Old story, new angle

Until the Volkswagen came into my life, with his plucky idle sounds and crazy torque, I owned nothing but Subaru’s.  Car one and car two were both used Legacy wagons (the second was an Outback).  Being a young person driving a station wagon was not cool, but it also makes one invisible to police officers trolling for speedsters.  There’s a reason I’ve never gotten a speeding ticket, and it’s not because I obey the speed limit.  Old folks drive station wagons, and the vehicles themselves look lethargic.

“*shaggin’ wagon zooms by* Was that thing really going 97MPH?  Nah.  The radar must be broken.”


The shaggin’ wagon’s cartoon identical

What the old Subaru’s lack in aesthetics, they more than make up for in reliability and durability.  It was with a heavy heart that I decided to sell my last Subaru to a friend who desperately needed a car upon his return from Afghanistan.  The transaction was not done in person.  I left the keys and the title in the unlocked car, parked it behind the house, and he came to claim it while Manchild and I were moving some of our shit to DC.

I’ve known this guy for years.  He was one of my best friends.  I trusted him.  Two years later, I haven’t seen a single cent, and I’ve been receiving expired plate/illegal parking tickets from Nassau county to the tune of nearly $800.  He never transferred the title, or got it registered.  I was hurt, offended, and pissed the fuck off.  He ignored me for a while, and then finally replied to a message.  He said he’d mail me a check.  I didn’t believe him, because even though my judgment was questionable when I left the car to him, I’m a fast study on the nature of douchebags.  This was in February of last year.  I’ve since given up on him and any possibility of reimbursement.  I was going to donate the car to Goodwill anyhow, so the part of losing out on revenue is one I can’t be too upset about.  It’s that I have accumulated a bunch of citations in New York without actually having been there, and his willingness to throw me away that hurt.


I didn’t sleep for shit last night and finally dozed off shortly after the sun came up.  I went straight into whacked-out dream mode.

My aunt was having a get together, and I was there with my Mom.  My left big toenail fell off while we were walking along a path, I lost my balance, and fell backwards into a HUGE hot fudge sundae.  Upset that I had fudged all over my party clothes (only dream me would be upset about swimming through ice cream), I creeped inside and trolled the attendees.  Lots of familiar faces, and some upset ones because I had ruined dessert by falling into it.  In the corner of the room, sitting on a bean bag chair, was the fucker who jacked my Subaru.  I went over and kneeled down next to him and shouted, “Alfie!”, into his ear.  He invited me to share the corner with him.  He seduced me by stroking the back of my knee, which seems to be my on button…  

Really?  A sex dream?  With that asshole?  Why, brain, why?  That’s not what I meant by unfinished “business”.

8 thoughts on “Old story, new angle

  1. Funny, I also recently had a dream about hot fudge sundaes. But, my dream didn’t have any dickheads in it, just combinations of hot fudge and different kinds of ice cream. Seems like I remember choosing Oreo cookie ice cream in my dream, even though I shouldn’t be trying to chew something like that. I’m not supposed to eat nuts either, but I recently cheated and had a few Buster Bars from Dairy Queen (which I’m currently paying for), because Buster Bars have fudge inside (unlike Dilly Bars). So, you see, my dream makes sense — my brain’s just trying to figure out how to get its next fudge fix (say that three times fast). However, if I had been thinking about all the dickheads I’ve run into lately, I’m sure my dream would’ve included one of them. I suppose my brain decided that ice cream was more important.

    Since the car is in your name, I guess you probably can’t make that dude pay for those tickets. Hard lesson to learn. But, on the bright side, you’ll never make that mistake again. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Too many A holes about 😦

    My ex husband once bought a 2nd car in MY *name (insurance too) and his stoned 22 year old nephew who was making moon-eyes at me every day at the dining table, staying a few days with us on his visit from Ireland, went through a red light. There was a photograph of him and a fine for me. I contacted them and said it wasn’t even me – I am a swoman! They let it go.
    I like Volvos. Will have another one day… Big, comfy, sturdy and look like a brick.

    *With my money, without asking. Typical of him. He screwed me financially.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Pingback: Volkwagen Emissions Settlement: Say goodbye to the Blue Steel? | Polishing Dookie

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