Sentimentality
Oh, Christmas...sucks.
Okay, so there is some holiday cheer that appeals to me. For one, the holiday cheer that involves people buying cars to give to their loved ones (I'm making out like a bandit). For another...I just like the apartment a little more now. Big tree, lights, the whole she-bang. A Christmas cocktail party. Lisa's cute sweaters. Laying in bed next to her with the gas fireplace going...
...okay, so maybe I'm getting a little sentimental in my old age.
Although...old age? Maybe note quite yet. I'm twenty. I've got the better part of my career in front of me (whether it's in the law, autosport, or auto sales). My legs are doing pretty good, there's times they feel just like they used to nowadays. My back hasn't really bothered me in weeks. I've still got another sixty years in me at least. One day I'll have a kid, or kids. For now, I've got a very pretty live-in girlfriend, a pretty good job, and a nice place to live. Things are not that bad.
On the other hand, her folks despise me. For "corrupting" their daughter, or some such nonsense. I think I'm doing okay by her. As for the supposed immorality of living together before marriage (and by natural extension of logic, sleeping together), well, welcome to the 21st century.
My parents still aren't on the best of terms with me, and that kills me a little. They're a little warmer now that I'm going to school (and on a three-year plan, to boot), but we're still not cozy. They think I threw away something when I went off for that year, year and a half. And they still think of me as just being a car salesman. Never mind the fact that I'm not one of those poor schmucks trying to live on a commission (I'm salaried, because when you get to this kind of selling, you need a real goddamned professional, and real professionals work on salaries). And never mind the fact that I'm dealing in Astons and Jags and Lotuses and high-end Mercedes and BMWs, that the cheapest things I work with are fifty-thousand-dollar automobiles, not goddamn used Kias.
And then there's my half-brothers and half-sister. They're good kids. I still fucking hate their dad (when I said "my parents" before, I meant my mom and step-dad). And their mom is a dipshit. But that's not their fault.
I have to drive out after Christmas to visit them. Joey, the oldest at 13, is my own personal fan club. Kid lives and breathes cars and racing and the culture. He's got a couple of my posters up on his wall (yes, I have posters), and a little model of my car, just like the other model I have on my desk at work. Not old enough to drive yet, but he can tell you anything you want to know about any car worth knowing about. I got him a little remote-controlled car. No, not a little kids' one. This one is powered by a weed-whacker engine and was built buy a guy I know for me. It's a Subaru WRX STi, scaled so the engine fits under the hood. Very, very fast. My buddy gave me a demonstration run with it. It's sufficiently cool. Hell, it's even all-wheel drive.
Elizabeth, 11, is a different deal. The precise antithesis of me. Likes to paint and draw and all that jazz. And she's pretty damn good. And that's not "pretty damn good for her age". Per her Christmas wishes as she told them to me, I scoped out a professional art supply house and got her a whole pile of professional-grade brushes, paper, paints, pencils, pastels, so on and so forth, ad nauseum. Stuff her parents can't get her because they live out in the middle of nowhere.
Then there's Thomas Jr, at 9. He's my shining star of retribution, everything that his dad hates: As big a car guy as Joey's growing up to be, Tommy makes him look like a pink-pantied college co-ed with a Mazda 626. He builds models of cars. Very good at it. Does real nice work with paint, even sands off the lines where they cut the plastic body panels. I got him a couple models to do, ones he was looking for: 1992 Toyota Supra, Shelby Mustang GT350R, C6 Corvette, and (my personal favorite, I love this kid) a Lotus Elise and Esprit V8.
All the money totals up the same, and everything is exactly what they asked for. Except for Joey, who's too macho to come out and ask.
As for Lisa...well, she's kinda easy. Jeweler's had a very nice necklace. And I eyed up the engagement rings while I was there. Toss in a nice Coach handbag, a pair of Coach leather gloves, a new bathrobe and slippers, and we're there. And, of course, the obligatory every-damn-chance-I-get run to Victoria's Secret.
I figure, I'll take Christmas with Lisa, go down a couple days later to visit the kids, and while I'm doing that, figure out if I want to propose. Hey, this is a great plan!
