Sunday, August 29, 2010

Equality for the Married!

I’ve been married for 6 months or so at this point. When I was a kid, I always envisioned marriage to be a 50/50 partnership straight down the line. I thought the second the marriage official signed the paperwork objects ceased to be mine or hers but ours. In reality, she has her things and I have mine. This does not meet my idealized, childhood viewpoint of marriage. I’m going to try to fix that through a few posts.

The first issue is the car situation. We both have Hondas (for the obvious reliability) but mine sucks and hers is awesome. I have a Civic – the smaller, wienery of the two. It’s made out of cheap plastic that breaks easily. For example, I was backing out of my driveway a couple of months ago and cut my wheel to fast and went over the curb just slightly. I know it’s against some sort of man code, but I have trouble backing up.* When I checked out my car to see if it was all right, the bumper was slightly loose. On further inspection, my cheapo car’s bumper connects to the body with these a series of little circular, graspy things. One of them was broken. The grasps are about a centimeter in diameter and made of plastic. No shit? It broke? Crazy, huh? My solution to a problem like this is to just ignore it. What’s the worst that could happen? The bumper falls off? I don’t need a bumper. I see Mexican dudes around my hood driving cars without bumpers every morning. Their cars seem to drive perfectly straight. So I am currently still ignoring it and it is currently still dangling.

My car also stinks. I’ve had it for 2 years or so and it smells funny. Not ha-ha funny like a fart but peculiar funny like there might be a dead body in the woods near your house. I do have many fond memories of getting fast food and cramming French fries or tacos down my throat over those 2 years. Maybe some of the tacos/fries missed and ended up under my seat. I’ve been spraying Febreeze in car periodically to counteract the smell, but it just smells like Febreeze and shit. I’ve tried to look under my seat for uneaten food, but I can’t really see and my hands are too big to feel around. It is an unfixable problem. Maybe I can take it to a dealership and when they ask me, what’s the problem, I can say, it stinks. Maybe they have a guy with really small hands who can dig out the Cheetos. Maybe they will have to take the seat out to get under it. Who knows.

Going along with the stink, someone put some stains on my cloth seats. There is a bunch of smudged chocolate on the passenger seat. I don’t eat chocolate, so it couldn’t have been me. I do have two dogs and I have to drive them around sometimes (the vet, Petsmart, they want to go for a drive to get away from their stressful lives of sleeping, eating, and genitalia licking, etc.). I hope it wasn’t the dogs. They can’t eat chocolate. It makes them sick.

The clock doesn’t work either. It is currently moving through time faster than the rest of us. It used to be 2 minutes off and now it’s 7 minutes off. The Japanese use the metric system, so maybe Honda’s metric time converter is on the fritz.

It’s fully established that my car sucks. My wife’s car has XM radio, leather seats, and smells like it’s owner is a clean woman who likes her car to smell good. Since we are married now, I think this whole that’s your car, this is my car situation needs to end. We need to be a singular unit. I propose that whoever wakes up earlier gets to choose. This should be first come, first serve. I know what you’re thinking: you’re a teacher, so don’t you wake up super early? Doesn’t she have a normal, real job – one that starts at 9:00? That’s not the point. It’s about equality, not the semantics of who wakes up first. Equality for all!

*I have a messed up neck from getting excited when UT scored against Oklahoma a couple of years ago and jumping with joy only to quickly realize that I was standing under a door frame. My neck crunched, and apparently, I’ve got such mad hops that I made a little crack in the frame and a tuft of my hair got caught. Since then, turning my head is not so easy.

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