Realities of No-Fault

No-Fault instructed Eddie to go to a specific doctor's office to see two specific back doctors so that they could check him out for under a minute each and tell him he could not continue going to the doctor so that the insurance company could stop paying.

That's not what the letter said, but we knew what it meant.

I went with him to the office. When we went into the building, we couldn't find the right suite. The doctor's names were not on the list in the building. We went up the stairs. We walked down the hall and I asked if I was in the right place. The woman looked at me as if I were crazy and then said, Down the hall.

You know those nightmare sequences in movies where scary people direct you in the scariest direction and there's all that smoke and gloom and the distinct smell of despair wafting by?

We turned back and went down the hall to the only door there. It was a pediatrician's office, abandoned and ominous. I took hold of the doorknob and said, We may be walking into our deaths.

When I saw what was inside, I didn't think I was far from the truth. The lighting almost blinded me. It had remnants of being a pediatrics office, but really, that part was the scariest part. I don't think children would have appreciated the decor.








About ten people were bustling around but no one was behind the desk. Finally, someone came over and asked us to sign in and wanted Eddie's license. Someone photocopied it and someone else gave him a clipboard of paperwork to fill out.

We went over to the side and I kind of did not want to sit down. The place was creeping me out. Everyone who walked into the door or was sitting looked confused. This is the kind of place no-fault sends you.

He filled out the paperwork and was called in. I was like, come back quickly please. I was joking, of course. However, the doctors might have heard and taken me seriously because not more than five minutes later, he was walking out to the waiting room, all finished.

The first doctor told him to turn his head one way and turn it the other. Then he was done. The doctor said he was fine and said he shouldn't go to his doctor anymore.

The second doctor felt his back and, hold onto your seat, said that he still had spasms and should continue seeing the doctor to get them out.

Really? Like, really?

So not only were these completely conflicting statements, they were also completely ridiculous considering when Eddie goes to the doctor, he's there for more than, let's say, two seconds for an exam.

How unethical is that? Seriously. You spend half a minute with someone and decide he's fine? Meanwhile, his doctor who sees him every week says that he should keep coming once a week? Health care? You suck. No-fault? You suck more.

The only saving grace was the second doctor who gave an honest opinion--he should keep seeing someone to work on the spasms.

Not that the insurance people listened to that recommendation. Or maybe the doctor said one thing and recommended something else. Or maybe just the first doctor counted. For whatever reason, no-fault sent a letter to Eddie saying he could no longer see his doctor because he was cured!

Tell that to his back spasms. I think they might disagree.

Go Team Gay!

The plan: see all the Manhattan sculptures supported by the Public Art Fund. Time Out New York, your maps and pictures are too tempting to pass up.

Using the actual map from Time Out, I plotted which subways to take where. I played with the idea of a side excursion to Highline, but that was too far to the West. I played with the idea of a surprise walk and back across the Brooklyn Bridge to get to see Brooklyn Bridge Park once more. That plan dissipated when we hit City Hall, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Last year, all the statues were in the vicinity of Madison Square Park and the Flatiron Building. Eddie and I hopped around the city and found them all and then drove back to Brooklyn with only a little bit of sweating involved. Not so for this trip.

We boarded the train at VS and heard people saying to each other, Happy Pride Day. Huh? Then the couples were talking about how they'd gone to California to get married when it was legal there and who they were marching with.

Eddie turned to me and said, Umm, today is the Gay Pride Parade.

We had already postponed our sculpture excursion because of the Puerto Rican Day Parade. The city is crazy when there's a parade. So here we were, heading into the city for a crazy parade day. Happy Pride!

When we stepped out into the city with his idea to walk up to Central Park instead of using my first mapped out idea of taking the NR, we were in a flurry of rainbow flags, glitter, and beads. We noticed that while we were walking uptown, everyone else was walking downtown. We figured that we would definitely miss the crowds. We got the best of both worlds--avoiding crowds while seeing marchers walk towards the start line decked out in all their gay glory. Feathers and leather--it was a trend.

Another trend I noticed--us attending quite flamboyant parades.

When we got up to 5th and 59th, I was sweating as per the usual and Eddie's back was hurting, stupid lady who smashed into the back of his car's fault. We made our way into Central Park. We walked around the pond. We sat on a bench. We walked further and heard a man teaching people how to play some sort of instrument fashioned out of some twine and a twig. We walked over a bridge. We walked the other way over the bridge which had quite a nice view, I'm told, since I was tall enough to see only the stone wall in front of me and not over it. We walked back past the music lesson man, at which point Eddie declared, That has to be the worst instrument in the world. Heh heh. It was pretty annoying. Think about someone who can't play violin playing the violin. That's what was happening.

So then we walked out of the park and looked at a map. We backtracked and then I realized, hey, wait, isn't that across the street Grand Army Plaza? Eddie was like, Maybe we don't need to go IN the park.

Then we saw our first sculpture on the street in plain sight. I hate the park, btw. It is not my friend. What is my friend is Eva Rothschild's Empire, which is not a spider but is her interpretation of tree branches forming a canopy.

Across the street, again in plain sight, was sculpture number two: Ai Weiwei's Circle of Animals/Zodiac Heads, for which there were t-shirts being sold. Lot of sketchers were sitting around, some with stick-on name tags attached to their shirts so they may have been an art class, and Eddie felt bad walking up to the sculpture because he was in their way. I was like, don't feel bad because that happens all the time; they're artists. We double checked his Chinese sign and found that it's a tiger, and he likes tigers, so that's fitting. I'm a horse. I hate horses. They're stupid. Of course, the horse head was the most ridiculous head there. Stupid stupid horse.

As I clicked away, aiming at the fountain, I realized--Hey honey, you know where we are? He didn't. I was like, we're at the fountain where we took the picture when we came in to see the windows and the lights in the winter! It all looks so different during the day in the heat. And we'd taken this walk before. I guess the cold blocked out the pain and suffering of the walk. Plus, that was pre-stupid lady in the Honda Pilot ramming the back of Eddie's car, so that could be the difference too.

We headed back downtown on foot to Madison Square Park. We didn't know exactly where the sculpture was and as we crossed the street, Eddie was like, are we sure it's here somewhere? Then we both said, There it is.

"It" refers to the massive head in the middle of the park. It's called Echo, product of Jaume Plensa, based on the daughter of someone in his hometown of Barcelona as a monument to ordinary people.

