So next month is my FINAL car payment. For 35 months I have been sending $351 to Ford Credit of Canada every month. This, in addition to my insurance, makes my car cost me $512/month. This doesn’t include things like gas, oil changes, and deductibles because my car fell victim to a 360º keying.

That was fun.

You may have just done the math and may or may not be wondering why my auto insurance is $161/month for a 2007 Ford Focus… All enquiries can be directed to Kenny and that’s all I’ll say about that.

Nevertheless, I’ve been quite excited these last few months at the prospect of being up at the very least $500/month. That’s a lot for this single-income girl with a provincial government salary and two cat-children. I have to play my cards right though because in the world of Andrea, $500 more a month could mean better quality oil paint brushes and Costco-size lint rollers. In other words, I need to keep reminding myself that $500 more a month doesn’t make me any Liliane Bettencourt.

On the flip side, although I sincerely am looking forward to this extra amount a month, I can’t help but feel like I’m going to be missing having a car. Yes, I know this makes me much less of a tree hugger but do you know how hard it is to haul a 50lbs box of cat litter from Costco to my front door? What about skiing? Or taking road trips to San Francisco? These are things that make me feel human.

I’ve been contemplating the idea of getting myself into a little, rattling, shit-box. I’ve never had a shit-box and I feel as though the best stories of growing up come from adventures in shit-boxes – almost like a right of passage. When you have a new vehicle, there’s no character. Shit boxes scream character because they’re adorned with home-made things like clothes hangers and cardboard wedged into the stereo housing because the deck isn’t fitting snugly enough. It’s getting your hands dirty because nothing under the hood will be clean. It opens the door to logical thinking because you’ll feel comfortable doing your own repairs as there is no warranty to void. It’s being able to put a bumper sticker on it and not caring because there’s no paint left on the bumper anyway.

My plan is to set aside $500 for March, April, and May; just as if I were still making car payments. What’s three more months after 36 months of payments? This way, I’ll have $1,500 to spend on my very own shit-box! I’ll be payment free. I shouldn’t keep calling it a shit box because I will take my used car very seriously and I will most certainly ensure that my vehicle is safetied, stable, and with doors that really do lock. I will cherish my shit-box.

Here are just a few of the ones I have my eyeballs on (make here, not these exact ones)…

Frankly, I’m excited to get my bum into something all worn, and vinyl-smelling.

Keep you posted.

1993 Honda Civic Si - Photo: Edmunds.com

1991 Volvo 240 - Photo: Edmunds.com

1992 Volkswagen GTI - Photo: Edmunds.com

In which I go on.

And on.

Have you seen The Young Victoria? I saw it last week and fell in love with it. The era and the history of the Royal Monarchy is beautifully depicted but, for me, the love story between Victoria and her prince was equally so. *Deep sigh.*

Okay, I love war epics, I love movies that are so horrifying I think I’m going to throw up, I love foreign films, I love movies that upset me and anger me, I love movies that I can watch once a week for the rest of my life (Dirty Dancing) and be happy, and … I love stories of love. 

I don’t want to give too much away because it’s still in theatres, but, The Young Victoria is a beautiful and touching love story. What’s really nice is if you read about their actual life together, its portrayal is nailed in the film. Apparently Victoria kept a diary through much of her life and her early writings after meeting and spending time with Albert demonstrated a brimming affection for him. For example:

“[Albert] is extremely handsome; his hair is about the same colour as mine; his eyes are large and blue, and he has a beautiful nose and a very sweet mouth with fine teeth; but the charm of his countenance is his expression, which is most delightful.”

It was her maternal uncle, Prince Leopold I of Belgium, who introduced them; and her other maternal uncle, Ernest (also Albert’s father (yes, Albert was Victoria’s first cousin)) who approved the match. 

To her uncle, Prince Leopold, Victoria once wrote in thanks:

“… for the prospect of great happiness you have contributed to give me, in the person of dear Albert … He possesses every quality that could be desired to render me perfectly happy.”

I’m not sure if I’m just screaming lonely, single girl here, which is fine, but this doesn’t have anything to do with loneliness. I will never deny myself the fact that this is what a relationship looks like to me. I don’t know many passionate, soulful women who would think otherwise. Men too for the sake of argument. It has been documented that Victoria and Albert unified for love which was uncommon for royals at that time. Albert had a deep love and respect for his Queen and brought to bear that title in more than just the obvious. He technically was her liege, but her husband as well. 

