Carrot James, Master of the Door Opening Side Kick

Alright. I’ve started this blog four times now over the last week and haven’t been able to finish it. In fact, I’m to the point where I’m not even sure how interesting its going to be, since it’s all old news now… but I’m going to try to entertain someone, at least myself.

I bought a new car. It was a horrible experience. I didn’t get there until late, close to 8:30pm. I liked the car, took it for a test drive… and decided that if I could talk them down, it was the car for me. So I went inside. Whooo… that in itself was scary enough. Once I stepped inside, I sat down (also very scary). And the salesman asked me how much I wanted to pay. The room mate was with me, and he jumped in and said, “Well, how much are you willing to take for it?” I guess the goal of bartering is to appear noncommittal just enough to make the salesman think he has a chance of talking you into it. Yes. Well, as we all know, noncommittal is my middle name, so I had no problems with that. The hardest part when it comes to buying a car is struggling with the idea that you have to make the decision all by yourself. You are soley responsible for this decision and only can blame yourself if it was not a wise one. I like to let life surprise me. I prefer to roll with the punches, to dance with the man, to walk on the edge, to see each new sunrise as a new chapter in this book of life. I do not like to make snap decisions in subjects which I have little or no confidence in myself. Stop for a moment and ponder this. Most shopping is a fruitful search for the perfect pair of jeans or black sandals. This type of shopping is what I have spent years perfecting. It’s just another walk in the park for me. Decisions involving whether or not this shirt will look great with those shoes is easy. Trying to decide if a car worth thousands of dollars will go with all my shoes is not so easy. I have a lot of shoes.
In conclusion, I did buy the car, but only after three hours of haggling. It was tough. I don’t think that I have had to deal with that much pressure in quite awhile. Nothing like two guys staring you down trying to convince you that they are giving you the best deal ever, when you know that they aren’t. I have never experienced a case of sweaty palms versus shifty eyes like that. I held my ground though, and I only paid four hundred dollars more then I told myself I would. Not bad, I think for a first timer. So my new car is totally loaded, it has everything you could ever want: sun roof, leather interior, power everything, sweet tinted windows and a spoiler to give it a little sporty side. And a V6 which equals trouble for me and my lead foot. It’s a nice goldeny tan 2001 Nissan Maxima GLE. And I’m in love. With. It. Sigh.
In other news, I have already begun an abusive relationship with my new car. I am taking excellent care of it, I have only owned it for a week and it’s already seen two car washes. In return, it slammed my arm in its door and now I have a nice HUGE bruise on my arm. It’s going to get bigger and yellowier too, I know it. So rude of my car. I think that this is the beginning of a beautiful thing.
Speaking of crazy things (and no I’m not referring to myself) my cat, Carrot James, is teetering on the edge of sanity. Yesterday morning I was getting out of the shower when I heard this awful bang on the bathroom door, like someone was kicking it. I turned around just in time to see Carrot flying through the door. It appeared that she threw herself at it in order to get it open. She sat there for a moment to regain her composure and then she began staring at me as if to assume that I was the crazy one. Doesn’t everyone throw themselves at bathroom doors to open them? Knocking is so over rated. And why am I still looking at her with that shocked look? She wanted in the bathroom now and she did not have time to wait for me to finish and then open the door. After she gave me a look that almost melted my celulite, she promptly pranced out of the bathroom and jumped on my bed. Just a little FYI, I refuse to belive that people’s pets reflect their own personalities. I am not a reflection of Howard and Carrot James. Plus, if they did that would make the room mate a high maintenance biatch. His cat is the worst. Peek-a-boo is only nice when the food bowl is empty. If you are in the way (as in sitting on the computer chair) so that she can’t jump up to get to her food she will just meow and whine for hours. On more then one occasion I have been forced to remind her of the cruel truth. If you stop by my house and you hear me yelling, “ Shut up, you are fat, you don’t need to eat at this exact second. I’m trying to work here.” You will know who I’m talking to. I can't figure out why she doesn't like me. Hmm...