This is why I am excited. (insert underwhelmed applause)

Ok, so it's not like it's a Caddy or a Jaguar, but for years now I have wanted a Jeep. Rugged, solid, it's a vehicle for people like Das Bear and I.  And on August 26, we will take possession of a 1989 2 door 4x4 Jeep Cherokee Sport. I know, those of you who aren't Jeepies are like, "What the heck? This is supposed to be something cool...click."

What you don't understand is our history with cars. I want something that can survive a collision. And here's why.

My first car was a 90 Geo Metro. Red. I drove that thing like burning zombies were chasing me. Sure, it shook like a leaf when I hit anything over 70, (and I did) but she held together and got me places. Mom kept it at home when I went to college, and 2 weeks later the tranny dropped out while she was driving. I might have actually mourned for that car...lol.

I didn't have another car until I got married. We were strictly walkers for the first couple years of marriage, then my parents gave us an 88 Olds Ciera that we named Agnes. She wasn't pretty, and was suited more for blue hairs than newlyweds, but she ran and was easy to fix. Until she met a parked tow truck while she was going 45. Das Bear was lucky to survive, and Agnes sadly had to go to the parking lot in the sky.

Following Agnes, we had my fathers Chevy Half-ton for about a month during the worst ice storm this county had seen in years. We named him Angus in honor of the dearly departed Agnes.  Then my mom surprised us with the hooptiest, most terrifyingly nerdy car I have ever owned. Maggie was a red (again) Mercury station wagon. She looked ok from the outside, but not long after buying her Das Bear was driving and the brakes failed. He swerved to avoid a van full of children (really, I mean how cliche, right?) and ended up running into a HOUSE! Maggie sort of survived, we did some major reconstruction, but her running days were in her past. Another one for the heavenly parking lot.

We decided to buy from a dealership, as the last car was a bit-shall we say-deficient. We went north 20 miles to a town in another county and met Bebe at a used car dealership. She was a 1998 Ford Contour. She had a few quirks too, but ultimately met her fate at a stop light when someone ran a red light. Again, I mourned her, as I was attached.

We were still paying off the loan, so my parents decided that they would loan us their 1996 Ford Taurus. She held up well until about a month ago. Suddenly she stopped at a major intersection and refused to start again. I had to run 6 miles in the dark in flip flops to deliver the stuff Das Bear needed to get her home. Yeah, if you know me, you know that this was a miracle on par with the resurrection of Jesus. She made it home and promptly decided that Mike's work is as far as she cares to go and back. So we've been walking a lot again. Her head gasket is fried.

Then Biker Babe threw out a solution. (not knowing my thing for Jeeps) She said that she and her husband had a Jeep that ran well and they would sell it to us for a reasonable price. Today we test drove and set up the nitty gritty.  She gets her new tag on August 19, and we make our first payment the 26th. Then we can start our Jeep adventures.

So without further ado, here she is.

As a red Cherokee, we're tossing about Pocahontas for her name.

I promise we're not trying to be racist with the name, it just fits.


To Jeepies and Cobwebs on the Driving Record (Me, at least...)

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Egg Salad! Or How to speak Spousanese.

The other night as Das Bear and I were hanging out with Biker Babe, there came a point in the conversation where I needed to communicate my needs to him without actually coming out and saying them. Using a made up communication system involving hand gestures and meaningful looks I managed to explain my issue without a single spoken word. Suddenly, he began excitedly gesturing back. I understood everything. "Exactly!" I said, and Biker Babe looked at me like I'd gone loony. "What do you mean?," Biker Babe queried?

Das Bear looked at her and in a few sentences conveyed the entire gesture conversation, word for word, gesture for gesture, look for look.  I realized suddenly that somewhere, somehow, we had managed to create our own silent language, and frequently communicated in it.  I bet it looks strange when we do it in public without thinking. Just imagine me in the ice cream aisle rapidly gesturing and making funny faces down the aisle toward Das Bear. Then imagine him nodding, walking to the chip aisle, selecting the exact brand and item I specified and returning. Creepy, right?

We also have a set of code words we use when we need to communicate something quickly and ungestured. I'll share a smattering of them with you, but not all of them, or our secret language wouldn't be a secret anymore.

Egg Salad- Let's bounce. Asap.

George- Wow, that dude/lady/kid/animal is dumb.

Boober- (actually this is short for Boo Bear- my nickname for him.) I use this when I want something...said with a slightly southern drawl.

Yes? Yes. No? (really?) No. K- Our short hand negotiations.

Douchecanoe (Thanks Bloggess!)- This is pointless.

Squee!!!!- Please Oh PLEASE can I have it? It's so FLUFFFFYY! (yep, that's a direct movie reference.)

Meoooowwww- Yes, I actually meow like a cat sometimes. It's my signal that I need some attention.

(Chewbacca sound)- HE wants some attention. I know, weird. But it's really cute, I swear!

Anyway, that's a sampling of our weirdo communication/language. What strange ways do you communicate with your significant other/friends?

To making noises and waving your hands.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady