Too Pooped To Party

What a day!

I started out in neutral, wandered a while in reverse, revved up to way too many RPMs, and then idled to a dropping stop by 8 p.m.

I am now too pooped to party. And even too tired to cry about my latest loss. A verbal boohoo will have to do. For now . . .

Today ended the longest five minutes of my life. I hear you all going “huh?” in the background. Let me explain.

Six weeks ago my dear hubby did everything but spit polish our truck to put it up for sale. Her pewter paint shone in the August sun like golden spun silk. After ten years in service, she was still as beautiful as could be. And to prove her regality, she lured a buyer not even five minutes after Ken parked her on the corner. The ink was still wet on the signs. The test drive was completed within an hour, and she was all but sold—until I could not locate the title. I made myself miserable staying up half that night searching through all the files, pertinent or not. I searched everywhere I thought it might have been mislaid and everywhere it could not possibly have been. I knew for sure that a year and a half ago, we had that title in hand, in the presence of our attorney.

Screech! Put on the brakes. He must have shuffled it into the papers he kept when he was helping us sort through some legal matters last year. Woops.

A rousing game of telephone tag followed, as he is no longer local, but evidently his files still are. He has found something, I am not sure what, answering machines and all that confusion. Undaunted, we approached DMV for a replacement title.

Drum roll, please.

Six weeks and $77 dollars for the replacement later, the title finally arrived in our mailbox. Yippee, but was the fish still interested, or had he found some other way to spend his wad of cash?

Yes! He was still interested! Even bigger yippee! Only, he was out of town. Bummer. A few more days must go by. Even after we had the time and date set to his choosing, we still had to wait for him to arrive at the bank. How long can I hold back the tears?

So, all things said and done, a simple five minute sale took over six weeks to complete.

And now she is gone. She was a great truck. I am a little dismayed that the new owner is just going to flip her. I had hoped to meet her new parents and wish them well. It wasn’t until the very end that I learned they own an auto company and will most likely resell her. Ken tells me not to be sad. (But look at his face.) He said at least he got his asking price. It’s not like she was one of my precious pets. I guess I should stop calling her a she, but I cannot help myself. I really enjoyed driving that truck.

And that was all before noon.

From there, I cried about the truck. I cried about an article I read in a magazine.

I cried about all the people participating in Occupy Portland, as we drove through downtown on our way to Beaverton to visit some friends. We did start quite a ruckus though, honking and waving. We could hear other honks and cheers going on for quite a while after we drove past the park full of tents.

I cried when I spoke to my dad. He is in the hospital again.

I cheered up when we finally made it to Beaverton. We haven’t seen Bob and Sandy quite often enough lately. Dinner and a movie was the plan. I am afraid I might have talked her ear off. Sorry, Sandy. A new ear is on the way. Ides of March and then Olive Garden. Ken told me not to get popcorn since we would be having dinner right after the movie. Bad move.

I could have chewed my own arm off by the time we ate. After an hour’s wait in the crowded lobby. We were all so famished, we fell on the calamari as soon as it arrived. We even forgot to bless in our frenzied state of hunger—until dessert arrived and it all of a sudden hit us. Woops again. Lord, please forgive our ineptitude. We are only human, after all.

But what a day it was.