|That's me (and my van)|
Oh. And Febreze. (Lipstick on a pig.)
Unless you are elderly (why do the snowbirds love the minivans?), or obsessive compulsive.
I love my van. I used to promise my college roommates I'd never drive one, but now I'm out and proud. I love every inch of it, even the cracked tail light, from when the lady got hit in the Costco parking lot in Las Vegas before she sold it to us on Ebay.
I have really grown to appreciate my tiny little van, because lately I've been cruising in this:
Yes, that's our school bus. A 12 passenger Ford. We share it with my sister for carpool. It is BIG, and our kids love it. We are planning a road trip to Nebraska in it next summer. So in case you were wondering exactly how how cool the Beeswaxes really were, now you know:
And now my 1991 Acura Integra is in the car spa (Wes' Auto and Diesel), where Fred (car) got all new suspension and a new distributor, which will cost approximately two-and-a-half times what he is actually worth (which ain't much). It is his 20th birthday gift. I got him new in November 1990, back when I still wasn't cool, but looked it, cuz I had a fantastic car. It even lured my husband to me, and for this reason, we keep it, as a very large, garage-space-hogging symbol of our deep, undying love.
That smells inside like an old boat.
And the ghosts of 2,000 drive-thru In-n-Out burgers. Animal style.
Overheard at book club last night: "If you start talking about the book, then we're leaving." And then they did.
I'd like to spend the wee hours of every Friday morning out in front of the Paradise Bakery chatting about Queen Esther. And, you know, other stuff.
I don't know why I haven't blogged in a month. I miss it. See you soon.