When In Doubt, Make a Fart Joke

Good evening and a huge pile of crap that I dumped in my parents kitchen before I took off for California, hoping that it would put itself away and maybe find me a job while i was gone. Unfortunately, neither of these events occured. Make that a useless pile of crap.

Regarding this less than graceful cross-country transition, I miss the west coast for a myriad of reasons. Most importantly, that there are more hours in the Californian day. Apparently, I will go to bed around 3am regardless of time zone; however, on the west coast, I get up 3 hours earlier than here...although that may have resulted from actually having something to get up for, which is not the case here in Massachusetts, unless you really really really like watching the leaves change.

Yes indeed, I am currently leading a thoroughly purposeless life, a life which I try valiantly to hide from by sleeping until about 3pm each day. My current residency in the basement aids this effort by preventing any offending sunlight from infiltrating my fortress of darkness until well into the afternoon. At this point, I drag myself upstairs to face whatever glorious activities and brilliant opportunities this sunny day -brimming with potential- has in store for me. Liiiike...taking the car to get inspected.

Today I took my Geo Prizm on over to Pro-Lube to try my luck at getting her a new inspection sticker. I made sure to take the highway over, despite the fact that the street driving directions are as follows: exit driveway, turn right at end of street, go straight for 10 minutes. My mom thought it might help to open the ol' priz up first, get her all warm and ready for that sweet inspection-action. Honestly, I would never send my girl in there to have them poke her engine cold: even a place called Pro-Lube still has to get her purring first ...Of course, my car sounds more like feline leukemia, but the same rules apply. Mostly, I just prayed that the engine wouldn't blow up and I'd have enough gas to make it two exits down 91.

As luck would have it, I successfully arrived at the inspection station, just in time to be squeezed in as the last appointment of the day. This privelege may or may not have been affected by the smallest t-shirt and the biggest fake-titty bra i own. Regardless, this left me with a good hour and a half to peruse Car and Driver magazine and ponder my own crapulent existence. (I would like to take this opportunity to note that while Car and Driver seems like something cars and drivers would read to share a communal bond, cars cannot, in fact, read, making this a stupid title for a publication.)

As I sat there, willing myself not to drink the complimentary coffee because a) i try not to consume things simply because they are available and b) its a fucking GARAGE, I began to wonder how I would measure up to a state-mandated inspection. If I had to show up at a service station once a year to be re-certified as a functioning member of society, would I pass? Would any of us? What would the requirements be? Like car inspections, would people inspections differ from state to state? Would you need to be more environmentally-conscious in California? Below a certain height in Massachusetts? Shit, in New Mexico you can get away with anything! A car is inspected to make sure it is safe for the people in it, the people sharing the road with it, and the environment. Can we all say that about ourselves? Year after year, can any of us consistently say that we aren't even slightly detrimental to ourselves, our friends, or the world at large? Does this questioning thing remind anybody uncomfortably of Sex and the City? fuck.

As I waited, hopelessly torn between Aidan and Big, I measured myself against factors that could possibly be included on the state inspection checklist for life. Employment? nope. Positive contribution to society? nuh-uh. Social skills? i have a freakin blog. Money? HA! sniff... Sense of humor? Metric volume? Balance and flexibility? A really big butt?

I don't really know what makes a person fit for society. Ultimately, it appears that there really are no defining characteristics that determine whether we succeed or fail at life, other than whether or not you're happy with yourself.


(dramatic pause)


Apparently, my car needs a little self-esteem boost. As expected, my poor little Geo failed emissions, enough to earn her a big fat R(as in -ejected) sticker on the windshield. Yet had there been a coiciding people inspection, I might be wearing a matching R on my forehead, so I still love my car. At least for the next 60 days, while I can get re-inspected for free. Maybe when I come back, we'll both be passable- or "good for another 10,000 miles!" as my gynecologist likes to say.

Returning home from this mediocre adventure, i shared my deep musings with my father, expressing concern over the concept of an inspection for life- what the criteria would be and whether or not I would pass. And in his infinite wisdom, he responded only this:

"All I know is, you definitely wouldn't pass emissions."