The Return of the Malibu

Part III of the trilogy:

The weekend passed. But my precious was calling to me. For the most part, Gollum has retreated, though my precious still called.

In case you are wondering, my precious is a Chevy Malibu LTZ. Hey, what's with the laughter? That was not intended to be funny. Ride in the thing. It's a nice car.

When I bought my Chevy Malibu LT in 2004, I had every intention - at the time - to keep it forever and drive it into the ground. Six years and 96,000 miles later, it was still going strong and getting 25-30 MPG. Take that Ferrari...Porsche...Lexus. HA!

Anyway, various external forces began to weigh on the idea of getting a new car - not the least of which was the ability to plug my iPod into my radio. That feature alone is worth $20,000. But even when I started thinking about it last year, there was one problem with the new Malibu - the interior.



I could not live with myself driving in that. I was born in the 1970's, but please.

I discovered that they finally got wise that some of us had taste in interior color schemes and they offered a solid color. At this point, I might have gone for pink, as long as it was one color.

Nobody in Las Vegas had one with the black interior. I take that back, there was one. That's where we went to look in Part I. I really didn't want black on the exterior, however - especially since I had to pay for it. Why isn't every color of car the same price? Is black or red paint more expensive than Taupe Grey Metallic? I don't think so.

The wonders of the internet led me to my precious - in Salt lake City, deep within the realm of Mordor. With the deal in hand, the Fellowship, including two Hobbits, set off to retrieve the One Car from Sauron (played by Larry H. Miller, well, his dealership, with all reverence to the late Jazz Owner).

Successful, the Fellowship set off to return to the Shire. Less than an hour into the return trip (this particular journey was to only take one day, as opposed to Frodo's), "THWAP!!!". That is the sound a rock makes when it hits your precious in the windshield. Thankfully, there are a number of auto glass repair places all along this particular corridor of freeway.

I would like to point out that it is only in Utah and Salt Lake County that I have ever had my windshield broken. I believe that is why these repair places exist at every exit there.


But these guys were awesome. They took us in and took care of us right away. Please, if you are in Utah County and need a windshield repaired, go to these guys on 800 North in Orem, just off the I-15. They were great. And inexpensive, too. (End Commercial)


Was the trip worth it? My Precious:

The Two Towers

In part two of our trilogy (Part I):

We hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, and Nick, particularly, was quite ready to eat, if not particularly thirsty. We dropped off the ruined tire at Big O to get replaced and mounted on the wheel. (I asked if they could fix it, knowing full well they wouldn't.)

Then we went across the street to fill up on gas - nearly empty.

"Um, Dad. I really need to go to the bathroom again."

This time there was no 11-year-old daughter drama, but we were at Sam's Club, where the pumps are 5 miles from the store. Nick looked over at the Honeybaked Ham Store and asked, "What about over there?"

So we left the car, fuel pumping, while we ran across the small drive to Honeybaked Ham. I stayed by the window to watch the car in case it blew up or, worse yet, in case someone pulled up next to the car and started to pump gas on my dime.

Once he was out and we were back at the car, I felt sure that, by this point, he had to be done.

Smeagol was feeling guilty, so we ate wherever and whatever Nick requested. Then, we went to help my moving friend unload his truck. Until 5 pm. Now the birthday party that ended an hour and 56 minutes ago is actually over and it is time to pick up Matti. It made sense to me that since we were going to be gone, anyway, we might as well run and get the new tire put on the car.

While waiting for the wheel to get put on the car, Nick came up to me and said, "Um, Dad..."

This is where my parenting skills receive the final blow. Apparently, he was so scared of Gollum resurfacing that he didn't even bother to tell me beforehand - he just wet his pants. And we still were committed to go back to help my friend finish unloading.

Thankfully, he has two young boys and his wife was able to get out some dry pants for Nick as a temporary fix.

There you go.

Lesson #1 - Do not let your 7-year-old son have unfettered access to the fountain drinks at the auto dealership.

Lesson #2 - Nothing is so important as to allow Gollum to speak to your children - ever.

Maybe not necessarily in that order...but...you get the idea.