I was completely bummed out when we found I wasn't tall enough to plant a kiss on the head. But I was thrilled that Eddie was exactly the right height to have a faceoff.

It should be called Great Big Asian Head. It looks Asian, not Spanish. It also is not ordinary. I mean, come on, I know people who have big heads, but a head like that? No.

We sat and had lunch after ditching the idea of grabbing something from Shake Shack as the line was wrapping around half the park. Instead, we ate what we brought and listened to the many, many motorcycles parading down 5th Avenue. I don't know why it sounded like everyone had a motorcycle in the parade. It was loud as was the cheering and singing. Quite entertaining. Through the trees, I caught some glimpses of pink and silver and more feathers.

After a much needed rest and in the hopes of not killing my boyfriend before day's end by making him walk too much, we headed down a few more blocks to Union Square. We hit a few obstacles in the heart of the parade route. Crowds on every corner. But once we threaded our way through, the city was practically empty. It was odd. We were one street over and the parade was a low din, sounding as if it were miles away. That's the magic of NYC, I guess.

We came upon Andy Warhol quickly and directly. He was shimmering and shining in the sunlight and no one was really paying him any mind: Rob Pruitt's The Andy Monument.




Also in Union Square was an organization and event to, from what I gathered, celebrate water. People were on stationary bikes, pedalling away. We could sign up to pedal if we chose to. Some tables were asking people to stop fracking. Then some woman started spraying water out of a hose. We hopped on the subway to City Hall and skipped the upcoming concert for water.

We found City Hall Park easily. Finding the sculpture in the picture from the magazine was not as simple. We found two sculptures and one was pyramid-like but it wasn't on grass as the it was in the picture. Eddie was like, that's probably it. I was like, it can't be! Look at the picture! I became completely obsessed with finding the exact one in the picture.

The sculptures were scattered throughout the park so we walked around, through, and around again. The exhibit was Sol LeWitt: Structures 1965-2006. They were all white and squarish with hard angles except for one which totally did not go with anything else.









This is not a piece of art. It is a human being on a leash.

Anyway, then when we were walking back through the park, I saw it through the trees. The pyramid from the picture!

Ahhh, obsession satiated.

We took the subway straight back up to Penn. As we waited for the track to be called, we witnessed people running through the station proclaiming that they had only ten minutes to catch the train! (1) That was the train we were waiting for that had yet to be on a track. (2) Only ten minutes? Really?

Arriving home, we were only a little bit beat up from the day. Because he'd trekked all across the city and back with me, I agreed to do something nice for him and drive out to Sonic with him for a burger. Since Sonic has opened on Long Island, it is on the list of places we must go. I told him how far it would be to drive there and then factored in the wait time--the line, I've been told, is insanely long--and he decided that perhaps we should do Sonic on another day.

Instead, I took him to American Burger. It looked closed when we pulled up. It wasn't. They were open and not very busy as we were the only people in there aside from the staff, one of whom was sipping on a pina colada. Ahh, midday pina coladas. I'd work on weekends if I could do that. It filled up while we were in there, but that didn't affect how quickly the food came. I didn't get anything, but I sampled his mozzarella sticks. I liked them because they weren't greasy at all, which is why he didn't think they were great. He ate and almost finished the massive burger they'd served him. I don't know what was more tiring--walking over four miles through the city streets or finishing that huge meal. Even watching him eat that meal was exercise for me.

Let The Sun Shine In

I have wanted to go to Times Square Summer Solstice yoga since it started. Every year, June 21 comes around and I have stuff to do. This year, I put it on my calendar way before June so that no stuff would get in my way.

It came at a perfect time. I'm getting back into a yoga groove lately and sadly haven't taught a class in two weeks, so it was much needed. I took a train into Penn and walked to 47th and Broadway where check-in was. I got there much earlier than the 5:30 requested time. That was a good thing. There were barricades up and lines to weave through. I stood and waited in a ball of sweat since the walk left me a little breathless. It really wasn't so much the walk than it was the people who don't know how to walk down a busy city street that really got to me. Again, yoga was coming at the perfect time.

While on line, someone from the story Lucy took my picture. Cute, huh?

She was like, wanna do a yoga pose? I was like, I have a lot of stuff. She was like, how about a peaceful Namaste? So I did it.

As they let us through, they handed out a mat and a bag and a water. The bag had a chocolate peppermint Luna bar (I usually don't like Luna bar flavors but this was delish), a few magazines, a lip balm, and a bunch of coupons. I was happy to finally be let in because at the beginning of the line, participants who had signed up prior to the event were getting headed with the staff because the participants wanted to make sure they got in before the other people on the far line who had not signed up beforehand.

Seriously, it was a free event and they gave us free stuff. AND it's a yoga event. Find your Namaste, people.

The mat was thin but good for non-slip action. I used it under my own mat so that my mat did not touch the surface of the streets of Times Square. I found a spot on the step in the middle and put my bags around it widely to save some room for AK. People were coming over and telling us to push closer and close up the gaps. I pushed and then moved back when they left.

It filled up pretty quickly. More people had wedged their way into the row I was in. AK texted about a half hour later and said she was almost there. By the time she got there, the guards were not letting people into the space I was in anymore. They were being sent to the next spot across the street. We did some phone calling and she did some kindly asking, but the guards kept sending her across the street. She was one of the first ones there, though, so she got to pick her spot first. I told her that she had to come across as soon as we were done so she could see all the free stuff we could get. One of AK's more admirable talents is her ability to get free stuff. I figured that if she didn't get the stuff they were actually giving away, she'd somehow go home with all of Times Square in her pocket free of charge.

It started soon after that with a speaker and instructor welcoming us. Pretty soon, we were sitting with our eyes closed in Times Square. There was a lot of talk about honoring each other. There was a lot of talk about what the solstice was. There was a lot of talk about the sun.

Then she left and someone from the Times Square Alliance went up to explain how he started the Summer Solstice in Times Square. There was a lot of thanking corporate sponsors. Then he introduced us to our instructor, Douglass Stewart. This guy got us right into the groove of yoga as well as our surroundings. He took us through a sometimes challenging routine complete with light-hearted humor. He was completely inspiring. Some women around me were having trouble following along with some of the postures, but they kept at it and kept laughing as he encouraged everyone. I did all the postures and even got my ass and feet up in what I call Raven and what everyone else calls Crow. I was like, wow I'm doing it. And then I looked ahead of me and saw the woman in front of me doing it perfectly. That was a downer. But then I looked up at the screen, saw the instructor with a big smile telling everyone how well we were doing, and I was fine again.

