blast and opening the windows, btw-- my odometer never went below 90mph and I was absolutely vibing, totally ready for the beach and to see my uncle, who lives in the city next to Oxnard.

    I pull off the freeway. My car has been solid the whole drive: no noise, no lights, no worrying signs. Trust me, I check her. I am five minutes away from the beach.

    Then this motherfucker starts losing power. Not suddenly or anything, but ever-so-slowly as I'm entering regular streets. Well fuck.

    Stroke of Luck #1: she died when I was off the freeway

    I'm hoping it's gas. She still had some in the tank but hey, maybe running your car for four hours and never topping her off is the issue. She made that trip in one tank, y'all. I'm trying to get her to the Chevron, but then she dies across the street. Two policemen pull up in the next breath, as I'm popping the hood, and offer to push her to the gas station. I know I normally err on the side of ACAB because it doesn't negate the good of the individual policeman, just points out that there's an inherently flawed system that they all cooperate with and work for, and therefore. ACAB. And part of me is worried I'm going to get taken away for something; maybe my car shouldn't have died there, or whatever. But when they offer to push me, I am suddenly For the Boys in Blue.

    Stroke of Luck #2: they help me push her and the gas station is a couple hundred feet away

    I fill Dani up. To the brim. We don't go hungry in this house. I don't make a practice out of making my car run on fumes, but a) she wasn't running on fumes and b) I kinda wanted to see if she could make it. I crank the engine. Nothing. Hmm. It sounds like her battery is fine, nothing is clicking, and besides, I just had all that stuff changed, but what else could it be?

    The guy at the pump next to me offers to jump her. He doesn't have cables though; I do. Except I think he took them. I don't remember very well but I couldn't find them. We spend five minutes waiting for my car to charge a little except, as I keep telling him, I'm no mechanic but it sounds like her battery has power.

    Stroke of Luck #3: guy at the gas station. potential booster cable thief.

    Nothing happens. Dani will not roar to life. I'm like, "for real? I just make a blog about us cruising around the beaches and you fucking die?" And then I got really depressed. Regardless of this blog, Dani is as important to me as Goddard is to Jimmy Neutron. She's my best friend, and we've gotten out of a lot of jams and near misses together. I couldn't just. I couldn't just go to the beach-- which I can smell-- while she's dying.

she has a fucking charge! her battery seems fine! no lights are dull!

    I call Triple A. They come and tow me to one of the only open shops on a Sunday in Oxnard, California. Tow truck guy tells me that it's better to scrap old cars. I tell him it's better if he shuts his mouth. He offers his experience of it maybe being the fuel pump or the timing belt. I offer my experience of getting pissed.

this literally made my heart ache

    The shop inspects her. Timing belt.

    Here's the thing about the timing belt. Everyone wants to assume it's a battery problem because the car won't start, and it's not clicking, so what else is it? A timing belt is one of those things no one ever tells you that you need to fix, even though it's not designed to last the car's whole life like the rear main seal. A timing belt needs to be changed every 60,000-80,000 miles, and that bitch is crucial. It keeps everything in sync. The problem is that the timing belt is most important when starting a car, and so every time I cranked Dani, the belt would malfunction. I jammed two valves or pistons or something. I made it worse. When I tell you that made me feel nightmarish. When I tell you the way my heart wanted to claw out of my chest when the mechanic said I made it worse.

tell me only men use this bathroom, without telling me

    So they had to change the timing belt. They had to fix what I jammed. They had to clean the oil pan since the fragments of timing belt fell in there. And just for me, because I took my car so seriously, they would inspect all my hoses and my fuel pump, and replace them if they needed to.

    Total cost? $2,685. 

    My sister likes to tell me-- without knowing the timing belt cost-- that I could've spent what I have and gotten a newer and better car. But I don't want that. Dani is perfect for me. She's ugly, and short, and she's reliable, and she has her flaws! We all do! She doesn't mind that salt sits in her seats for a month, and because she's so old, I don't mind if it takes me a minute to clean her. I just replaced her rear main seal too, and that's a lifetime piece. I'll be damned if this is what makes me give up on my best friend.

    It's not like this pushed me into crushing debt or anything. I had just finished paying off my credit card, and the guy gave me a payment plan. Probably because I looked like I was about to cry. And I have two jobs, and I love that little bitch car. Why not?

    My uncle came to pick me up.

    Stroke of Luck #4: his city is like... fifteen minutes away. thank god

    We hang out the whole day, and it's totally great. We're both the youngest and have anemia and depression, and so he totally understood what I was talking about when I said I leave at four am for the quiet, even though I play music.

    I never made it to the beach. I made it to Bank of Books, spent way too much money for someone with a 3k bill, and found three books on California beaches, where to go, where they are, how much, what's the weather, so please get ready for an update on the Bitchin' Beaches Bucket List.

I also bought this. If things go well with the dude I was on a date with, maybe I can cross these off. Or I could do it very bitterly solo.

    My brother in law had to pick me up, and drove eight hours round trip picking me up to bring me home, because Dani will take about a week and a half in the shop. Maybe two weeks. My uncle and I already worked it out though-- I'm going to fly to LA and he'll drive me down, and I'll go to the beach then. Maybe I'll make an actual weekend of it, since he has a spare room. He offered to let me stay the week and a half, and people, when I tell you that was so fucking tempting. Buuuuuuuut I have a bill of almost 3k, and I don't think I'd be popular at either job if I did that. I think I'd be written up for sure, and they'd take hours from me. 

    So I came back. 

    You could smell the ocean from the repair shop, and I admire the mechanics there, but I know that's what will really get Dani feeling like herself again. Once the timing belt's back and she's good to go, the saltwater smell will get her back in her vibes.

    I can't believe this is the first beach update I'm giving, and I didn't even make it to the beach lol. Well, I have to go pick her up in a week and a half, so I'll go then-- and get some more Mexican food because DAMN, California knows where it's at. (unsurprisingly. but still.)

    You know what this means? Me and Dani will keep on refusing to crap out on each other. And this blog won't die yet.