It's All About Me

Last week was rough. I was left to care for the children every night, without the presence of my beautiful and extremely talented wife. How is one man supposed to be expected to care for 2 children by himself for more than one night in a row? Or more than one night?

Like anyone, I have a list of things I wanted to accomplish...last year. But I am still trying to get started on the first one. I was thinking I might finally get a start on some of those things this past week.

Nope.

Before I continue the rest of this story, I would like to point out I am fully aware of my selfishness. I appreciate your desire to set me straight on the many things I did wrong and how my selfishness was the center of it, however. Thank you.

So it was a long (and extremely rainy, by the way) week by the time Thursday rolled around.

Thursday afternoon, I drove through a puddle and came out the other side with an annoying, repetitive sound in the front end on the driver's side.

Friday morning, I inspected my tire and discovered that there was a bolt was stuck in it. "I will take it to Big O Tires tomorrow," I thought.

Friday evening, I left work a little early so I could stop by a dealership, on my way home, to look at a new car I have been thinking about for a while. I really like it. I do. "I wants it. My precious."

In the 2.7 seconds we had together on Saturday morning, I showed Nicki the various analysis I had done regarding the affordability of a new car payment (remember I am an accountant). She agreed that we could do it and gave me the green light, if I decided it's what I want to do.

"I wants it."

"You should take your car to have the tire fixed before you go."

This wasn't any ordinary old random thought. I recognized that at that time, mind you. "But," I reasoned, "It's held this long...I can still get Matti to her friend's birthday party back on this side of town by 3 pm. and then to help my friend move into his apartment at 4 pm."

In other words, "I must have it. I wants it." And we were off.

Do you have an 11-year-old daughter? Every mile I heard, "The Santa Fe is not this way. We have passed the Santa Fe. Daddy, I am going to be late!!"

Gollum said some things to my children on the drive over to Findlay Chevrolet that I regret.

Then, at the point where the concrete meets the asphalt on the off-ramp to Rainbow, the bolt was thrown loose causing the tire to almost instantly go flat. I was so close, yet so far away.

This off-ramp is far too busy to stop right on it to change the tire. So, I was forced to limp up and to the right into the first parking lot. Naturally, Nick wanted to help and it was fun for him to help get the tire out of the trunk and get the lug nuts off - after I had loosened them, of course. I'm strong enough to do that, you know.

Half an hour later, we were mobile again - except I had never used my spare in the 6 years I owned that vehicle (check your spares, folks!). With just enough air in the spare to get to the gas station next door, we drove over and I filled it and checked the other tires in the process.

"Well," thought I, "I'm this close. We'll just go look real quick."

"I wants it. My precious."

I looked at the car while the kids entertained themselves in the lobby (with a TV and, as I was about to realize, a soda fountain) and we left with enough time to get around the beltway and back to the Santa Fe Bowling center - it should only take around 25 minutes. Unless...

For those of you who have (or have raised) young boys, you may be aware of the necessity to ask a certain question before going anywhere in the car. I did not ask that question and no sooner had we entered onto the 215, from the back seat, "Dad. Um. I need to go potty." Also from the back seat, "What?! No, Daddy! We are going to be late!!"

Smeagol had started to regain some control over Gollum by now. I pulled off the very next exit and drove through to the frontage road where there is only empty dirt. We left the empty dirt with a small patch of mud.

We proceeded to make good time, with my constantly never-over-dramatic daughter assuring us that she was going to be late and miss the entire party. I chose to drive Summerlin Parkway to the 95, figuring it would be faster. As we approached the flyover to northbound US-95 from Summerlin Parkway, from the back seat, again, comes, "Um...Dad. I really have to go potty again."

"What?! No, Daddy. We are going to be late!!"

I asked, "Buddy, can you possibly make it another 5 minutes?" We tried some diversionary tactics - songs, etc. - for a very brief 2 minutes (probably less) and I pulled over just past the Rainbow on-ramp before the Cheyenne exit. A perfectly safe place to stop.

I had managed to have my son relieve himself on two different highways within 20 minutes. Worry not. There were two more to go.

I dropped off Matti at 3:04 pm. Unfortunately, the party that started at 3 pm had ended by then, so she was left to go bowling by herself. To her relief, however, she found that all her friends had decided to stay a little longer.

The story continues...