By the time he told us to sit on our mats, I was ready for it. Everything was a little bit sweaty. Even though my mat wasn't in direct contact with the ground, things were getting icky. Stuff in the air was attaching itself to me. Basically, I was gross and ready to be done soon. I don't know how people were walking around barefoot. I love to be barefoot, but I've also experienced cityfoot when I wear my flippies for a long time in the city, and cityfoot simply doesn't come out until after a few showers, so being barefoot was not something I was quite ready for. I was happy to have the experience of lying down in Times Square. It was something I wouldn't do in any other situation.

When the class was over, everyone gathered their stuff quickly. AK appeared in my section and we hit the booths. Some woman got all bent out of shape because she thought we cut a line we'd been standing on. Not very yogi-like, lady. Some people just don't get it. AK and I didn't budge. We ignored her. The line was to spin a prize wheel for a radio station. Really, not something to get all in a huff about.

Then we got some free towels from Febreeze and a bunch of bite-sized Luna bars. I wish Luna Bars would come in those sizes in the store. I would be more likely to buy them. Not having eaten dinner, they were exactly what I needed. I finished off the free water I got and later on read that the bottle was biodegradable. It's probably really expensive because of that so I wouldn't buy it. The water was good though, if water can be good.

The brochure for Solstice in Times Square says, Anyone can find tranquility on top of a mountain. Can you find it here?

I can happily answer, Yes. It was the complete yoga experience. I have it written on my calendar for next year already.

Watch live streaming video from timessquare at livestream.com

The Poseidon Adventure

These are our Mermaid Parade outfits. I am dressed in the spirit of the mermaid. Eddie is dressed in the spirit of "I'm taking my girlfriend to the Mermaid Parade because I love my girlfriend."

Words really cannot describe what goes on at the Mermaid Parade. And so, I give you the short version:

Let's Talk About The Sink

Using the kitchen sink was causing a leak.

We stopped using the sink.

The plumbers came, made a big hole in the wall, took out a pipe, sealed something, and told us we could use our sink.

We used the sink.

My landlords/parents called. The basement was wet again. The leak was still happening.

We stopped using the sink.

Seriously, I thought about washing the dishes in the tub instead of carrying them down to my parents' kitchen to wash them. It was getting that annoying.

The plumbers came and looked at the pipes through the hole again. Then they went downstairs to my parents' kitchen. Then they went to the basement. Then we didn't see them for a long time but we did hear a saw at work.

They removed a joint that was clogged through almost solid with black stuff. Gross.

They said it was all fixed now and that we could use our sink.

We started using the sink. So far, no more water in the basement. We can wash our dishes again.

And now for the fantastic aftermath.

1. It smells. The kitchen smells like wet wall. The hole smells. The cabinets smell. I keep the window open. I turn the fan on a lot. I spray cleaner at it. It stopped smelling for a while but started again. Tricky.

2. Everything that was in the cabinets when they made the hole is covered in wall dust. So now, in addition to our regular dishes, we are washing pots, pans, bowls, lids, and tupperware. The cabinets have several doors but it's one long shelf on the inside, so nothing blocked the dust, and everything is dirty.

My parents are thinking about redoing the kitchen up here. I told them not to bother, but if they put in a dishwasher when they redo it, then maybe it's not such a bad idea.

Very Dangerous Territory

Gambling has never been on my radar. My obsessiveness in other parts of life (aka having to finish P 90 X simply because I started it) I could see easily becoming a problem for activities like gambling. However, Eddie taught me how to play Texas Hold Em, so I wanted to see how I could use my newfound knowledge.

I entered my first Texas Holdem tournament online. You know that games button on the MSN homepage? It takes you to a whole bunch of mindless fun. I sway towards Text Twist, Mah Jong Dimensions, BubbleTown, and Shape Shifter. But they also have card games. Who knew?

One reason seasoned card players would hate playing with me is that I have no fear. I call almost everything. So there I am in the first few rounds of cards, and I'm racking up the chips because I'm calling everything and making seriously absurd bets and people fear me.

A second reason seasoned card players would hate playing with me is that I am completely inconsistent in betting. I have no tells because I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Some hands I call, some hands I raise, some hands I go all in, for no reason other than it's fun to do.

Some nail-biting moments occurred from time to time when I asked Eddie for advice and he told me what to do and I put my arms around my head and squealed as I waited. Every time, his advice panned out. We're a good team.

For the most part, however, he wanted to see me play my own way. Which means strategy-less. Without strategy, in a game with over 120 players, I came in 44th. That's the top half!

I lost on a hand that I should have won. The other guy got lucky with some weird pair, like a pair of threes that he should have never called. Then again, I would call a pair of threes, so good on him.

Fast forward to a few spare hours and the poker chips left here from Eddie's poker night. I asked if we could play each other for real to see how good I am. One on one poker is different from poker with a bunch of people as I learned in the first few hands of losing.

We didn't muck so I learned quickly that all the hands I called that I probably shouldn't have in a tournament I could definitely call one on one. Okay, I have no problem with that.

Eddie folded on a hand because, and I quote, "You totally have a Queen because your eyes lit up when you saw it on the flop. You need a poker face."

I had nothing and laughed maniacally. Who needs a poker face?

Then Lunatic Eddie went all in on like the fifth hand because, and I quote, "You are totally bluffing."

Game one went to ......ME. Why? Because I had like a flush.

We played again. This time, he was more strategic. The game was longer. We went back and forth. I kept calling when I had nothing. I had most of the chips and then went all in when I had nothing and he won most of them back.

Game two went to ..... ME. Why? Because I rock this game so hard.

Yeah, that's right. I'm headed to AC.

Going For A Double

Because the Kentucky Derby and The Preakness were huge events for me this year and we'd spent them both with S and R, Eddie and I saw them one more time for the trifecta. We had to meet in the city because the traffic for the Belmont Stakes was going to take up the entire Belt and that's the only way to travel between our houses. In the city, we found Triple Crown, named for the third horse race and where the placemats have a typo.

We all bet this time. Eddie chose the same horse that lost the first two races when he chose him. Then he made me choose Shackleford again because I was having a hard time choosing. At first, I wanted Isn't He Perfect but didn't have fun yelling it out loud, which is how to choose a horse, and then I played with the idea of choosing Nehro, but Shackleford was just too fun to say.

