A Taste of Satisfaction

Guess what my Dad saw yesterday on the way home?

No, guess again. :)

Okay, so he’s driving up the rather steep hill towards his house when he sees a tow truck heading down the hill towing ——- tada! Much broohaha and fanfare to be had here ——– a BLUE EL CAMINO with a YELLOW FLAME paint job!!! If this has no meaning to you, please read the prior post and then you, too, may marvel at the utterly divine providence of his encounter with said vehicle in tow.

Meanwhile a woman sporting a mound of dreadlocks

He promptly turned around and proceeded to follow the tow truck for miles on down the road until he found himself pulling into a small apartment complex. He exited the vehicle with pen and paper in hand to record the license number of the El Camino. The truck driver walked back to ask if he needed help with anything to which my Dad replied, “Nope, just taking down the license number of the car that hit and ran my daughter last week.” Meanwhile a woman sporting a mound of dreadlocks (familiar, anyone?) had meandered up to the car, cell phone firmly adhered to her head. She asked, “What?” apparently having caught only the tail end of my Dad’s retort. He gladly repeated, “You hit my daughter last week and I’m here to take down your license number for the police.”

He turned and got back in his car, not awaiting a response, and left the woman standing there not fully comprehending the situation just yet. He said the wait at the light just down the hill from her place was the longest red light in the history of mankind. He was itching to leave the area pronto, as it was one of the seedier parts in town and besides, he didn’t want her following him, possibly in some other vehicle.

I’m thrilled that that woman’s come-uppance came full circle so quickly and was delivered so personally, no less. In a comparison of license numbers it turns out Bean was off by one digit, she recorded an “8” at the end instead of a “B”. I feel empowered knowing where to locate that woman – hooray for a taste of satisfaction!

Not the most comforting form of communication, I gotta tell you.

I answer the phone to hear Bean’s tearful voice on the line. Hackles go up, intense need to protect kicks in and the willingness to go above and beyond awakes as I await her words. She tells me that her passenger side car window has been smashed in, glass bits are strewn everywhere. Nothing stolen, though. She had gone to workout this morning and the car was fine, only to head down to the car again for work, where she discovered the window. Or lack there of. There’s rarely a soul around here come daytime, so suspects were few. Her theory is that the maintenance man mowing the nearby lawn kicked up a rock and shattered the glass and was afraid to say anything for fear of losing his job. I’m skeptical, but wasn’t there to get a feel for the situation as she did. We entertained mild paranoia in reasoning that it may’ve been the El Camino woman, but the matter of how the heck she’d know where we live quickly squelched that idea. I stayed on the phone looking up auto glass replacement deals online while Bean awaited our Dad’s arrival, wanting help in vacuuming up the glass. We’re so lucky to have a nearby and willing-to-help Dad! The only problem is, I could hear him arrive in the background by his yelling. If we’ve been hurt in any way, shape or form, he shows his care by yelling. Not the most comforting form of communication, I gotta tell you. I used to say he was very much like the dad from the Wonder Years. He realizes that it hardly makes sense to be angry, but he pretty much has the attitude that that’s the way he is so learn to deal. A boo and a hiss! Life is all about improving on what could use improving.

Total personal aside here: They say that women tend to marry a man like their father and that terrifies me. I have yet to date someone who has yelled at me, and that’s no accident. Excessive grouching, the birthplace of yelling, is second only to cockiness on the short list of biggest turn offs. If anyone yelled it was me. Entirely counterproductive (read: no fun) and has since been tamed with much work.

You know this little tangent is all because I watched You’ve Got Mail. Again. All that “finding the one person who fills your heart with joy,” all the writing, the verbal combativeness and witty banter segueing into vulnerability and friendship. And books. New York. Enchantment. Le sigh.

Finding that one person is certainly not in the top priorities, but I imagine it will be one day, and it’d be nice to know now that there’s someone out there capable of the intellectual stimulation, coupled with the assertiveness not to allow me to bulldoze them, yet with the confidence and respect to allow me to share differing thoughts and opinions without blowing a gasket. Among other things. Tall order. Quantity: 1

The car window will be fixed tomorrow. The El Camino woman has a hitch in her giddy up, thanks to the Dad and the law. All is nearly right in car news and karma. Hoping to keep it that way! ♦

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It’s Good to Want Things

Last night my night was made all by a song.

Love when it’s that simple! Goodbye Horses by Q Lazarus. The song featured in The Silence of the Lambs when Buffalo Bill is primping for his date with the video camera in all his twisted glory. I’ve often wondered what the heck the name of that song was and you may think I could have spotted it in the rolling credits at the end of the film, but no, I tell you, I’ve been blind to it somehow, even when specifically watching for the title. After another brief periodical search online, at last it was to be found! Yay! I sooo want that song, but on iTunes it currently is not. Nor Napster. Le sigh, wait, I must.

However, when I do find that woman’s car, I’m so repainting.

So, a couple nights back some total nutcake sporting a mound of dreadlocks and driving a blue El Camino with a yellow flame paint job was weaving in and out of traffic like a mad woman, only to pass my sister by, as she blazed her trail of havoc on down the road. Just before passing, Tina sees that the woman is wildly bopping her head back and forth, presumably to music and not a seizure, and carrying on a conversation with the car next to here via lots of waving and hand signaling. Somehow, as is so often the case, the nutcake ends up back behind my sister as they’re approaching an intersection. Many a time some fool has raced by me seemingly long gone off into the distance only to find that there they are, right alongside me ten minutes later. It’s all relative. This particular nutcake ends up plowing into my sister at the backed up intersection, only to then speed off followed by the people in the car she was conversing with, their faces all the while struck with shock. After a few tears and a lot of anger, Bean’s perfectly okay (thank you, Lord) albeit, her car was fairly well crunched. I’m happy to find that no nasty temper or dormant inner vigilante rose up within me with a need to hunt, capture and restore justice with a vengeful glee, as would have been the case at one time. However, when I do find that woman’s car, I’m so repainting. Something revealing like “I drop-kick puppies in my spare time” plastered along the sides in place of those yellow flames and “Lookout, I hit & run for fun!” along the back, maybe. ;)

The last few days have held an underlying tone of anxiety as I’ve fixated on what the future holds to such a degree that angst has set in, plaguing me and leaving me with nothing more than a whole lotta want and wonder. Ever feel that way? I’m in a state of childish wanting where I want what I want and I want it now. I don’t want to wait any longer, good things may come to those who wait, waiting may be good for me, be the state in which I grow and progress, learn and am refined, but currently that means nothing as I struggle in this ever lengthening stretch in time. Wanting something, some place, someone, with utter disregard for patience and planning, temperance and maturity.

Give. Me. What. I. Want. Now.

There aren’t a whole lot of specifics to this want of mine, just the want itself, of exploring the “what ifs” and the possibilities, wanting to fast forward and skip to the answers instead of walking it out living it day to day until the answers and what is to be, present themselves naturally. Nevertheless, this want is good, for it propels me forward, keeps me plugging away, productive. Boy, it’d be nice to toss all the cares and responsibilities to the wind and move off somewhere decadent and indulgent, provencial, for a time, though, yes? ♦

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