I Am Afraid Of Water.

Warning: For those who are very emotional and scare easy, do not read this.

Well, okay, it is not that bad. This is just about a sad time in my life. It is about the death of my second car, which I did not have long enough to name. I had owned my car longer than some celebrity marriages, and that is not saying much. I just remembered my beloved car as I drove past Freedmen Road. What I drive now is a 98 Honda Civic in which I named it Heather Nicole. No reason why, but I did. The think that pisses me off is that my second car was also a 98 Honda Civic. You can see where this going. I cannot say that either was the best car ever, because I had old Stella Blue. Stella Blue was an 89 Ford Tempo that had see five accidents and driven into a lake. My parents made me fight over who gets it with my step-sister, Melissa, and I was ripped off by my parents by $1,000.00. I cannot say too much about it, because a car in High School was a car. And it had it's own special problems. But it is the problems like an oil leak, faulty wiring, no radio, no AC, a trunk that does not work, anti-freeze leaks, and a car that is dark blue that was turning white made it a special car. Forever, we look back at our old cars. I was thinking of donating old Stella Blue to a Mad Max movie, but Mel Gibson seemed to turn it down.

It was when I graduated from the Wonderful World Of Walton High that my parents were nice enough to buy me a new car. At first, at the party, I thought they got me a U-Haul Truck. I had so much faith back then. In either case, my dad told me two reasons why he got me a new car. One was based on his fear that Stella Blue would have burst into a fireball on highway I-20 on my way to college. Of course, my response was: "Neat!" Some people have no humor! The other statement was so I can now "pick-up chicks!" Since I established myself as a "lady's man" in high school with a total of two dates, I simply laughed. How many people do you know who picked up girls with a 98 Honda Civic? My point exactly! But it is the thought that counts.

Anyway, on my second day of driving my new car without a name, I had to do slave work at the local Cub Foods on Johnson's Ferry Road. I can provide you directions if you want to see the historical background of my life. No takers? It is now, currently, a YMCA! I was working at Cub Foods as a bagger, and for whatever reason, they needed a bagger at seven in the morning. Like anyone could actually register their existance at that time. So I go there expecting to do nothing for a couple of hours where the manager sends me back home. I am awake already; I don't want to go home. Besides my manager being a bastard about it, I decided to do what all people do when they are forced to be awake, wake someone else. So I found a reason to visit my friend Chris Reed. If you had ever met him, he looks like Satan. And I think he is. I decided to return a Pink Floyd bootleg to his house, so I can say I had a reason to wake him. Otherwise, I would be greeted with a paintball gun! So with Pink Floyd on the mind, I drove to his house down the street listening to the Dark Side of the Moon. It was a perfect day on July 3rd. I got to Chris' house, he was not answering, so I decided to go home after all.

Then, it happened! At the beginning of the song Breathe, a rather large mailbox jumped out in front of me demanding money. So I hit the mailbox dead center flipping my car over. After screaming through Run Like Hell, I had a guy help me out of the car while I tried to kick it senseless listing every possible curse word I could think of: foreign or domestic! Of course, as the car shifted again, the album switched to The Great Gig In The Sky while fading out. I was annoyed based on two things: it was my new car and the people who helped me called my parents before they called 911. They knew them already. Go figure. Of course, the best thing to experience was the police. They made jokes about how I was the first Holiday Wreck on the 4th of July weekend. They did not give me a ticket, because the Cobb County Police thought it was bad enough to lose a car after two days to a two ton brick mailbox. Since I was unhurt, my dad sent me back the same day to clean up the mailbox. If life could only be fair! The good news is that we got another car out of it, which is the one I am currently driving. It has been in fifteen accidents! None involved mailboxes or were my fault. Though, I still do not listen to Pink Floyd in my car. Roger Waters cursed my driving! But I still think it was the mailbox's fault!


P.S. Whoever came up with the idea of the ton mailbox, please walk yourself off a cliff! Thank you!


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