S chose Isn't He Perfect. R chose "five up from the bottom," which turned out to be a horse whose name no one knew how to say, Monzon.

We met S at Triple Crown and decided to go in because they had on their sign outside that they would be showing the race. I wanted to walk in where the hostess was standing but they told me we had to go through the door on the side. The entire front of the restaurant was open--it has one of those open seating sidewalk areas and the entire wall opens up to it--but no, we had to walk through two doors. The hostess was there waiting for us, so I'm sure she heard the entire debate and thought we were dumb.

We ordered apps while waiting for R to arrive after working. The apps were okay. Not the best looking chicken fingers. And more importantly, not the best tasting. We ordered food shortly afterwards when R arrived, and the entrees weren't all that special either.But we were there for the horses anyway.

The time finally came to parade the horses out to the gate. My horse was walking sideways. Of course he was.

Then they were off! Shackleford! Shackleford! He lead the whole time. He was out in front. It was not a joke. Then, in the final stretch, everything fell apart.

Ruler on Ice wins! Ruler on Ice wins!

Who the hell is Ruler on Ice? Oh, that's the horse with the jockey who's wearing neon pink and orange. S was gonna pick him. Instead, as aforementioned, she chose Isn't He Perfect who came in last. Monzon didn't place very high and MuchoMachoMan, Eddie's horse, came in forth I think.

As for Shackleford? I think Shackleford is still running, perhaps backwards.

When it was all over, R said to me, Seriously, you were freaking me out because your horse was like in front the whole time. I was going to make you play the Lotto tonight. Wow, I thought you were lucky.

Glad I didn't freak you out, R.

So we all came up losers at Belmont and now we have to wait until next May for the excitement to begin again. We left Triple Crown through the window.

Old Routine Becomes New

I'm back to my old cardio and strength routines. I haven't been this happy in about 90 days. I wonder why. (cough cough Tony Horton cough cough).

The only change I'm making is instead of doing weights three times a week, I'm doing them twice and replacing the third with a different strenght activity like yoga or yogalates. We'll see how that goes.

This morning, I'm doing a step routine. I'm sweating a lot. Eddie's at the dining room table, eating some Fruity Pebbles. We're chatting a little. Then he says, This workout is crazy.

I ask, Why's that?

He answers, Because you haven't stopped moving forever.

Heh heh. That's cardio for ya. The monitor that I won gives me all kinds of stats for routines like this, and I'm still trying to figure out why it tells me that I'm not in a fat burning zone for longer than eight minutes of a 45-minute workout.

I'm not going to get crazy about it, though. I like my cardio. I like what I'm doing. I'm going to keep doing it. Part of being fit is sticking to it and liking it. The only reason I stuck to P 90 X for the second time was my problem with obsession. I didn't like it. So in that light, I'm fitter now more than ever.

Back To The Shack

One of the loves of my writing life has been writing for Reality Shack. It was my first real gig that catered to a wide audience. I've written a whole lot of different stuff about all kinds of shows. I took a hiatus from it, though, because it can be very time consuming and the audience for what I was writing simply wasn't there anymore.

The site is attempting to revamp itself to open up to more traffic, a wider audience again. One of the ways to do so was to begin reviewing things. I could do that. A review here and there instead of recording every minute detail of the Jersey Shore kids every episode was definitely less time consuming.

Just like that, I was back. Visit my review for A Crush On You ;) . The emoticon is part of the title. You can imagine what I had to say about the movie.

Bugs Trump Shark

The girls decided that a girls' night was needed so we headed to Land Shark on the Nautical Mile. I started my night by finding a spot, parking my little car, and then hearing, Excuse me? I turned around and saw the woman who lived in the house I parked in front of out on her lawn. I said, Yes? She said, You have to move up more, please. I walked to the back of my car and saw I was parked pretty much in front of her driveway. Sorry! I said and moved the car.

I am growing to love Yolanda. Getting used to her takes some time. I cannot park the car without inching up and back about nine or ten times. And sometimes, I have to repark it, as see above.


When I got to Land Shark, I stood outside and waited for AEF. Then I was being attacked by a bug. I texted her to hurry up because I looked like an ass, standing by myself on the sidewalk, karate chopping at the air. Yes, I would still look like an ass with her there, but I looked even worse alone. Also, I was sweating, and nothing says Lady like sweat.

We found an empty space at the bar. Perhaps it had been empty because the guys standing next to us were idiots, throwing beer, water, and ice at each other. Twice, we got wet. Then they decided to jump off the deck into the water. More than once. When T and her bf N arrived, I immediately told them, come closer or you're gonna get wet. Then we spotted an open section farther down so we moved. Instead of being near wet idiots, we were near dancing fools, which is a whole lot better. The DJ was playing mostly 90s pop hip hop dance music, and at one point sampled some Miami Sound Machine without following through with the entire song, which was a total letdown because I was gonna get my Gloria groove on.

When D showed up, it was time to dish because she's got the newest boyfriend, so we wanted stories. She also had a picture. A real picture. N said, it's not often you find people who carry around an actual photograph. Very true! He also told me that he plans to get Kevin Bacon to attend his wedding so he can do the dance from Footloose. I'm wondering if this idea is in T's plans also. Heehee. Then AEF said she's never seen Footloose, which is a complete and utter tragedy. Everyone needs to see Footloose at least once.

The sangria T was drinking was pretty strong. I wasn't drinking because I'd gotten a major heat headache before leaving and was surprised I was standing at that point. I did sniff out the sangria and almost got drunk from the fumes. She explained that there was a whole bunch of different liquors in it plus the red wine. That explained the little bit of a buzz she had going on.

That also explained the slightly louder than necessary encouragement she was offering AEF in hooking up with the bartender. First, she yelled, Go! Go out with him! Get with him! Then, she instructed, Be sexy! At which AEF began dancing and T was like, Not by grinding on me! To him! To him!

I decided at that point that T should make an instructional video on how to get the guy.

1. Have your friend scream behind you something like Get him! so that he hears.

2. Grind against girls.

This video, I'm sure, would be very successful.

The bartender was nice and AEF said she can never tell if they're like that because they're bartenders or because they're into her. That's a fine line, but it's always nice to at least make friends with one, and AEF always makes friends with them. This one, however cute, was iffy at best. At one point, he leaned over and said to her: Hey, BTW, I can get your Coors Light for free because it's a promotion. She looked over at me when he left and we were both like, Did he just say B T W? Like out loud? To speak?

