"If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading." Lao Tzu

 It's been quite a week, okay precisely ten days. Ten days that I've been car-less.  Didn't I just do this six months ago?

All annoyance aside for a second, I've been enjoying the perks of "Mom's Gym" and my legs, arms and ass are going to look great in no time flat.  Nice pun Julie. Flat.

Well that's what happened to Betsey... okay, okay stop exaggerating Julie she's not "flattened" but she's totaled.  Off to the graveyard for cars. Totally sucks.

I've had this particular topic in my blog saved for a while because it struck me a while ago how our lives determine what cars we drive.  Ironically, I sit here tonight, knowing I want to write, need to purge a bit cause it's seriously been a rough week and I don't mean my old standard, normal rough week for me.  This is getting to be ridiculous!!!

So I've pondered this subject and I've been driving for some time and I find it interesting how the cars we drive somewhat reflect our life choices, or at the very least parallel them.

My first car as a 16 year old driver back in good ole 1985. She actually wasn't mine. My dad bought her brand new, right off the dock in Long Beach.  Our family actually went on road trips in this thing. My sister drove her, then my brother, then me.  I, being the youngest, got to drive her the longest.  Our little 1962 Volkswagen Beetle.

Not only did I get to drive her the longest, I happened to have this awesome boyfriend who had her painted, new interior, headliners and fixed her up to look like a brand new car.  This was that car that everyone knew was mine and whenever someone saw it, they knew it was me and would wave.  I didn't realize how cool this was until much, much later because a few years later I wanted my "own car" so she was parked in the family driveway and my dad helped me buy my first car.

For a thousand bucks cash, I drove home in a sportin' 1982, Toyota Celica.  She was mine, just mine and I could put my dogs in the car and take them everywhere I went. It just felt different to drive something that wasn't a hand-me-down (at least not from my siblings) but only mine.  Well, um, er, uhhh, about three months into my car ownership, she was totaled by some lady not paying attention on Christmas Eve.  Sucked.

So being a live-at-home but college bound kid what else would responsible parents do but to give their youngest child a safe car to drive back and forth from Cerritos to Long Beach.  It felt like punishment to me, but I was assigned the "boat".  I have no idea what year this was. I don't care.  I hated it.  All it took was a few bad parallel park jobs and me messing up the whitewalls on my family's car and I was put right back into the Bug.  It just didn't feel as "cool" as it did in high school.

I got through most of my college years living off my parents, until they kicked me out of the house, in 1992. Homeless, car-less but far from jobless I rode my bike to work and then to the gym, where I also worked, then home.  Long Beach Transit System provided my ride to school.  I lived in the bad part of town. It's amazing because this was one of the times of my life where I actually felt the most confident, safest, and independent. I guess you have to be independent when your family disowns you...

I would read the newspaper on the bus route to school.  I was probably the most informed and enlightened at this stage of my life.... and let me tell you, I was ripped.  Riding a bike around town and teaching aerobics as often as I could as well as sub anyone's classes who needed it, I earned the nickname "legs" which is where the next ride comes into the picture.

I was a Miss Toyota Grand Prix Princess in 1991 and a man I met at a charity golf tournament whom I became involved with... this had a little something to do with the old dis-ownment from the family.  You see he was black.  Let's not mention that he was intelligent, intellectual, owned his own successful company, as well as had a stellar career as an NFL football player.  He was well-educated and God-fearing.  By any parents' accounts, someone they'd want their daughter to be with.  I hate to say it, and I will never understand it, but they EVENTUALLY came around and invited him over to the house.

This part of my life made me sad.  I'd always seen people for whom they were... but that's for another blog.

ANYway, since I was biking it and he lived a county and 45 minutes away, I was given a hard top Jeep to drive.  Not so much cause he was generous, but it was simply sitting in his garage and in retrospect, he was too damn lazy to come pick me up.  I was given a car for his convenience.  I'd take my cat with me all the time in this Jeep. I really liked driving this and plan to own one at some point in my life.  This car nor this relationship lasted long.  Both caught on fire - one figuratively, one literally.

This is where I get a little bit fuzzy but I remember buying a Honda Civic and drove it through most of my early 20s.  It was reliable and responsible.  I had a full time job after dropping out of college in my third year of study.  Had not only a job but a career and continued to teach aerobics part time, even becoming a certified instructor and the ONLY one at Gold's Gym (at the time) who was trained to teach the latest and greatest "step-aerobics" (man were my legs HUGE!)  What this car reminds me of is ponytails, baseball hats, and g-strings under my sweats.  Luckily my real job was in the office attached to a warehouse, so there was no dress code.  I could roll out of bed at 5:30 to teach the 6am class, head over to work, race over to teach the noon class, head back to work finish my day, then go teach a class or two after work.  I think in the early 90s, had the urban dictionary existed, my picture would have been used as the image for gym-rat.

At this point in my life, mid-twenties, I was doing fairly well financially, had moved over to a little nicer of a neighborhood in Long Beach and a bigger apartment that felt perfect for me.  I loved my place yet not too far into my feeling proud of myself for doing well, I fell hard for a man and moved in with him. DUMB, but whatever.  I traded in my conservative Civic for my cute little convertible.  My very first brand new car. My very first real (financed) purchase.  I loved this little thing, other than that time I was heading up to Big Bear in the summer for some sort of girl's weekend, got lost in the middle of nowhere and was too scared to pull over, stop and put my top up for fear that I'd be reliving a scene from Natural Born Killers.  I suffered a pretty bad sunburn that weekend. Note to self: do not get lost when topless.

