When 140 characters aren't enough.

Sometimes I’m convinced my entire family is backward with their racism and crazy right-wing and religious beliefs, and then when her daughter opened a gift of Legos For Girls, my cousin smiled demurely and then under her breath said “Ugh all Legos are for girls” and I felt a little hope.

Friends, if your car is ever stolen and the police call you a month later to tell you it was found, don’t go look at it at the impound. Just sign it over to your insurance and go home. Because you will see five weeks’ worth of trash, dumped out food, your broken sunglasses, torn up seats, empty liquor bottles, and smell the urine from people not giving a fuck about you and your stuff. And then you will cry in front of the Van Lingen employee and you will make him feel uncomfortable, but he’ll be really nice and offer to dig through the garbage to find the registration so you won’t have to pay an additional fee for them to pull your title because you’re an asshole who lost it. And then when you walk back to your new car that you love, every important place that old car took you will flash in your mind and you will ugly cry in front of the lady in the building whose window faces the sidewalk you’re on and she’ll look away because you’re making it real weird. Then you’ll feel dumb for being so dramatic, so you’ll get in your new car and push a button on the steering wheel to send a text to your boyfriend, then you’ll push a different button to turn on the heated seat, and you’ll tell your car to play Let’s Go Crazy by Prince and it will and then you’ll remember that the only electric thing on the other car was the windows and you’ll feel a lot less sad. But you’ll still go eat a big cheesesteak for dinner, because you have to make sure you’re not sad anymore. (You’re not. Mostly.)

There’s this old lady that calls here pretty regularly. She’s (I think) about 90. She called this morning and the first thing she said was, “Good morning, merry Christmas!”

“Good morning, merry Christmas to you!”

“You know, some companies don’t let you say that anymore.”

“Well, I’m pretty easy. If someone gives me well wishes, I’m going to give them back.”

“Not everyone celebrates Christmas! It’s Hanukkah for some people!”

“Very true!” 

“I’m a Jesus person myself.”

“I think that’s a fine person to be.”

“You know,  I think even the Muslims celebrate the birth of Jesus.”

“Yeah… I can’t say I know if they do, actually.”

“I think they do. But I think everyone should celebrate whoever they want. If they want to celebrate the birth of Jesus, they should. If they want to celebrate a tree, they should. If they want to celebrate WHATEVER, they should! Live and let live, you know?”

“That sounds like a solid belief system.”

“But just so you know - I am a Jesus person. I just love Jesus.”

“I bet he loves you, too.”

“Oh, I sure hope so. I’ve done my best, to be good, to be good to people. Even to my sister. This is a secret, between you and me: she’s not a nice person, and I’m nice to her. She tried to take all my money, and I still send her a birthday card, every year!”

“I think you’re a good person.”

“It’s for Jesus!! But for me, too.” 

Me: Sure, who’s calling?

Her: Bluff.

Me: Bluff??

Her: Bluff.

Me: BLUFF.

Her: Bluff.

Me:  Your name is Bluff? Can you spell it?

Her: Oh, no, my name is Christine.

“I am calling from the computer repair department.”

“Computer repair department of what company?”

“WINDOWS!” 

“There’s a company called Windows?”

“YES AND I AM RECEIVING LOTS OF WARNINGS OF ERRORS FROM YOUR COMPUTER!”

“I’m sorry - what is your name? I don’t think I caught your name.”

“John Shaw, ma’am.”

“Well, John. What is going to happen when I type in whatever you tell me to type?”

“What?”

“You said you’re receiving error messages. What are the errors?”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“John. I am not the computer whiz in this conversation! You have to tell me what the problem is!”

“No, I am calling - is this an office?”

“Yes, of course. A VERY BUSY OFFICE.”

“A prostitution office?”

“No, we don’t have those here. What kind of business do you think we’re running here, sir?”

“Can you send a courtesan to my house?”

“John, you sound fancy!”

“You know, a call girl!”

“John, I’m sorry. We don’t have those. This is a FINANCE COMPANY.”

“No, you’re a downtown prostitution company!”

“But we are in the suburbs! Like a half hour from downtown.”

“No, I think you are a downtown prostitute.”

“John, this isn’t how you charm ladies.”

Then my other line rang.

This morning I got to Trader Joe’s before they opened, so I waited outside. There was an older woman already waiting, pacing back and forth in front of the doors. (It was six minutes before opening time.) She stopped and cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed her face against the glass. Without moving, she said, “They’re in there. I see them.” I don’t know if she said that to herself or to the other people waiting. None of us said anything. “I SAID THEY’RE IN THERE. THEY’RE JUST STANDING AROUND, THEY SEE US OUT HERE AND THEY’RE JUST STANDING THERE, LIKE THEY DON’T EVEN CARE!”

“The store doesn’t open til eight. There’s still a few more minutes.”

“NO, DON’T YOU SEE, THEY WON’T OPEN THE STORE THERE’S NOTHING GOING ON IN THERE I SEE THEM, STARING AT ME THEY’RE LOOKING AT ME RIGHT NOW I CAN SEE THEM. THEY CAN OPEN THE STORE, BUT THEY WON’T.” She pointed at the door. “I SEE YOU! I SEE ALL OF YOU!”

At one point I thought she was going to shove a cart into the door to break the glass because she was so irate. Then the door opened, the lady smiled at the employee and said, “Good morning!” and she went inside. When I checked out, I asked the cashier about her and he told me she does that like twice a week.

So Saturday morning Todd and I went to go feed my parents’ cat for them and when I walked down my sidewalk, I saw a big space in the driveway where my car was. I freaked out and couldn’t breathe and basically had a panic attack in front of my neighbors. (This is an unbelievably bad time for my car to be stolen, as if there ever is a good time, whatever.) After a day of wallowing, we decided there was no time like the present to get that new car we’ve been talking about (we were planning on buying in like six months when wedding stuff was over, alas, my neighbors felt differently). My car was a 1998 Honda Civic (civics are basically the most stolen car), so there have been a couple of innovations in cars since then. When we got to the dealer, he was showing me all the features and I looked like someone in a movie who falls asleep and wakes up in the future. “OH MY GOD, I DON’T EVEN NEED THE KEY TO OPEN THE DOOR OR START THE CAR!” “OH MY GOD MY APPLE APPS WORK ON THE DASHBOARD!” “OH MY GOD THERE ARE FOURTEEN WAYS I CAN OPEN THIS SUNROOF!” It was a big day for Andria.

I miss my car, mostly because my goddamn prescription sunglasses were in it. And all of my reusable grocery bags. I hope whoever stole my car loves the planet enough to use them. If not, maybe he’ll just be nice enough to drop them on my lawn when I’m not looking.