During all this time, I was being eated alive by teeny tiny bugs. At first, I thought it was just me, but then D pulled one out of her head and was like, look at what I found. Bugs always find me and they always attack me most. Gone was the lone bug from the sidewalk replaced by hundreds all over the place. I spent most of the time smacking myself, and at one point, looking down my own shirt, trying to follow one that had headed that way. N suggested using Agent Orange. T pointed out it makes you sterile. I don't have a problem with that part, but Agent Orange seems kind of extreme.

Then things got weird. A woman who looked like a late-40s version of Pink came in with a much younger guy who had matching eyebrows. She carted herself through, stayed a while, and then carted herself out, all with the guy in tow. Then the guy near us was drinking one of those very long girly drinks. All the girls with him were drinking them and they were yellow. His was purple with a pink straw, and was very phallic. The DJ was playing the dirty version of every song, which I quite enjoyed because it's not every day you can hear the lyric, But tonight I'm fucking you, but that couldn't win out over the bugs. With the Gloria Estefan tease, I was out.

Yoga For Good

Donation classes are interesting. A lot of studios offer a class for which participants can give as much as they wish. They take the class and the money goes to charity. This forumla leads to a lot of moral rationalizing of how much can I give to get an almost free class without appearing to be cheap and by helping out people in need? Usually. Sometimes people give a lot. Sometimes people give a little. Sometimes people give nothing, assuming that no one will notice, and usually, no one does. Thankfully, not everyone gives nothing all at one time, otherwise, someone would notice that.

The studio I used to work for needed someone to teach the donation class, so I subbed once again. In exchange, I was able to take a class. That's fair. I don't expect to be paid for a charity class. The participants all gave something. They were lively and happy to be there. They were also sweating profusely.

The studio is on a second floor, over a bagel place. In the mornings especially, the aroma of fresh bagels comes up and through. Ooh, it's yummy. That night, there was no bagel aroma. Instead, there was musty air from the heat. I opened a window and turned on a fan. I wound up opening the other window, too. Heat is good in yoga, but people passing out is no good, so I found a happy medium.

I took a class in exchange a few days later. When I pulled in the lot, I put money in the meter because the time for meters began fifteen minutes before class ended. The meter did not register my quarter. I hate it when that happens. What exactly are you supposed to do? Write a note saying it's not working? Put in another quarter to see if it works with two? Put a bag over it? Seriously, I'd like to know.


After almost an hour and half, I was stretched out and slightly sore. The woman teaching the class used to take my class when I taught at the studio years ago. Since then, she took the teacher training and has been working there. She does a lot of seated stretches that are very easy for her and very difficult to me. It's just a different kind of yoga, which is why I like to go. It makes me do things I'm not very good at doing. She always says, and I agree, that I am so strong. I am. I can do power moves and hold them for quite some time. But ask me to open my legs wide on the floor and stick my arms under my thighs and push my chest to the floor and I look like a very uncomfortable octopus who is suffering from arthritis. Putting me in better spirits was the fact that I didn't get a ticket for the meter. That would have put a huge damper on a free class.

Sinkless

The plumber came to fix the sink. He snaked both sinks and the tub. Everything worked when he left.

A day and a half later, the siding between the second floor and first floor kitchens was brown and there was a large pool of murky water in the basement. This was not good.

The plumber came to check the pipes. Apparently, the original pipes did not take kindly to the power snakes. The leak was in the wall somewhere.

Every time a fixer-upper-person comes to fix something on the house, he tells us, You know, that's all the original such and such. We know, we know. It's an old house so having so much original stuff in it to this day is quite impressive.

Not impressive is not having a kitchen sink. The first thing I did was tape a plastic bag across the faucet and sink in the kitchen so that neither me nor Eddie mindlessly used it. He said that was a good idea because as soon as he came home, he would have used it. Me too. You don't realize how much you use your kitchen sink until you don't have one.

The plumber suggested I look on the bright side. I could haul in water from the bathroom down the hall instead of having to go out to the stream for it. Good point, plumber.

My mom asked if we wanted a bucket to put our dirty dishes in so we could carry them to the bathroom to wash. No, mom, I do not want a bucket. Eddie told me later that I should have said yes to the bucket and then asked her for a rope so we could lower the bucket down to the first floor for her to wash them for us and then we could lug them back up. Funny one, that Eddie is.

I came up with a plan:

1. Use paper plates.

2. Use plastic utensils--this part of the plan has been scratched because we were going to reuse the plastic utensils a few times and then wound up washing them, which defeated the purpose of having less to wash and also negated the idea of "disposable."

3. Reuse glasses. We do this, or at least attempt to, anyway, so we have less to wash.

4. Once a day, pile everything into the drying rack, take it downstairs, wash everything in my parents' kitchen sink, and then bring it back up.

We also cooked down there because we were cooking meat and I didn't want to have to keep going to the bathroom to rinse my hands every time I touched the meat.

The major drawback of not having the sink is when I've awoken with a case of extreme heartburn and I'm still half asleep and I'm roaming around the house, trying to figure out how to get cold water. I don't get heartburn often, but of course it happened at the least convenient time.

Fingers crossed--the experts are coming this week. Hopefully, they don't have to break a whole lot of walls open. The walls? They're original you know.

I Want That Job #1

Every year, when the heat arrives on the East Coast, the news thinks the heat is headlining news. The main story is "The Heat." Every year, it arrives earlier than expected, so the weather people tell us about records from the past and how we almost broke them or we did break them. "We" really didn't do anything. The heat happens and we are subject to it. We can hold a thermometer and say, hey look at how hot it is.


Which brings me to the job I'd like to have. CBS was rattling off how to keep your kids safe when the heat comes on (like don't let them play in the car, which is really a good parenting technique in any kind of weather considering children cannot drive so they should not be alone in a car in case, you know, they somehow start it and ram it into a tree or a garden gnome). They went to their field correspondent, who was standing in a park. With an infrared thermometer.

Her segment was about how hot things were. She held the instrument over a patch of grass and read that it was about 97 degrees. Then she went a few feet forward onto concrete and read that it was 103 degrees. Proving that grassy areas are the places we should seek out when we're outside.

Ohhhhh, that's some real good advice. I'm so used to seeing all those people picnic on concrete. Grassy areas! Good idea.

