The Dung Beetle & Other Happenings

August 08, 2005
I’m so frustrated right now.

This is the time to play angry Smashing Pumpkins tunes at top volume and just scream.

First let me make this announcement to all:

Are you listening?

Hear me now . . .

NEVER – I repeat, NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER BUY A VOLKSWAGEN NEW BEETLE!

Did you get that?

Don’t do it.

Don’t be lured by the googly eyes full of love and cuteness. Don’t be enthralled by its sexy curves. Don’t be drawn in by the surprisingly roomy front seat interior and uber-cool German-ness of the military-time-only clock.

For it is what it appears to be, kids: a toy. A very cute toy that was thrown together at some plant in Mexico. And I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a toy car after a kid has played with it for a good while –but it’s not pretty. It’s the same for the Beetle.

I have dreaded this day – but I knew it would come. I have held my tongue and tried to give it love. I have tried not to diss it. I have tried to hold on to the emotions associated with driving such a cute vehicle.

But I can hold my tongue no longer.

First – the gear shift would stick in park. For HOURS at a time. I would be sitting in a parking lot – helplessly pumping the brake trying to get it out of park. Turns out it was a recall – that was fixed not only ONCE but TWICE.

Then the VW symbol on the back (hiding the trunk lock) fell off. Just popped right off. You know what was underneath? Hot glue. That’s all. I don’t care if they call it something else in their godforsaken factory – it was hot glue. We had the sense to put it back on with epoxy.

While doing that I noticed that the VW symbol on 2 of the hubcaps had also fallen off – probably hot-glued on as well.

Then the right front light died. Twice. In one year. As did both of the brakelights.

Then the radio controls went to shit. Put it this way – to go from CD mode to radio mode, I have to do a very delicate operation with the nail file on a pair of nail clippers. How classy.

AND HAVE YOU SEEN THE CUPHOLDERS DISTASTER IN THIS THING!?!? You can’t put anything bigger than a coke can in them – because there’s this “canopy” thing above them. It’s LUDICROUS!

Then – about a month ago – the air conditioner went to hell –literally. So 2 weeks ago, Chad bought some of that “do-it-yourself” charging crap and voila - it was FIXED! Perfect!

Well – this morning, that fix was no longer apparent. The vents blew out some sort of bizarro wet and slightly cool air which turned my naturally-wavy-but-just-carefully-flat-ironed hair to SHIT. Apparently there is a leak in some air conditioner hose. Although I know what’s going to happen if we take it in.

Oh – it’s the compressor. Yep – that’s what it is, ma’am. That will be $2200, please.

And then you will hear a scream. The world will hear a scream. And then I’ll smash the car to bits with my own two hands. Somehow – I’ll summon that pregnant woman superhuman strength.

So – instead, I’m going to leave here in a bit and go buy some more of that charging crap. And we’ll do it every two weeks until we can unload this sack of shit on some car dealership for the bigger car we need anyway (for baby).

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In other news – the bed in the spare bedroom will be dismantled and taken away tonight.

Why is this significant?

Because it’s my bed.

Because Chad and I don’t sleep in the same bed and haven’t since day one of married life.

This is a result of some sleep disorders and anxieties that Chad has about sleeping with a dog in the room. Because Mr. B will not stand to be in a separate room. He has to be with the pack. Or he will scream. All night. (We learned this the hard way in the very beginning.)

Actually Chad has sleep disorders – period, dog or not. But the dog thing makes it worse. I mean – even back in the “dating days” sleeping in the same bed was never much fun. Being in the bed was one thing – but the sleeping part . . .

I was a nervous wreck all night – because he can’t be touched. At all. Not by one pinky toe. Not by a hair on my head that has somehow strayed over to his side and brushed his cheek.

Not only that – but you can’t get up either. Even though it’s a California King do not disturb mattress (the kind in the commercial where the chick is jumping up and down on the bed with the wine glass on the other side – but not the memory foam one).

Now – I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it – but I’m getting up at least thrice per night – to tend to both Mr. B’s and my bladder.

But - since “my room” will soon be the nursery – this has to happen. And so it must. And so IT WILL. I mean – we’ll just have to get over ourselves. We’ll just have to deal with it.

It will be rough at first.

There’s no telling what will happen. Be sure that you’ll soon be reading LOTS about the coming hijinx.

I mean – it’s going to be difficult for me as well. I’ve enjoyed having my own bed and being able to sleep at all angles, thrash about during the night and turn the TV on at 3 am if I’ve woken up and can’t get back to sleep.

I guess we’ll get used to it though.

And then the baby will come.

And no one will ever sleep again.

12:12 p.m. ::
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