By the time I reach the weekend, I am dead.
My ultimate ideal of a chilled out night is crashing on the couch and letting myself be enveloped with good music and I got to do that... waking up only when the phone rings and then to heat up some egg rolls and paint a little bit before crashing again.
I helped a friend of mine and his family move on Saturday, folding down the seats of the Sexy Saturn to pile bags and boxes up to move them a street over. The car is a mess now, with sharpie drawings and writing on the back seat, and I completely destroyed my side-view mirror trying to back out of the narrow space between the house and the fence on the other side.
Me & Alex patched it together yesterday with a combination of epoxy glue and masking tape, and I reinforced it this morning with duct tape from my future father-in-law. So far so good I guess, even though there's chunks of glass missing from the mirror and a good portion of it is covered in clear gunk.
Most people would be ashamed of this but I just laugh because this is what I know. My parents drove beaters for years, cars that stalled out whenever Led Zeppelin was on the radio, cars where the ceiling was ripped and dangling, the doors were patched with duct-tape, and bungie cords kept them from flying open. If someone hits your car, what's the big deal, you know?
And no one is going to steal it for sure.
My dad thinks I'm crazy for wanting another station wagon, the kids tell me I should get a convertible, the guys say I should get a sports car because "girls look sexy in sports cars." ummm... yeah.