:: fist-pump of triumph! TRIUMPH! ::

[katallison]

Ahem. As of 11:15 this morning, the eleventh of August, 2003, there is no longer in my garage the dead car that has reposed there since August of 1998.

Achieving this gargantuan feat required the following tests and trials, like unto the labors of Hercules and the soul-getting of Spike:

1) Pick up phone book, open to "Junk Dealers."

2) Choose one reasonably close to my house.

3) Phone them.

4) Wait 45 minutes for truck to show up.

5) Open garage door.

6) Hand over title and check for $30.

Man, was that gargantuan and crushing. Jeekers, am I glad I spent five years girding my loins to take on that challenge.

I post this embarrassing little clip from The Highlight Reel of Kat's Inability to Deal With Life so that all the rest of you who from time to time feel like you're not taking a grip and coping efficiently can feel better about yourselves.

The next challenge: Getting the Title For the Car I *Have* Been Driving For the Past Five Years Actually Transferred From My Brother to Me. Wow, that one might call for prayer, fasting, and meditation, eh?

(Oh, and thanks to all who previously posted good references for donate-a-car organizations; unfortunately, I found nobody was really interested in being given an eighteen-year-old junker with a rusted-through frame. Can't imagine why.)

Comments

[tracy-rowan.livejournal.com]

This reminds me of a story my friend, Charles, told me recently. He's a contractor and has a whole gang of people who work for him in various capacities. So one day this couple tells him that there's something wrong with the electrical system in their house because they can't get any light, and could he fix it? He goes over to check it out, so he can talk to his electricians, and discovers that some things are still working. So he tries changing one light bulb. Success. He changes another. Success.

I think they were darn lucky he's an honest man.