Car Cleaning: a road trip necessity

-

     Okay, okay. I admit it. My car's a fucking trainwreck. I'm the only one that rides in her, and sometimes I have a tendency to let some mess slip by the wayside. Who is it bothering, right? 

    Then. Then I spill salt on my seats and promise myself I'll clean it, over and over and over again, but I'm the only one who ever goes in my car so who fucking cares, except I kind of do, lowkey, and I'm anemic so it's a disgusting temptation of desperation, but still, it's SALT, and somehow it got all over my winter peacoat, which, why do I even have in my car, Jackie, it's fucking June? It was 115 degrees the other day, but I have a fucking peacoat in my car? Someone make this bitch make sense.

    But when I go on a trip, it's kind of like those juice cleanses people do, except it's not a scam and I don't gain any weight back once I start eating solid food. Point: it's rejuvenating. Kind of like those eye creams that are also a scam. Did I just discover something better than Olay? Not that that's hard to do. Better than dropping $600 on La Mer or Khiel's or something, because some of us are broke. These trips are a'ight because I don't eat and my car has surprisingly good mileage for a 2002 shitbox. Anyway, I like to feel new, wholesome, like I have my life together and never figured out that a knife feels better on your wrist than it does cutting a vegetable. Holy shit, y'all, that was dark.

    But it's true! On a beach, I don't care about my stretch marks. I don't care that I'm bigger than I'd like to be. I don't care that I used my wrist as a cutting board. Is anyone watching? Sure! Maybe! That's life! Am I gonna care? No! The ocean drowns whoever she wants to, whenever she wants to! VIGOR.

    Anyway so I documented this important process, because tomorrow when I wake up at 4am and grab my triple shot can and hit the road, I can feel like I, for once, have my life entirely together. Which will be a lie when I come back to reality but still

     Also I forgot to take after pictures. Look, you're just gonna have to trust me. It's clean.

Yes, that is a sticker that says beach bound

I was unashamedly bumping Taylor Swift in this Uncle Rayski's because I was the only car there at 1am, and also because Red drops November 19th! AHHHHH!

I don't know how I clean her windows every time I get gas and she's still so filthy.

Okay, but lowkey how lucky was I to get a shitbox with a motherfucking MOONROOF. That shit is fucking ICONIC, y'all.

See? Peacoat. What the fuck.

Not me casually carrying a mug from my house and a copy of Midnight Sun


My face when I looked at my car and realized how bad I'd let it go


I use my driver's side pocket as a mini trash can.

She was missing half this paint when I got her, I swear!

LOOK AT THAT. WHAT IS THIS?

Literally only I could clean out my car and find an empty box of Chinese takeout. Chinese food is my guilty pleasure, and once I start thinking about it, I can't stop. Fuck my life.



I was not kidding. Salt. There is salt. There was salt. All over my passenger seat. Fuck my anemic ass lmfao.

    And there you have it! No after pictures but again. Trust me. Was I going to go to an Uncle Rayski's, clean the exterior and leave? No. A vacuum was right there, and the salt had been bugging me for a month. You read me right. A fucking month.

    Thank God for beach trips that help me get my life together a little bit. See ya when I leave in 10 hours!


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Dani: I miss you, I'm sorry, I miss you, I'm so sorry. Why couldn't I go with you?

-
      I have been refusing to make this post since it happened.              The family joke from the day I got Dani is that if she went, I went. I would die when she did. And I poured everything I had into making sure she did not. I poured everything I had into that car. The joke was that I would stop paying for repairs when she needed an engine rebuild, and even then, probably not. I'd probably rebuild it. We traded suffering. She drove me when I needed to cry and scream at night, and I suffered sweat and financial costs when she had some issue on the way to the beach.     I was so, so, so stupidly in love with that car. My pride and joy.     Notice the past tense? Tell me you see where this is going, because I want to cry writing this without even saying the words.     I always thought if Dani were to leave me, it would be in the kind way. One final wheeze to the beach and back, and I could let her g...
Read more

Dear God, It's Me Again, Can't Catch a Fucking Break.

-
    Anyone remember my super devastating car crash? The one that killed my best friend? And still continues to ruin me every time I get drunk enough to remember I am in actually super crippling grief?     Remember that?     WELL GUESS WHO CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF HER CATCH A GODDAMN BREAK.     And why is it always on a trip to California? California, what are you trying to say? Am I supposed to stay, and that's why I break down? Do you hate me and that's my punishment? Does it matter to me?     So I'm driving to California, right, because I have to go to USC, to see the super misogynistic doctor who is very obsessed with what my medication is going to do to my womb, if I ever bear fruit, as if I'm bearing fruit at all right now.     And I'm driving safely! It's a bright sunny day, dry roads, light traffic, I am in the left lane behind a black pick up truck, with enough space between us to fit an RV. I know this because there's an...
Read more

In Memoriam: Fuck the Ocean, the Universe, and Any Cosmic Entity

-
      Shortly after I wrote the last post, I went to California, on a road trip, in my new Mazda, with Nick.     I wanted to go to Coronado, but I was afraid. Afraid because the beach Dani and I used to go to all the time was going to prop up memories. Afraid to do it alone, but afraid to do it with Nick. I wasn't sure how I'd react, and I wasn't sure he'd be helpful. Not even I know what to do with my grief. How could an outsider know, even one who knows me best?     A little secret: sometimes I blame Nick for the accident.     That's not fair, and that's not true, but in my most irrational moments, I can trace the fault lines all the way back to him on that day, and I can trace them back even farther.     I moved into my new place that day, he came to see it, left and said we should get dinner. I was sweaty. I'd been cleaning all day. It wasn't a fancy place, but it didn't feel right to go to my first dinner as a renter with sweat...
Read more