Anyway, then she was showing how playground equipment can get hot in the sun, especially the metal parts. She gave the temperature of swings, steps up to the swings, and slides. Then she read the temperature for a metal bench.


This girl is not screaming because she's having fun. She's screaming because her ass is on fire. Someone should have really checked the temperature of that swing.


At the end of her report, she was standing by for her next segment. You know those thermomemeters that look like clocks? She had a big round one on the dash of a dark truck's dashboard so we could read it through the windshield as it sat in the sun.

I want this job. I want to walk around with a microphone in one hand and a thermometer in another. I want to point an infrared ray at things and read off digital numbers into a camera. I want to make money saying, "Ooh, wow, that's hot!" not in a Paris Hilton way, but in a business-like, reporter way. Next open call, I'm there.

Inedible Chips

Texas Hold-em is the game I know only through the celebrity version hosted by David Foley (was that his name?) and that professional poker player on, I think, Bravo. As you can see, my knowledge of the show is sketchy at best, so my knowledge of the game is even less on point. Here's what I know:

You get two cards. You hope they are pocket Aces. They usually are not.

Everyone calls, folds, raises, or checks. I like the checking because it's fun to say, Check! Check!

Then whoever stays in sees the flop. That's three cards. Those cards are everyone's cards, so you mix and match the cards for the best hand you have with those three and the two you have. Then everyone calls, folds, raises, or checks again.

If more than one person are still in, then another card comes up. I don't remember the name of this card. Everyone still in calls, folds, raises, or checks.

If more than one person are still in, the river comes up. That's the final communal card. Then everyone can call, fold, or raise, and I don't know if checking is an option, but it should be, again, because it's fun to say.

If everyone in stays in, they turn over their cards and we see who wins.

I think.

Muck means you don't show your cards after you win if you don't have to. You never should if you don't have to. Mucking is good.

Things that are still confusing to me: small blind, big blind, why they call the dealer "the button" (though, that too is fun to say), and why they call a good hand "the nuts."

In the moment, I don't remember what hands are good hands. I don't understand odds at all.

All in means shoving all your stuff into the pot and praying that everyone else will fold. Sometimes you can go all in and not be out of the game even if you lose the hand.

With this in mind, I waited along with Eddie for his poker buddies to swing by for a game. Eddie and his friend were playing a pre-game with S arrived with R since R was going to play. S and I went to Ralph's for ices and then went to visit her parents. While there, Eddie called me to ask where the bottle opener was because everyone just arrived and he was handing out beer, the main reason he wanted to have the game at our place this time--we wanted to get rid of the beer.

We own about four bottle openers that are fully visible in the kitchen. There are a few more lying around. He couldn't find one. He's been living here since October.

S and I walked back to find all the guys there along with AF, Eddie's friend's SMM's girlfriend. The three of us decided to find the girliest thing possible on television while the guys played. One of the guys playing was very upset at this because the basketball game was on. You can't have your chips and eat them too, buddy. Eddie got his laptop and put on the game on the internet so the guy could watch. He was in his little own heaven with the laptop on a folding chair beside him.

As they were getting ready to play, I asked Eddie if he wanted to open a window or two. The house was a sauna with all the people in it. He was like, yeah could you? What the? I was like, or you could turn around and pull them open. He was like, oh yes I could do that too. Someone asked if we could turn on the A/C. We laughed at that. Our A/C was not yet in. Plus, we hate the A/C.

The game went on for what seemed like forever. So did the awards show, which actually wasn't that bad. S wanted to bet on who would win because she had a blanket prediction of "anything Twilight." Which was a good call and I don't think anyone would have bet against it any way.

The pizza arrived quickly from Mama Gina's. I'm not a huge fan of it because it's oily. When we opened it, I had to cut through the pieces with a steak knife. S was like, don't you have a pizza slicer? I was like, If I had one, I'd be using it. She suggested I put it on my registry. I think people are done with my registry, but maybe I will. Then AF asked if we should serve everyone pizza. I was like, Did you hear what Eddie told everyone when it came? He'd said, this house is everyone's house so everyone can get their own pizza. AF was like, so we just walk through with our own pizza? I was like, yes, we do just that. We did. And no one asked where their pizza was because they were focused on the game. S asked R if he wanted a slice because she pretty much knew he wouldn't want it. Nice.

This is how S described Mama Gina's logo: it looks like someone took a photo of their grandmother out of their wallet and blew it up, cut out her head, and put it on the sign.

I added: she has a large oblong head and a bun in the back, and it's a little disturbing.



I don't think either of us is very far from the truth.

It took a good two hours before someone got knocked out. Then they started dropping quickly. By the time S and R left, only three people were left in the game. Then, at almost midnight, it was down to two--Eddie and his friend who had been playing the pre-game before everyone else got there. S commented the next day when I told her of this: Then no one else really had to show up. True! Then again, more people means a bigger pot. When the two of them decided to split the pot, I asked, Did I win? His friend was like, well she's kind of got a point. Heehee.

Everyone left. Eddie asked what we were gonna do with all that pizza. I was like, you mean with these two slices? He was like, there's an entire pie left! I opened the empty boxes to show him and said, when you have a bunch of guys in your house, they're gonna eat the pizza. And btw--we got rid of only one beer. Dammit.

Celebrity Poker Showdown! That's what it was called. My favorite episode was with Penny Marshall who had no idea what she was doing. It was fabulous.

Welcome Yolanda To The Family

On a sunny morning, Eddie and I headed out for a tour of a bunch of car dealerships. We went to Nissan first. Nissan has this great little car called The Juke. It's all kinds of fancy. It reminds me of a VW Bug. It's way too expensive and it has leather seats, which I don't like, so it wasn't on my very detailed list of cars I'd researched in the past 24 hours. I'd actually researched cars up until the minute we left.

The guy at Nissan was less than helpful. He didn't know if they had a Versa. Then he wandered around outside and asked a guy on the lot who was like, It's right there. The car was practically in front of him. He opened the passenger-side door for me to see the car. Because, you know, I would be sitting in the passenger seat while driving, of course. I read the window sticker as he talked to Eddie, clearly not interested in saying anything about the car because he knew we just started looking. As in, I don't care about you and your need for a car. I asked if they had the sedan version because he was showing me a hatchback. He said he didn't. Then he said that leasing the Versa wasn't worth it. That's when I was like, yeah okay just give me your card and we're going. Nissan is currently running a leasing special for the Versa. I'd found it in my research. So this guy either had no clue or was lying.

