History, my story, her story.

Lately, it's been brought to my attention that 2010 might be a year full of more grown up responsibilities. Well, at least more grown up-er?
Possible home ownership, incurring a fistful of debt, raising a balls-to-the-walls, independent, growling toddler.
All good things. Maybe not the most pleasant at times, but good nonetheless.

With all this in mind, I also think this is the year we finally sell my car.
*Collective gasp!*
For those unaware, the car in question is my first car, the broken little Integra - my Gally, my Battle Angel.

Yes. I totally named my car after an anime character.
But James Cameron is totally adapting her into a movie, so who's laughing now? Hmm..?

She popped into my life, a complete surprise, on August 27, 1999. It was a Friday.
I came home from school when my mom asked if I could go into work a little late.
"Why?"
"I need you to call the Acura dealership, to see if your car's ready to be picked up."
Holy shit.
[!!!!!]
And yes, I was late to Little Caeser's (Battlewood, how can I help you?), but it was the best damn day, ever.
Ever, ever.

I spent a lot of time in my car those first few years. First kisses and bad poetry and cans of Dr. Pepper. Sleeping in the front seat when Bellevue or Murfreesboro or Franklin was just too damn much. Punk rock road trips and driving to shows and shows and shows. Broken hearts and Camel Lights and music so loud it rattled my mirrors.
On any given weekend, you'd find us sitting in the backseat. We'd listen to Bjork's Homogenic, feeling the bass turn our insides to goo, the backs of our heads sinking into the upholstery.

Soon enough, I learned about her strange center of gravity, an unceasing barrage of Interstate debris - runaway bumpers, loose 2x4's, broken PVC pipes. A decent smattering of all things you'd never want hitting your car while pushing 70mph on I-65.

My sophomore year of college, when I was overstressed and reeeeeaally not at my best, I drove a total of 36 hours so I could spend half a day in Nashville.
Seven days later, she was stolen.

I was rushing out of my apartment, running late for my flight to Nashville.
There was a gaping hole in front of our place, a Japanese sedan-sized hole that simply said, "Oh, fuck."
I remember fighting with my mom over the phone, she was furious.
I remember screaming, "Yeah! It was my fault, Mom! I parked it extra close to the bad part of town, Mom! And I left the door wide open with keys inside, Mom! Christ! Mom!"
"Watch your language!"
"Jesus!"
"What did I just say?!"
"Jeeeeez!"
"That's still too close."

The unfortunate thing was that I did, in fact, reside in the bad part of town.
But I definitely didn't leave my keys in the ignition.

One month later I received the phone call no one was expecting - they had found my car and she was all in one piece. She came back to me! With a busted steering column! And minus my subwoofer! What a dumb name for something!

June 2003.
I moved to Nashville right after fixing my recovered car. 4 hours out of Boston, I realized the mechanics forgot to replace my oil cap. I spent the night in a gas station. This is me, finally leaving Fishkill, NY.

Post-college my car became a living example of all the bad decisions I was making in my life. Dents the size and shape of feet, another broken windshield, two broken doors, stab wounds in her roof. (Stabby StabbyMcStabberson?)
....but mama, I'm in love.....

It was a difficult and very, very, very stupid time in my life. It feels awful that my car still wears those scars, while mine faded all too soon.

Wait, is this going on my carfax report?

Not to get all symbol-y on your asses, but when my now-husband and I started dating, he struck me dumb when he started putting my car back together. Speaker by speaker, bit by bit.
Kids, it's the little things.
Those damnsweet little things.

June 2007.
Road trippin'. Saint Louis. Not married.

September 2009.
On my way to my wedding. Already married. About to get married again.

When I was 9 months pregnant, tight swollen with hormones, fat with scary emotions*, I was driving to work.
I was listening to the Beastie Boys, something I've done a thousand times over in that car, and out of nowhere, I began sobbing. Crying those big ole tears, the ones that really count. My thought process was as such:
"I love the Beastie Boys! I'm about to have a baby! She'll love the Beastie Boys too! Man, she's gonna be so cool! Oh my god! I'm having a cool baby! Waaaaah! Like, literally!"
I know that it doesn't seem like an earth shattering realization, but for some reason it took a while for everything to settle in. Honestly, there are some days when I look at my daughter and say, "Oh my god! I have a baby?!"

It's fun. You should look forward to it.

April 2010.
Quite possibly, the least flattering picture of my child.

That's basically it though. My Gally, my Battle Angel.
A witness to awkward high school proms, college-aged breakdowns (physical and emotional), post-graduate violence/vices, my most favorite love story, and the prettiest baby girl.
That's a lot of years and that's a lot of miles.
198,867 to be exact.

I've learned a lot about that little car, but I still don't know what color she is.
Purple? Grey? Brown? Champagne-y?
Strangely enough though, I owned a pair of corduroy bell bottoms that were exactly the same color.

You'll be missed.
(x infinity. plus one.)



You know what else I miss?
The way Trent Reznor used to look.


*For the record, I wasn't really, really crazy while I was pregnant. The only other time I remember weeping those hard and heavy cries was when I decided to watch Armageddon. Just to see if I could watch it, 9 months pregnant, and not cry. I failed miserably and wound up crying for 5 hours. My husband came home to find me whimpering in my blanket cocoon.
"What happened?!"
"It was like...as soon as they got into space, baby. Everything was just...so hard."

Disasters, floods and one badass mom.

It's been one helluva week.

In case you haven't heard, Nashville is flooded.
Middle Tennessee is flooded.
Western Tennessee is flooded.
This is disaster.

On Saturday, my husband and I watched a live feed of Interstate 24, westbound.
He turned to me saying, "But that's the interstate -- the interstate doesn't flood."
We watched as traffic merged into one lane as Mill Creek pushed over its banks.
Within three minutes, cars began floating into one another.
Passengers were crawling out of their windows, fleeing to the eastbound lanes that still had moving traffic.

It never stopped raining.

We woke up early for a Sunday. Thunder booms and a frightened baby.
At 9am I decided to call my mom, to let her know that we were fine, to make sure that she was safe.
She told me they had closed the road in front of her house.
The Harpeth River was making its way across Bellevue.
While on the phone with her, I could hear an emergency official ask if she was alright.
Telling her to get to the second story.
"I'm okay. I walk with a cane, but I'll be alright."

Within the hour she was evacuated.
And it would be hours still until I would speak with her again.

Waiting for her to call, I watched the news as helicopters flew over Bellevue, over River Plantation.



That's when I couldn't stop shaking.
My jaw locked up and I could only chatter my responses.

Ryan was amazing.
He called around to find a friend, who had a friend, whose mother also lived in River Plantation.
He told me that everything was going to be fine.
And then he went to go find my mom.

Moments after he left, she called.
And then everything was okay.

Because she's Sister Rose. She's my strength and my faith.
And she's my mom.

She's persevered through heart break, pneumonia and paralysis.
She's raised three goofy half-asian kids and dealt with my sister as a teenager.
She's spent more than half of her life living in strange countries; thousands of miles away from her home, her country, her family.
She endured 10 months of agonizing and excruciating physical therapy --
and she walked away from it.
She has flourished and she has always persevered.

And she sure as hell won't let a flood defeat her now.



Plus, two years ago, when I called her up and said, "Um...Ryan and I just eloped..." She didn't get mad.
So that makes her a supreme badass.