Thursday, August 31, 2006

You have never driven
until you drive an Old Merc.

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I’m obsessed with my car.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

waiting to exhale

sore thumb

Being “the boss” is very isolating. I do not think that the employees are really themselves when I’m around.

You can never be friends with people whose paychecks you sign.

i worry for a living

Mine is a very stressful life. Tomorrow I go back to the office thinking (again) of the company’s financial solvency, how long we can keep doing what we are doing, what changes need to be implemented, etc.

this thing about money

Owning a company has certainly made my life easier in some respects. It gives me a sense of financial security – if I work my ass off for two years and just downgrade my lifestyle a little, I may never have to worry about money in the future.

There’s a problem here, however. I can do my best to work really hard to secure my future, but can I really downgrade my lifestyle once I decide to ‘retire’? I do not think so.

When you’ve worked hard all your life, you feel entitled to play hard.

You get used to a certain freedom – the freedom to buy things that do not make sense at all. For instance, MSP buys ridiculous $300 robots every now and then while I spend money on a gas-guzzling car. When we finally decide to sell the company and live on a fixed passive income, can we really NOT spend the way we do now?

bring in the prada

Everybody is dressed up these days. I see a lot of people my age (twentysomethings) in tailored shirts and thought-out color combinations.

I want to dress better than I do but I’m just too lazy. I’m so ‘basic’ – all I ever wear are small collared shirts, (signature) jeans and clean shoes. Oh, and a nice handbag (of course). Not bad in some standards, but I’m getting sick of it. I need a change.

there goes sunday

I shouldn’t be typing away. I have to watch the news and prepare for tomorrow.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

hungry driver

I have crunched the numbers and no, my personal savings account is going to make it. I’m going to be broke until the end of September. And I do not just mean I cannot afford fancy dinner or new shoes. I mean I can’t afford. ANYTHING.

I’m happy, though. All I have to do is go the garage and stare at the Merc.

It has taken over my life. I find myself buying Mercedes Benz merchandise (t-shirts, key chains) like a demented fan. I’m pathetic.

Sunday, August 20, 2006


It took me a while to save up enough cash to get myself my next car, which I SWORE would not be another way-too-common-painfully-bourgeoisie Japanese toy. I was ready for something serious.

So two days ago when I got the opportunity to buy a used Mercedes, I had to just go for it. My stash was $1200 short but MSP graciously agreed to lend me extra cash before someone else snatches the deal. (Thank heavens I have a boyfriend with a savings account with a generous heart.)

CLARIFICATION: The car is MINE. I’m paying him back. Meanwhile I think I will let him drive it sometimes.


I was completely seduced. Enslaved. That’s not something that newer cars do to me.

One minute it’s a profoundly dignified old Merc, and one violent shift later, it’s a roaring horny tiger with itchy balls.

As it effortlessly hit 60 MILES per hour, I started to wonder how something that looks so noble could be so raw and primeval. And then I realized it’s a Mercedes, so I shut up and kept driving.
My heart stops a little every time I put my foot down on the gas pedal. The old Merc is gentle on the take up, and then roars and pushes and drives like new. It is the kind of car that talks to you and lets you know exactly what’s going on. I find myself answering back. Adolf, you and I are going to burn rubber for a very long time.

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While other women my age are saving their pennies for Manolo Blahniks, I prefer to wear rotten 60-dollar Lacoste sneakers and drive a masculine car.

I have NOTHING in my savings account now. I’m so broke. Elated, but broke. I should take up a second job. I could do so many things – wash plates, clean walls of rich people with a toothbrush, draw pictures of Garfield to sell. I will survive.


This month is the second month of our anniversary. MSP surprised me by taking me to dinner in the restaurant where we first had our real date as fuck buddies lovers. We sat in the exact same table we sat in five years ago. The mariachi played for us. IT’S VERY CHEESY now that I am writing about it, but when I was there it certainly seemed romantic.

Let’s pretend I did not say that and move on to what we had for dessert:

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Deep-fried ice cream. YUM.

And that is my life so far.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

live, love, eat.

Attempts at order
I recently bought a new Palm Treo to get some organization back into my life. Two days and it has already become the boss of me.

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It beeps when I am one minute late from doing what I am supposed to be doing – which could be anything from taking care of business to scrubbing my walls clean to watching a rerun of Beauty and the Geek. It helps keep me on track, especially during weekends when I have to work from home. It reminds me that I have no right to be watching DVDs when there are is work to be finished, employees to look out for, worlds to be conquered.

The Treo reminds me that there are some things to respect – like appointments, other people’s time, etc. I know it’s pathetic to be controlled by gadget, but that’s just me – I have to have a beeping, nagging equipment with definite rules to abide by. Religion would work, too, sure. But until I could find a beeping morality meter, the Treo is coming with me. Everywhere.

Eating bistro style
The few times that MSP and I get to go out, we look for nice restaurants with reasonably-priced food. A few days ago after our business meeting in the good old Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, we stumbled upon a crowded bistro that served great salads and wine for about $4 per person. It was not bad at all.

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