So a couple years, a few dumb decisions, an engagement, a break-up and career change later, I found myself with the need for a car that was more professional in looks and practicality.  So I traded my cute little fun car in for a leased 1996 Honda Accord (simply because I had a car allowance and wasn't going to let THAT go to waste).  I couldn't exactly take clients to lunch in a two-seater.  My boss didn't demand it but the first time I showed up to a lunch appointment with a client and she asked if her assistant could join us, I felt pretty dumb.  Problem solved in one four hour transaction.

And then there came not one, but two... babies!  I continued to work through my pregnancy, took my maternity leave and then returned to work when my babies were three months old.  Being in sales I had a very flexible schedule and the husband (oh yeah, I totally forgot what car I was driving when I got married... guess it doesn't matter *cough*) would work his schedule around mine and we used a nanny to fill in the gaps and overlaps.  My income provided more than enough for the four of us, as well as full medical benefits, bonuses, cell phone as well as that (awesome) car allowance (that must be spent).  But shit... my lease was up!  Now what?


An Explorer of course.  I actually really liked this car, except that time when Jake closed the door on Madi's finger... I can't believe it didn't break! 

But then came doubly huge news.  The husband got a huge promotion (doubling his income) BUT it would require us to move five hours away, i.e. I'd have to quit my job. BUT I had news too, I was pregnant and we decided I would become an at-home mommy. So he took the promotion and my family packed and moved us, cause I was vomiting all over and lying down. Off we were sent on our new adventure, primed for success (well at least financially).

All it takes is two three year olds sitting two feet apart for a pregnant mother, soon to be expecting, to go into full blown panic attacks about how they were going to hurt the infant with their antics (not intentionally of course) or I was going to crash and kill us all.  They were ALL too young to even consider someone sitting in the front seat.  We sold his, I don't remember what it was, but his piece of crap and he took over Explorer driving and brought me home a White Minivan, officially branding me an at-home-mom.

This was the first car I had nothing to do with purchasing. He called me from the lot and asked what color. I didn't care and this is what I got.

I can't remember why we got rid of this car, I do remember hating looking like every other mom, so much so I dyed my hair brown (I had been blond for years - well most of the time).  I don't have a lot of memories of this car except one.  Another promotion and another family-required move to San Diego, we were fresh residents in North County living in an apartment awaiting our new home being built.  I think Jake must have been at speech therapy but I had Lucas (the baby) and Madi with me.  My busy little, darting, wandering girl and a huge Peg Perego, lug of a stroller containing a sleeping infant.  Their dad needed hairspray so a quick run into CVS while Jake was with his therapist then dash back to pick him up.  While inside the store, two young, Hispanic males were watching my daughter and every time she'd lift something to say "look mommy" from a video tape to a stuffed animal and I said the perfunctory, "okay sweetie, now put it back, come hold the stroller and let's find daddy's hairspray"; every item she touched or commented on these guys picked up.  The hair on the back of my neck was up, I walked through the checkout stand (fuck the hairspray!) and told the clerk as calmly as I could that "these gentlemen are following us" and she paged the manager.  Once I got to the exit I grabbed Mad and ran (luckily this car had one of those keychain thingys that you could unlock remotely), I threw her in the car, then picked up the entire (felt like 80 pound!) stroller, baby still inside, jumped in and locked the doors.  I don't know... maybe that's why we got rid of this car? *shudder*

Then I was introduced to the love of my life. My beloved Bertha. She was purchased from a car lot but was slightly used and she was perfect.  Again the call came in "what color do you want?" Again I replied "I don't care." And dad made sure she had ALL the fixins; leather seats, power everything, seated NINE, DVD player - which I was adamantly against but he claimed she was "free" (well yeah when you're paying $34,000 for a car, I guess so).

It would take an entire blog post to cover just this car.  We spent seven years together, raised three kids, rescued 600 dogs, and transported a few dozen more. She survived six moves and two divorces with me.   Those of you who met her toward the end could understand why; with missing headrests from pit bulls I'd left in the car "just to run into the store for a quick minute", to blood stains from my Great Dane's happy tail and emergency surgery.  Stickers inside every window for every good day my kids had at school or successful doctor's appointments.  She was destroyed by the end but every single broken part, every tear, every blood stain had a great story to tell. I loved her. I miss her. She served us well. RIP Bertha, 2004-2011

So my latest doll came to me after avid research and intense searching, three weeks of walking and borrowing money from my son in order to secure this fine cutie.  On December 15th, 2011, Betsey joined our family.  Little did I know, we'd only get six months together but in that time she got my little aspiring actor to Hollywood dozens of times, kids to practices and school. Served as my mobile office and I knew my family was safe.  The intent upon purchasing her was she was to be handed on to my soon-to-be-licensed twins... well this story ends tragically, RIP Betsey.

Where does 2012 leave me???  I'm not sure.  This week is not worth rehashing. It's over, it's past. My only choice is to move forward and take each step as it comes, make good decisions and stay determined that this too shall pass.  In the meantime, I think I may be getting my ass back.