When life hands you lemons, ask for tequila and salt and call me over!!
I do love you, very much. It’s hard telling you this, though I know you don’t even realize how hard I tried to avoid it. I just can’t wait for you anymore. I gave you 8 years. I hoped you’d grow, mature, and eventually come around. I believed you could learn to listen. But now I just need to get on with my life.
I always swore I’d never start something new until the old was over and resolved, but I’m afraid there’s someone else. Turned my head in PA last month. Love at first sight. At least, enough to help me get over you. You deserve to know that yesterday he agreed to be mine. Soon.
Don’t think I forget the good times. Finding out about you was magic — in a magazine on a plane. I knew right away. You were the only one I could possibly want. You weren’t even available, but I fell hard.
A few months later my beloved Zeegey truck started to gasp for his last breaths. He kicked out on the road by my house, and I knew it was time. I pretended to look around at the other cars, compared stats, prices, features. But don’t you get it? I never test drove anything else.
I never even test drove you.
I didn’t have to. I searched everywhere for you, my yellow Nissan XTerra, and then I waited until you were mine. Call me a prude, I just knew.
We’ve been through a lot. You proudly wore your LEMONS license plate. In that small town you always ratted me out if I slept somewhere other than home. There was no pretending. But I always laughed.
We’d get cheery waves from other yellow X’s. Flashing headlights, shared chuckles. I searched the Internet (in vain) for a Yellow XTerra club. (You could’ve met my needs just by doing that.)
That scare in 2002 was bad though. You stranded me. At a gas station in Ohio. The garage thought you needed a whole new fuel pump until they found the failed wiring harness days later. You were still so new, I couldn’t help but wonder. So I went online again. And yes, I wasn’t the only one. A lot of XTerras were dying like that.
It wasn’t me, it was you.
I stood up for myself. I told you about the others online who’d had the same problem. I insisted you get treatment. You had stranded me hundreds of miles from home in February, so I insisted they return you to me. As soon as I checked the web I knew there would be a recall. You tried to ignore me. (Did you even try searching the web to see if I was right? Think how much sooner you could have known!)
If only you were willing to listen to those who know and love you. You could even reach out and ask others how they’re feeling about you, and what they’re experiencing. The web offers you so many ways to do this. But, no.
But the reason for our divorce is that you just couldn’t face the reality of my needs. Gas is expensive. I want a hybrid. In fact, I want no car more in the world than a yellow XTerra hybrid. I mean, the other guys like you went hybrid years ago. But you see, I don’t love them. I love you. So I waited and waited. I even emailed about it and got boilerplate kissoffs.
It was so obvious. How could the car that was made for funky outdoorsy enthusiasts not come out in a hybrid? I mean c’mon, the Ford Escape? Have you seen what a bad kockoff of you that thing is? He frigging stole your exact yellow paint color. I always hated him for that.
It’s true I don’t haul sheep, grain and hay regularly anymore. Gas is expensive. I live near a city now. But if you’d only listened, I would have stayed with the new, hybrid you.
If you have to know, it’s the Honda Fit that caught my eye, as the roomiest & safest of the fuel efficient little cars. Its no hybrid but it gets twice your fuel economy while still managing carseats, hockey bags and gigantic hairy dogs. It breaks my heart I can’t get it in yellow, but I’ll learn to love it. I’ll learn to love orange. And no, I haven’t taken a test drive with him either. I’m at least that loyal.
But I’m not leaving you because of the Fit, I’m leaving you because of you. It’ll be hard to move on. I wish you’d learned to listen. I also (god, I’m pathetic) want you to know there’s help for you. It’s called social media and conversations with your customers. Please try it. I’d come back in a heartbeat, I really would.
The world needs a hybrid XTerra. And I need you.
I remember people freaking out at me, “Are you trying to get killed?” I don’t think I was. I guess I just wanted to continue to feel invincible. I looked around me at all of the boys who acted like they were invincible and I wanted to feel the same power.
I’m a big fan of wandering around unfamiliar cities, alone, after a few drinks. It’s twisted, and the lemons come in handy. It’s probably a bad idea for any gender, but what can I say? Bucking the CW on this fear stuff especially rocks when you’ve heard, your whole life, how much more careful you have to be. Because your body contains girl parts. WTF?
If it’s true that a fair amount of stranger-violence hits those whose demeanor suggests fear. Won’t telling women “watch out” “be careful” “it’s not safe” etc. Make them more likely to walk with fear? Browbeating “the vulnerable” (honey, we’re ALL vulnerable if a gun is involved, don’t kid yourself) into being careful all the time could actually set them up for violent attacks. It certainly triggers internal violence that cuts off all kinds of interesting adventures for many.
People fascinated by what Justin.TV is doing with lifestreaming in the same breath speculate that something terrible is bound to happen to i-Justine “because she is living her life so out in the open.” Somehow we ALL agree “women are in such danger,” but our agreeing to that, and our misunderstanding the actual stats, is part of the problem. Tara points out:
men are more likely to be assaulted in public (by a stranger) and women are more likely to be attacked in private (by someone she knows)
She didn’t have the reference handy, but about 1/3rd of murdered women and an obscene proportion of women who die during pregnancy are murdered by their partners. Depending on the study, murder is the #1 or #2 cause of death during pregnancy. And it’s not the strangers doing it, either.
Even if women really *are* more vulnerable to stranger violence and stalking, consider this. For the most part, women are NOT more vulnerable because something about femaleness makes you inherently vulnerable. Our accepted images and norms for women play a huge role. C’mon folks, we constantly glamorize obsession with and sexualization of women. Constantly. Massive, scantily clad breasts are a great way to advertise beer, but put a discreetly covered one in the mouth of an infant in public and all manner of policy and rights debates spin off. Again, WTF?
Ani put “pay me for my beauty/i think it’s only right/cause i have been paying for it all of my life” into the mouth of a stripper, but it’s just a little too easy to identify with that thought. It’s hella true in general. I’m just sayin’.