is it weird i felt emotional about this milestone?

My girlfriend Rose and I talk on the phone several mornings a week, typically when I'm driving into work.  My blue tooth is set up so I can talk hands free, but my car is SO LOUD that it is nearly  impossible for the person on the other end to hear me and I have to disconnect it.  Rose called as I was driving in this morning and when I answered, she screamed "HEY! I HEAR YOU'RE IN YOUR CAR AGAIN."

Yes, yes I was.  And then as I pulled into the parking lot at work, Old Blue hit a big milestone.

100,000 miles.

That's a lot of miles. 

My parents bought Old Blue (which was ironically brand new) and I packed the trunk and drove home from my college graduation to start my life in the real world.  

Which meant I drove right back home to mom and dad's house for a year and a half because #EnglishMajor.

I drove Old Blue to interviews, and my first real grown up job.  And then I crammed that trunk full of all of my worldly possessions and moved into my first apartment.  A few years later I packed the trunk again and drove back to mom and dad's, where I stayed until I packed it one more time and drove to our new condo after Matt and I got married.  

I've driven to weddings and funerals and baptisms and graduations and into the driveway when we bought our house.  I've driven to big work meetings and thousands of regular days at the office and one time I had to drive a detective to a court hearing while I had the snapshot device from Progressive Insurance Company and it beeped every time I accelerated too quickly or hit the brakes too harshly.

Between visiting the beach and my brother, I've driven to New Jersey a bunch of times, which is where I got my first (and only!) speeding ticket.

I drove Old Blue to Maryland with my brother the last time we went on family vacation just the five of us, and the next summer I drove my Mommom to meet my parents and Emily for a few days at a lake in upstate New York.

I've spent a lot of time with Emily in the passenger seat, and consequently spent years saying "passenger door ajar" in my best automated voice trying to convince her the car was talking to her.  

I've sung probably well over 100,000 songs from behind the wheel.

I've written a lot of stories about Old Blue on the blog and it seems I've always been a little unusually overprotective of a car.  

I went to a wedding shower at a fancy place where valet parking was the only option.  I've never had a valet park my car before and I am almost embarrassed to admit that I was nervous handing over the keys.  Would he turn the lights off?  Would he put the emergency brake on if he parked on even a slight incline like I do?  Would he press the lock button twice just to be sure?

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I dropped Old Blue off for inspection the other night, and I was very nervous about the whole situation for some reason.  I felt like a mom taking her child to the first day of school.  Completely ridiculous, I know.  But evidently she impressed all of the mechanics with her peppy gas pedal and highly enthusiastic air conditioning system because she passed with flying colors.  And she was safe in the dark, rainy parking lot overnight.  That may or may not be because I left her with strict instructions not to fraternize with the pickup trucks and the tough looking Toyota that was parked next to her.  Just kidding about that last part actually.  It was the Mazda I told her to avoid.

I also wrote about the time I left the windows open when it rained and I had to tragically spread kitty litter all over the seats to soak up the moisture.  

And the time battery died while I was pulled into a stall at Sonic.  

I never wrote about it but I also had an automotive AND minor emotional breakdown in the Dunkin' Donuts drive thru a few months ago.

Maybe I need to cool it with the fast food.

Matt changed the oil once a few years ago and forgot to put the cap back on, and I drove to a work training two hours away without the oil cap on.  When I arrive at my destination I thought it was just foggy, but it turned out smoke was pouring out from under the hood.  A colleague's husband came over with rags and my friend Jen stood in the giant oil puddle I'd created in her CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTINS and helped me wipe oil off of everything under the hood.

That's a good friend.

Since then Matt's successfully changed the oil and the brakes and even dutifully did a full inspection when I told him my foot was feeling a little tired, like it was working a bit harder than usual when pushing the pedals.  

He's actually addressed many non-specific automotive complaints over the years.  

And he made this label a few years ago and put it on my driver's side mirror, where it still remains.

A few months ago Matt came inside and said, "What happened to your car?"  I didn't know what he was talking about but sure enough, there was a GIANT scrape on the front bumper.  Obviously the only explanation was that someone hit me while I was parked in a parking lot.  But I told Matt that it wasn't a big deal, I hadn't noticed the scrape and neither would anyone else.

And then my parents stopped by that weekend and my dad said, "Hey Laur, what happened to your car?"

Bunch of eagle eyes around here.

My sister was home for spring break last week and we went to the store so I could buy some skincare products, namely those consisting of collagen and retinol because as I told her, I'm starting to look my age.

And I think the same can be said for Old Blue.

But here's to the next 100,000. 

May we both age gracefully.

i wish i had some ice cream to eat with my humble pie

Well I was all set to write a blog post tonight about our weekend snowstorm and power outage, but I've gotten sidetracked.

Actually I didn't have to write the post from scratch, I just had to type it, because I wrote it out with a pen in my notebook by candlelight this weekend just like the bloggers used to do in the 1800's.

I turned on the TV and was scrolling On Demand for the true crime section so I could fire up an episode of Criminal Confessions to watch while I typed, just like Ma Ingalls would have done, when I came across an entire genre entitled "For Your Dog."

With TWENTY SIX shows.

I clicked on it out of sheer curiosity, and these aren't shows ABOUT dogs.  They are literally shows FOR YOUR DOG.

There is even one show that just shows clips of dogs watching other dogs on television.  So dogs watch dogs watch dogs.

I think dogs are great, but have we perhaps gone a bridge too far?

And if you can believe it, the shows aren't even all free.  Some of them cost upwards of four dollars and ninety nine cents.  I don't even watch movies for MYSELF on demand unless they cost zero doll hairs.

When I was a kid, my family was watching a home renovation show and the homeowners illuminated the marble counter tops in their bathrooms.  As you might imagine, this decor choice cost a pretty penny, and I remember my mom telling us kids that if we ever had enough money to have illuminated marble counters in our bathrooms, she hoped we would donate it instead.

And so for probably the last twenty years, my family has used the phrase "illuminated marble" when we're talking about something that's a little over the top.

I think paying $4.99 for your dog to watch television might fall into the illuminated marble category. 

I shared those wise, fiscally conservative thoughts on Instagram and then Matt said, "Don't let me forget to plug in the Cozy Coop tomorrow so the chickens aren't cold when it snows on Wednesday."

Well.

I may not have illuminated marble, but I do think I might be living in a glass house.