I'm An Adult? Part One: The First Time I Fixed My Car

Well, it's been a couple weeks since I wrote in here. Oops?

That's partially because life was happening, and partially because I'm lazy. But now that it's been some time, I have multiple ideas for blog posts, which should hopefully get me into the groove here.

We're nearing the end of January, the beginning of 2015, and I have to say, it's been a most stressful start to the year, if I'm being honest. I started the year with an illness, work ramped up further after an already hectic holiday period (what break?), and things started breaking. I'm kind of proud of myself for the amount of adulthood I endured in a short period of time though.

It isn't a surprise to anyone who knows me, but I know very little about the mechanics of cars. I drive a 2004 Ford Taurus, which in its heyday was a decent ride, but now that it's just about 11 years old and has over 150k miles on it, I'm in almost constant (though subdued) fear that it's going to break while I'm driving it, or when I really need to get somewhere. Something huge (read: expensive) requires fixing at least once a year, and the winter is a whole new set of obstacles, the most common of which is the driver's side door doesn't like to shut when it's very cold because the latch gets frozen in the open position. I've had some rather terrifying drives to work with one hand on the wheel and the other hand gripping the door and taking right turns as slow as is possible without stopping the car completely. Luckily I've managed to figure a way to jimmy the door shut this winter in the moments where it has defied me.

But this story is not about the door, or about something breaking. This is a tale of how I managed to prevent a situation. You should all be very proud of me.

It started at the beginning of the month. I had to run to the CVS down the street from work to get some meds for my aforementioned illness, and the car started just fine when I left. When I got back into the car after being in CVS for about 10 minutes, however, the car wouldn't start on the first try. "That's odd. It's noon, the sun is out, and the engine was just running," I thought to myself. But it started on the second try, so I did my best to pretend it didn't happen. This is my normal reaction when something is wrong. I'm aware it's not the healthiest way of dealing with things.

It happened several times in the next couple weeks; I didn't think anything of it in the mornings when the car had been sitting in subzero temperatures all night (New England winters are the worst things ever, how have I lived through a full 28 of these and not yet moved to a warmer climate?), but it happened more often when the car had only just been running an hour or even 30 minutes before and wouldn't start on the first try.

Then, about a week and a half ago, it was every time I started the car for the whole day. In the morning, okay, as I mentioned, it had been bitterly cold overnight. Then when I left work for my lunch break. It had been sitting in the sun, it wasn't that cold, why wouldn't it start right away? I talk to my car when it doesn't do what I want. I begged it not to break on me. I went home for about 20 minutes, and it gave me a hard time when I left for Starbucks. "Okay, this might be a problem." And then, when it took two turns of the key to start it after I'd been in Starbucks for just 5 minutes, I finally had to admit - something was definitely wrong.

If something is wrong with the car, I call my dad. I call him even when there's literally nothing he can do (the first time I couldn't get my door shut at 2am when I got out of work - that was a great phone call). So, I got back to work, and after having thought the whole ride home about what I would say so he wouldn't get frustrated with me, I called him. "Dad, when's the last time we got the battery replaced in my car? I think it might be bad." I explained what was happening.

"I don't remember, why don't you drive to Autozone and have them test the battery, and they can replace it if it needs to be done."

Oh god. Panic. Go to Autozone? By myself? Instantly, I start spewing out horrified excuses as to why I am unable to handle this responsibility. "But, I don't know anything about cars, I'm a girl, they'll just try to sell me something I don't need and I won't know that I don't need it, I don't know how to do this." Cue frustration from my dad. And understandably. He wasn't going to drive all the way to me to sort this problem out, unless maybe he came down tomorrow, and anyway how would they sell me something I don't need? "It's a goddamn car battery, Wendy, they only last for a couple years, and they'll put in the same one that's already in there, and it'll be about $100, and get the fuck over it." (Well I added the last part, but his tone said that loud and clear.)

So I left work about 15 minutes early, and I drove to Autozone, and even though I was dressed as though I have no idea what I'm doing with cars (since I came from work: dress, cardigan, tights, black leather boots), the resistant-to-my-conversational-attempts technician at Autozone did not trick me into buying a new battery, he showed me that my battery was bad, and I paid about $100 for a replacement, and the car now starts on the first try every time (except for when it was really cold one time, but that's okay). I survived. I also realized it had been at least 4 years since that battery had been replaced, which means it lived a full life, and I got as much out of it as I was going to. I felt empowered after I took care of that by myself - before it broke, instead of after - and I have to admit, I'm slightly less terrified of my car's inner workings now.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm still going to call my dad when anything goes wrong. But maybe now it'll be an informative conversation instead of a request for help. Slowly but surely, at 28 years old, I'm finally accepting that I have to take care of some shit on my own.

(Or have my boyfriend do it, which is what I did 5 days later when I needed to replace the windshield wipers.)

A Beginning

I'm Wendy, I'm 28, and I have no idea what I want to do with my life.

While I hope there are people out there who would find my stories and writing amusing, this is as much, if not more, for me than anyone else. I need an outlet, and taking myself outside of a situation to write about it is extremely cathartic.

And if anyone else out there is just as lost and confused as I am, have a seat, relax, and enjoy the ride. I hope this helps you...and feel free to jump in if you've got any advice.

To set the stage:
1. I'm 28, as I said, and am terrified of growing old. The closer I get to 30, the more anxious I become, and I didn't exactly start out at 0 on the anxiety scale.
2. I live by myself.
3. I have a great job at a company that I've been part of for almost 8 years, but no real clue as to how to turn it into a career. More importantly, I don't know what I want my career to be.
4. Despite making a decent salary, I have no money. (WHERE does it go??)
5. I love the idea of exercise & eating healthy.
6. I love sleep and chocolate more.
7. The majority of my life is an exercise in navigating awkward.

I don't have any idea how often I'll post on here. Some of my ideas are too personal to be out on the internet and will end up just being short or maybe long essays in Word documents. But every experiment has to start somewhere, and here is it. A new year, a new project, a beginning.