two car family

Well...
I have my own license plates, my own registration sticker, and a temporary inspection sticker.
I also have no starter motor.
I walked the 200 feet down to the garage on the corner and asked them if they could do a NY State inspection and replace a starter motor. Sure, they said. This afternoon. Bring 'er on down.
The starter wouldn't even click this time, so I got in, disengaged the clutch, and had Dave push me down the driveway. Once I was going about 2 mph, I engaged the clutch, and the car jerked and roared to life. Terrifying. Dave didn't notice, and kept pushing the car until I figured it out and told him to stop.

They said they'd do it this afternoon, so after that I'll have my very own car that works. I'm kind of excited.
I will definitely let everyone here know whether the garage is a good one or not. It's precisely halfway between our house and Dave's mom's house, and since her house is at the head of the T intersection at one end of the street, and it's at the head of the T at the other end (it's a short street), I used to be able to see the name on the garage from the bedroom window where I slept (the guest room on the first floor).

I haven't really talked about the minivan here. It used to be called the Penguinmobile. I used it for two years when I was in college. It was mom's van for about five or six years, and when Katy graduated college, Mom got herself a PT Cruiser instead. So I inherited the van, and drove it happily for two years, through many adventures.
It's a red 1994 Plymouth Voyager with a standard transmission and a 4-cylinder engine. What's that mean? It means that even at 10 years of age, the car still gets a consistent 30 miles to the gallon. It's got almost no power, but with a standard that doesn't matter so much if you know how to drive it. It can haul two double beds or the World's Ugliest Couch-- and the liftgate closes.

It has some issues. I totaled it a few years ago (I blogged that on livejournal, and am trying to find where). For no reason, the side door stopped working, so I have to cope with its ticklishness. It's got some dents in the side panel, and it gets really cranky when you drive it in reverse at low speeds. But. it's a remarkably reliable car, due entirely to the fact that my father has spent its entire life maintaining it lovingly. Most recently, he replaced the oil pan because it had a very slow leak in it. The inside of that engine is cleaner than the outside of the car, I swear to you.

Anyhow. It's in the shop and we'll see how much it costs me. (Prepare the bone saw and I'll pick an arm and leg.)
In the meantime, I've been browsing my old livejournal entries to try and find ones about the car. I came up with some other entertaining stuff. God, i was such a ditz at 22...

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don't make promises i can't break

Good things:
I have the computer set up on our back sunporch. The wireless signal is stronger there than in my room (where it's perfectly adequate), and I have some phatty speakers out there. It's breezy and sunny, a beautiful early-autumn day. I'm listening to a good song, and the breeze is nice. The sun is highlighting my hair but I'm in a shadow, in the papasan chair, so I'm not getting freckled.
I finished destroying the hostas along the edge of the driveway, at the price of blisters and pain, but I have triumph. I planted some daffodil bulbs there, that I found in the basement; I don't think the bulbs are still viable. But, the ground's broken up, and the shaggy hostas are gone.

Bad things:
the glare on my monitor is making it hard to see, and the sun's making me squint.
I broke a gardening tool I don't even know the name of, so I have no idea how to replace it. It was a really handy sharp thingy to break up roots, on a wooden handle. I broke it off right at the handle. Pain in the butt.

And of course, the really bad thing.

The Voyager's in the shop. It does indeed need a new starter motor. It also needs a new battery. However. It also needs a new tire. It also needs new brake lines. It needs new brake pads. And it needs new brake cylinders. Also, the right front ball joint is unstable and needs replacement.
All in all, the garage down the street says i'm looking at $1900.

The car's book value would be $1300 except for the damaged right side panel (cosmetic damage only), which makes it worth only about $800. I paid $500 for the car.

Sigh.

I bought that car because it was easy. It would pass inspection, it would get me back and forth to the grocery store and to work if I worked less than 10 miles from home (as was the plan). And then, I could give it back to my folks if I decided anything life-altering (like going to school overseas, as I am ever flirting with that idea).
But it don't pass inspection.

Options:
1) junk it now. Sell for scrap. upside: done with it. downside: Make two hundred bucks at most.
2) Drive it home (the temporary inspection sticker doesn't expire for another week). upside: dad can decide what to do with it; it's his car really. downside: it has no starter. So I have to have someone push-start it here, and then hope I can get all the way to Albany without having to stop for gas or to pee. Doable, but nerve-wracking, especially if I hit traffic or misjudge the fuel guage.

Either way, I have to get a different car. I can't just take it tomorrow and start looking for jobs, as I had planned.

Fuck. God doesn't want me to get a job. And I just spent $200 registering the fucking thing, and another $300 insuring it. Motherfuckers.

I think I'm allowed to curse a few more times now, because life just won't fucking cooperate.
Fuck.
Fuck.
FUCK.

I could get a job somewhere close enough to bike to, except I hate that damn bike and can't fuckin' ride it. I fall a lot and that's painful at my age. Also, winter's coming. A Buffalo winter. I have commuted on foot through a Rochester winter. I know what that's like. I have adequate boots (they protect me from up to 18" of slush and yes, I have had slush go over the top of them. Rochester is slush country. However, they're wool inside, so even if your feet get wet they don't get cold).
However.
A bartender? Walking home from work? at 4 am? They don't plow the sidewalks at 4 am. I'd fuckin' need snowshoes. And, it would be the middle of the goddamn night and I'd be alone.

None of these things are compelling.

But neither is shopping for a car I don't want, and spending money I don't really have on it.
No.

MOTHERFUCKERS. Motherfucking rusty brake lines! It was fine until it sat over the winter and didn't get driven much.

I don't fucking know what to do. I was planning on spending tomorrow doing every single thing I could think of to get a job, and in this industry that's bound to net you something. But now I can't, because I can't go anywhere that's farther than about three miles, because I'm just not that good a biker and I just don't have that much time to spend walkin'.

Oh well. I'll call some banquet places and ask if they need someone on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, or Monday, because I can probably borrow Dave's car those days. Maybe I can find something, and get a job that way, and save up and get me a car.
I just didn't want to invest that much into the car. I just wanted something that would get me from point A to point B and not kill me. I didn't even plan on Point A and Point B being that far apart.

Sigh. Motherfuckers. The sun's more in my eyes now, too. So stupid. Everything is so stupid. And Dave doesn't even want to drink, so if I decide to drown my sorrows in vodka, I'll have to do it alone. Bummer.

too mad to cuss

bleagh.

two episodes follow, during which I am stupid and hurt myself.
And I totally fail to sum it up in an amusing and pithy fashion, thereby demonstrating that I am retarded*.

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