We went down the road to Honda. We'd been there for a nano-second when Eddie was car shopping. We looked at the car parked outside. It was the Fit, which I'd read up on. Eddie was like, This car is ugly. A saleswoman came outside and asked if we were interested in cars. I was like, yes, I'd like to see the Civic. She brought us inside and pointed at the car and opened the door. It was the driver's side door, so already, this was better than Nissan. I sat in it and didn't like it. There's a weird screen thingie on the dash right in front of the steering wheel that was blocking my view. I asked to see the Fit outside so she got the key. I sat in that and liked it because I could see everything. The back was too huge, though. It's also a hatchback and has way too much room for me. Eddie liked the space and I was like, what are we going to do with it? He winked, I rolled my eyes, and the saleswoman stared off into space as she'd been doing for the entire time. I asked about how it handled in the snow and rain, and she said, Good. She didn't elaborate. The only thing she elaborated on was the monthly cost of a lease for the Fit, which was somewhere in the 300s. Um, no. Not for this car. Maybe mid-200s. There's no way anyone in their right mind would shell out somewhere in the 300s for the Fit. So that ended that.

We tracked our way back towards home and went to Toyota. I wanted to see the Corolla, the Scion, and what I'd remembered that morning as their small car, the Yaris. The Carolla was huge. The Scion was like driving a sedan version of a Hummer. So very wide. Eddie told the sales guy that he wished he'd seen the Scion before leasing his Chevy because it was hooked up and nice. For him. For me, way too big with too much excess space I'd never use. I'm not a fan of waste.

The salesguy said that they had a Yaris across the street so we could take a walk over there. Sure. We followed him as he crossed the middle of Merrick Road with traffic coming from both ways. Seriously. So we played some human Frogger and caught up only to have him speed walk two blocks. Eddie was like, He's taking us somewhere to kill us. I laughed.

Then we got to a building that looked abandoned on the outside. When he opened the door, I was like, Omigod, you're right--he's going to kill us. It was abandonded and broken down on the inside as well. So what did the two of us brainiacs do? We followed him like puppy dogs. Through a door and poof, a garage full of Toyotas, one that had an alarm going off non-stop. It was an icky room. We weaved through cars until he found the Yaris. There were a few in different colors. I sat in it and liked it immediately. I said it was the most comfortable one I'd been in. We walked around the car, looked at the trunk space, and read the sticker. The guy said that they normally don't lease the Yaris but it was still an option. He asked if I wanted to test drive it. Sure.

The ride was smooooooth. He explained that it was an upgrade from the old Echo, which I had driven a few years back during a road trip with S. I loved that car. Now, I was driving along in its offspring. The interior was nice. The color was nice. Everything about it was nice. So we went inside to do some pricing.

My poor Saturn was sitting in the lot, looking on in horror as we did the pricing. The appraiser guy went out and came back with a figure of $2000 for it. I thought about it. In excellent condition for a private sale, I could get up to 4 grand. The car was not in excellent condition, though in a panic, I had used the dust buster to clean it that morning, and I kept panicking whenever the appraiser went near the door because I thought he'd see the broken locks. Anyway, If I were to sell the car privately, I would not be able to lie about the problems it had, so I would sell it for about the same that the dealer wanted to give me. I was okay with that.

As the paperwork was going through and as the car was being detailed and all the wheels and cogs and circuits were doing their voodoo that has to occur during a car sale, I wondered aloud to Eddie, how are we going to fit all the cars in the driveway? He answered, just park your new car where you park now. I asked, but how can I put it there when my Saturn is there? He said, the Saturn is staying here. I said, I can't give up my Saturn. He said, you can keep it as a souvenier but you'll have to put money down for your lease then. I said, I can keep it and put no money down. He said, then you'd have a higher payment. I said, I can let them give me the two grand for it and then take it. He said, no you can't. I said, oh ok.

None of this mattered at the moment the salesman asked, Do you have the title with you? Ha. No, we did not. So we climbed into the Saturn and came home for lunch and to grab the title. I wondered aloud, what would happen if the car died on our way back? Eddie was like, I don't think you'd be getting the two grand they just proposed to you. Heehee. I then offered a string of what ifs--what if it's not really broken? what if I'm doing the wrong thing? what if it can be fixed for very little money? what if the new car isn't as good as the Saturn? what if my Saturn feels abandonded and alone? what if the new owner doesn't treat it well?

Of course, this was all nonsense. I found the title and went through a bunch of other papers. I asked if I needed anything else. Eddie said, that's your title so that's all you need.

We went back to the dealer. They were just about done on their end of things. We gave him the title. He came back a little later and asked about the lien on it. I said there was none. However, the title showed the lien and he said that I would have received a letter saying that the lien was over and done with. I looked at Eddie. He was like, Okay so maybe you did need those other papers. Ugh. The salesman said we could go home in the new car and bring back the paperwork. We just needed to wait for the finance guy.

As we waited, Eddie got a vanilla cone from Mr. Softee. The guy came through the lot quite a few times. That's smart business. We also watched a couple who had to be in their late 70s/early 80s shop for a car. They were all over the lot with their sales guy. They spent a good five minutes discussing how the trunk stays open no matter where you put it so it won't swing up or slam down. Then they both sat in the backseat of a Corolla. Then when they got out, the woman asked the salesguy about the difference between GPS and navigation as the guy stood up, bent over, and fiddled with the seatbelt. This was the greatest live show ever.

Then the salesguy came into the lot with my car. Ooh, it was pretty. Except for this scratch thing on the side. Eddie saw it first and pointed to it. So as the salesguy was showing me all the buttons and gadgets, I was like, Yeah is this a scratch? He looked at it, scratched at it, and then said he was going to bring it across the street to have the guys buff it out without a problem. I was like, yes thanks. There was no way I was taking that car with even a microscopic scratch on it.

We went into see the finance guy to sign the contracts. He asked me what I taught since he'd read I was a teacher at Nassau. I said English. He gave the answer that the salesman gave when he asked the same thing, which is the answer that I usually get--a stupid comment about how English is hard. This is why I usually don't tell people I teach English. I say, I teach at the college. It helps me avoid idiotic coments that I don't really care about. If I cared about your opinion on English and how well you did when you took comp in college, I'd ask. Like, if we were at a party and I met one of them and asked what they did and they said, I sell cars or I finance cars, my immediate answer would not be, oooh numbers are hard or I didn't do well in shop class in high school. You know why that wouldn't be my answer? Because it has absolutely nothing to do with anything. I became an English teacher because I'm good at English. I didn't go into the autoindustry because I suck at cars. Basic common sense, people! Anyway, I'm now done with that tangent.