This is that constitutional desire we all have to be understood, accepted, and respected by the Alberts who come into our lives. I walked out of the theatre looking for Albert but he was nowhere to be found.

Which is okay because I’m not sure I ever will find him.

Also okay.

Therein lies the conundrum for someone like me. I can cry over this movie and wonder if one day I too will have a relationship where I am cherished, devoted to, loved, accepted, stimulated, challenged, protected, etc… find it in a thesaurus. I laugh at myself though when I realise that the reason this is so difficult for me is because I know I can be very perplexing to some men who are used to a certain kind of woman.

A man (we’ll call him Albert) could be staring me right in the face. He could tell me all the wonderful things that brought tears to my eyes in the movie. But, so help me God, I can be such a particular, picky moppet that I just may end up single until I leave this earth. 

Make sense of that? 

I barely can.

See, having an Albert is well and good – but for me to be satiated and contained by this Albert I’d need him to be a challenging, broken, sensitive, kind, distant, open, advisor, learner, loving, comforting, clairvoyant, intellectual, hilarious, video-game loving, bookworm who is patient, smart, soulful, clever, devoted, deep, demanding, spontaneous yet regimented, logical yet illogical… did I mention patient? On top of all this I would require an absurd chemical attraction toward him that offers a fine mix of the following adjectives: cheap, lusty, lascivious, surly, gentle, sweet, considerate, slow and steady. I like to be where I can melt.

On the bright side I am clearly not expecting perfection.

Can you imagine? 

Then there’s the whole other issue of the person I am and if the type of person I’m attracted to can actually tolerate someone like me.

If I were in a relationship with me I would not know what to do with myself sometimes. Although I suppose that’s the way in all relationships. Some just have the potential to go completely sideways in a very dramatic way – it’s just whether or not you can pick the same battles. Like Vicky and Albert did. 

I resign myself to the fact that this is highly unlikely that I find my perfect match and have considered the advice of some people who tell me I need to trim the list a little bit or become either a lesbian or a nun, but I’m a terrible human being when I’m settling for something or someone. Settling is like giving me 50 years without parole. That would bring me to roughly 83 years old and by that time everything on my body will be at least four inches lower than where they started and then what?

Make no mistake, I re-evaluate my options regularly, look at the pros and cons and have come to understand what missing characteristics I can acquiesce to and which ones are compulsory. It’s like that  job interview – there are always requirements, but most of the time a relevant amount of experience is considered an asset but you never want to settle for an employee who’s not the right fit.

It doesn’t sound that awful – just look at the relationship you’re in right now. Are you happy? Can you see yourself gladly purchasing Depends for this person years from now? When life’s up are you going to look back at its entirety and not feel like the biggest mistake you made was to spend a life in a relationship where you were essentially alone anyway? Mistakes should be about things like selling shares at the wrong time, wearing stirrups in the 80s, buying a Geo Metro, or being fired for photocopying your breasts. All recoverable. A lifetime of unhappiness is not and we’re all grown-ups here; we only get a shot at life once. 

Back to Victoria and Albert…

When Albert died of typhoid at the age of 42, Victoria entered a state of withdrawal, then perpetual mourning, and wore black every day for the rest of her life. I don’t find this necessarily healthy and I’ll leave that up to the psychologists but if you look at this from a more bittersweet perspective, that’s love. The pain comes from when the person’s gone and not from the ass when you’re together.

For now, I’ll purchase the movie and treat myself to its charm as I see fit. It’ll sit right between Dirty Dancing and The Notebook on my shelf. 

I will leave you with one of mine and Gee’s favourite moments from the movie as well as the Sunday Jammin’ song on a Wednesday.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yW3B-MK19_w

The Shins – New Slang

So I went to this big gala with Gee last night. This was the first new year’s where I actually spent more than the cost of a six pack of beer or a bottle of wine. We bought tickets – they came to $91 each, it was a fundraiser for MS, it was at a beautiful restaurant on Kits Beach, there was going to be a red carpet entrance. I had a new dress. Our night had all the makings of something quite memorable to end 2009. 

Gee came over around 8:30 PM so we could have enough time to give ourselves the thrice-over, make sure our hair was nice, we smelled pretty, and generally give ourselves time to get excited. We cabbed it ($15 each) to the location and met Mandy and a couple of her friends at the red carpet. 