Okay, so there is some holiday cheer that appeals to me. For one, the holiday cheer that involves people buying cars to give to their loved ones (I'm making out like a bandit). For another...I just like the apartment a little more now. Big tree, lights, the whole she-bang. A Christmas cocktail party. Lisa's cute sweaters. Laying in bed next to her with the gas fireplace going...
...okay, so maybe I'm getting a little sentimental in my old age.
Although...old age? Maybe note quite yet. I'm twenty. I've got the better part of my career in front of me (whether it's in the law, autosport, or auto sales). My legs are doing pretty good, there's times they feel just like they used to nowadays. My back hasn't really bothered me in weeks. I've still got another sixty years in me at least. One day I'll have a kid, or kids. For now, I've got a very pretty live-in girlfriend, a pretty good job, and a nice place to live. Things are not that bad.
On the other hand, her folks despise me. For "corrupting" their daughter, or some such nonsense. I think I'm doing okay by her. As for the supposed immorality of living together before marriage (and by natural extension of logic, sleeping together), well, welcome to the 21st century.
My parents still aren't on the best of terms with me, and that kills me a little. They're a little warmer now that I'm going to school (and on a three-year plan, to boot), but we're still not cozy. They think I threw away something when I went off for that year, year and a half. And they still think of me as just being a car salesman. Never mind the fact that I'm not one of those poor schmucks trying to live on a commission (I'm salaried, because when you get to this kind of selling, you need a real goddamned professional, and real professionals work on salaries). And never mind the fact that I'm dealing in Astons and Jags and Lotuses and high-end Mercedes and BMWs, that the cheapest things I work with are fifty-thousand-dollar automobiles, not goddamn used Kias.
And then there's my half-brothers and half-sister. They're good kids. I still fucking hate their dad (when I said "my parents" before, I meant my mom and step-dad). And their mom is a dipshit. But that's not their fault.
I have to drive out after Christmas to visit them. Joey, the oldest at 13, is my own personal fan club. Kid lives and breathes cars and racing and the culture. He's got a couple of my posters up on his wall (yes, I have posters), and a little model of my car, just like the other model I have on my desk at work. Not old enough to drive yet, but he can tell you anything you want to know about any car worth knowing about. I got him a little remote-controlled car. No, not a little kids' one. This one is powered by a weed-whacker engine and was built buy a guy I know for me. It's a Subaru WRX STi, scaled so the engine fits under the hood. Very, very fast. My buddy gave me a demonstration run with it. It's sufficiently cool. Hell, it's even all-wheel drive.
Elizabeth, 11, is a different deal. The precise antithesis of me. Likes to paint and draw and all that jazz. And she's pretty damn good. And that's not "pretty damn good for her age". Per her Christmas wishes as she told them to me, I scoped out a professional art supply house and got her a whole pile of professional-grade brushes, paper, paints, pencils, pastels, so on and so forth, ad nauseum. Stuff her parents can't get her because they live out in the middle of nowhere.
Then there's Thomas Jr, at 9. He's my shining star of retribution, everything that his dad hates: As big a car guy as Joey's growing up to be, Tommy makes him look like a pink-pantied college co-ed with a Mazda 626. He builds models of cars. Very good at it. Does real nice work with paint, even sands off the lines where they cut the plastic body panels. I got him a couple models to do, ones he was looking for: 1992 Toyota Supra, Shelby Mustang GT350R, C6 Corvette, and (my personal favorite, I love this kid) a Lotus Elise and Esprit V8.
All the money totals up the same, and everything is exactly what they asked for. Except for Joey, who's too macho to come out and ask.
As for Lisa...well, she's kinda easy. Jeweler's had a very nice necklace. And I eyed up the engagement rings while I was there. Toss in a nice Coach handbag, a pair of Coach leather gloves, a new bathrobe and slippers, and we're there. And, of course, the obligatory every-damn-chance-I-get run to Victoria's Secret.
I figure, I'll take Christmas with Lisa, go down a couple days later to visit the kids, and while I'm doing that, figure out if I want to propose. Hey, this is a great plan!
posted by Jack Red at 3:08 AM
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