So the finance guy starts explaining the intricacies of gap insurance. On and on and on about how it's optional but important. And then he gives us how much it would be monthly if we got it. I was growing angrier by the second because anything that affects the monthly cost should be stated when we agree on a monthly cost. Obviously, we came up with a price that I could afford. I was sooooo aggravated. Then when I declined, the guy looked at the paperwork and said, Oh I apologize--you already have it.

I was like, Ah, well look at that. Assssssssss.

He had me sign two contracts, one that gave me a little higher cost if I didn't bring back the paperwork about the lien being over with. Jeez, these people will squeeze you for every penny. We all shook hands and then me and Eddie headed back to the sales floor.

The salesman gave us keys with key chains. Then we walked out to the car again. That's when I noticed my Saturn was already gone from the lot. Sigh. No more Saturn. No more third door. Sniff.

But here was my brand spankin new car. We walked around it, checking for any more scratches and found none. Yeay! We shook hands once more and headed home. And then we came right back with the lien paperwork. And then we left one last time with me as the proud owner of a 2011 Toyota Yaris, color flint mica (meaning charcoal gray).

For all the years I owned the Saturn, I'd never given it a name. I'd named my GPS--Judy--but not the car. It was always "my little Saturn with the third door." As soon as I got my Yaris, she was different. I want everyone to say hi to Yolanda. Send her good vibes. I will always have a place in my heart for my Saturn, but I'm learning to love Yolanda, too.

Fare Thee Well, First Car

I am so sad. My very first car is going, going, gone. Here it is, our last morning together.


Next time you see me, I'll be rolling in something a little bit different. But it will never be my little three-door Saturn SC2.

90 Days Of Torture

I completed P 90 X for the second time. When I began, I had a partner. When Eddie got into the accident, he wasn't able to continue, so I forged ahead for the both of us. The countdown chart was for him, but we kept it up for me. Everything is exed out. I'm done. Finally.

Note that I'm holding the chart in front of my entire midsection.

Irony: the opposite of what's expected.

This time, I completed the Lean version of the workout, the combination of exercise routines that would make me sleek and firm and thin.

Irony: in completing P 90 X Lean, I am the chunkiest I've ever been. Hence the chart over almost my entire body.

The plan: to go back to more cardio, some yoga, and my own weight training and ab routine. Oh, and one more thing: Suck it, Tony Horton. I brought it and got nothing back except for soreness and a little devastation. Bring your ass over here and come play in my house. I'll have you crying, sucka. Man, there's nothing like bitterness to ignite a little motivation.

Bad Light

Traumatized from the broken lock buttons, my Saturn turned on its Service Engine Soon light. That light never comes on. I take good care of my Saturn. It gets all its oil changes on time. I give it good gas. I don't stomp on the pedals. I just got new wiper blades. Good car. Good, good car. This is an evil, evil light. It could mean anything.

So, having success with Chevy a few days before, I decided to take my car there since there are no Saturn dealerships anymore and I don't know any mechanics in my area. I figured since they were so good with Eddie's car, they'd treat my car right, too.

We dropped it off for next day service.

The next day came and went and they hadn't serviced it yet. Umm, next day means the day after the one when we drop the car off. Minus 10.

The day after the next day in the morning, Eddie called. They had checked the car out. Proving that checking out the car takes about an hour and they had kept it over a day. Minus 10 more. It wasn't good news.

My poor little Saturn. What now? Was it really that pissed off about the locks?

No, no. It wasn't that. It was the computer, the oxygen sensor, the temperature gauge, the A/C ventilation system, the exhaust system, and the power steering. All of that all at once. The cost would be about 3 grand.

Say what?

The car's value is between three and four according to Kelly Blue Book. My car is in great condition.

The guy said that the locks weren't working because of the computer. Hmmm. Okay, well, some of that makes sense to me, but no, actually, it doesn't. I specifically remember pressing the button and immediately feeling and hearing something snap under the button. While maybe the computer was no longer working the locks because of that, the locks were not not working because of something with the computer. So minus 100.

I was all kinds of upset. I knew it wasn't worth it to put that much money in to my little car. It has 88000 miles on it. That's about the point when my brother's Saturn gave out. He had his a few years longer that I've had mine, but I drove mine further. It's all about the mileage. He put a little money into his and said that he had some of those things fixed on his along the way. Mine just needed it all at once.

I asked what was absolutely necessary to have the car run safely. The guy said everything was necessary. Eddie called back and asked again. The guy said everything except the power steering flush. Umm, that's a different answer. Why do I get one answer that costs more money and Eddie gets a cheaper answer? Minus 1000.

Then came the point of breakdown. Eddie told the guy not to touch the car, not to fix anything, that we would pick it up later. The guy said that was fine and then billed us $222 for the diagnostic.

Eddie was like, for only the diagnostic? The guy responded, yes we had to plug it into the computer and look up all those codes.

Maybe the way the guy said it belittled the work he actually put into it. Then again, I know they spent no longer than an hour on the car. So, plugging it in, checking the codes, and writing it all down, and making a phone call cost 222? Really?

Minus 800,0000. Not for the cost so much as for not informing us of the cost before doing it. And also because the average cost of a diagnostic is half of that.

Then. THEN. We go pick up the car that night. It's still running fine, btw. It feels like nothing is wrong. It's always felt like nothing's wrong. The light was off by now. So I figured, maybe I could just assume everything is okay now that the light is off.

But no, reading over the results of the diagnostic showed me that turning off the light doesn't cure everything. I checked the cost of all the things they wanted to do to the Saturn. Now I know that dealers are usually a little more expensive, but the prices they were charging were outrageous. Outrageous. Minus 100000000000000. Is that a billion at least? Hope so.

This was bad news. All very bad news. I do not like car shopping and now it seemed inevitable. I could take it to a different place and show them the test and ask if it could be cheaper, but with all that it needed, I couldn't see the use in putting more money into it and hoping for the best. So I hopped on my laptop and dove into Kelly Blue Blue, Edmunds, and all sorts of websites and dealerships and made a list of all the cars I could possibly drive. Not one of them was a Saturn and that's what my heart really desired.