We head up the stairs to an otherwise vacant dining area. It was still early, there was plenty of time for the anticipated 300+ crowd to file in. We stood about; wandering from corner to corner. Eventually the room was busy with patrons excited to be ringing in a new year.

The hors d’œuvres came out. 

Gee and I were starving having forgotten to eat a proper dinner. What I found particularly interesting is the moment the sushi, ham-wrapped asparagus, and crab cakes hit the table it was instantly surrounded by women. I suppose there’s this kind of stereotype we almost give ourselves when eating in a public place that there’s this level of self-consciousness that sets in first. Men don’t care, if there’s food, and they’re hungry, they eat. Here we all were, dressed in our party-wear for this big, fussy gala, and the women were swarming the food like seagulls at a landfill.

It didn’t take long to notice the first fatal flaw of the evening. There was not a single garbage bin in sight. Toothpicks, discarded half-eaten sushi, skewer sticks, and napkins started piling up on any available surface. This bothered me. I didn’t want to be paying for a $91 ticket only to be sitting among sticky napkins. I approached one of the bar staff to let him know and he was about as surprised as we were. He did some speaking to various coworkers and eventually a bus boy was placing a green garbage bag into a bin. And, that was it for the garbage bin. One garbage bin for 300+ people. Garbage, FAIL.

I distinctly remember watching a short Quicktime video on the event’s website highlighting last year’s party where I know a saxophonist was there. 

Or was he?

There was no saxophonist at this year’s event. 

Maybe it was a highlight from another event and they were trying to look cool by showing him in this cleverly spliced video to draw more attention? False advertising, FAIL.

Gee and I eventually made it to the bar for our second glass of red. We were told during the first round that they had two house reds available – Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot. We both opted for the CS first time around. $17 total. But, when Gee decided this time she was going to get the Merlot we arranged that I’d get this round, she could get the next. “Nineteen twenty, please.” The bartender had my $20 bill before it registered that the total was now over two dollars more than it was the first time around. So I asked her. And she printed the bill. And the house Merlot was more than the Cabernet Sauvignon. Inconsistent house wine pricing at a big event, FAIL.

I remember at around 11:00 PM we could overhear groups talking about it almost being midnight, us included. We mingled in wait and lost track of time for that hour as we got lost in people-watching, eating, and drinking. If it weren’t for my cell phone vibrating in my purse at 11:58 I would have never realised it was two minutes away from the end of a decade. The anticipation built and before we knew it it was 12:02 AM and a new year had begun. The music didn’t stop, there was no announcement, the song didn’t even skip a beat. We looked at each other and then at the people around us. Clusters of people initiated their own countdown and eventually the crowd rang in the new year completely confused. I’ve had a more climactic entrance to a new year in my grandparents’ parlor watching Dick Clark’s countdown.

We were all feeling very strange. It was the first New Year’s Eve were there was no acknowledgement of the midnight hour. My body suddenly became very vacant feeling as I began to add up my expenses of the evening. I had spent well over $100 to hang out at a restaurant decorated like Christmas and eat hors d’œuvres. It was really like had there been a countdown, something to distinguish this particular night from every other night, it would have been okay. The lack of garbage bins, the inconsistent wine pricing, all of those things would have been okay if we had actually felt like we were there for a big New Year’s party. But, we were feeling completely ripped off. There wasn’t even an ounce of free champagne in those cheap, stout champagne glasses available. A $91 ticket to eat hors d’œuvres while standing?

At about 12:30 AM the room was getting noticeably more empty. All who remained on the dance floor were the ones who had spent big bucks on the inconsistently priced house wine. They were in their bare feet and most likely well past the point of even remembering if we had counted down or not. Well past the point of even caring. 

Then someone turned on the lights in the room and they didn’t go off until about 15 minutes later. The room was lit up, bright as day, highlighting the faces of all the patrons who were still trying to find consolation in the anticlimactic launch of a new year.

The lights finally went off and come 1:00 AM the room was about 3/4 empty. We left about 5 minutes later. 

New Year’s Eve 2010 FAIL.

We took some fun photos though…

But first… Sunday Jammin’ Music on Friday this time. Two of my favourites right here.

Makin’ Whoopee – Dr. John and Rickie Lee Jones