The One About the Car.

I drive a beat up blue 1995 Honda Civic. I mainly hate it but I also love it because it is a ridiculous disaster of a vehicle.

I have been driving my Civic for ten years. It saw me through my driver’s test (where the tester sitting in my passenger seat remarked after my shaky maneuverability: “GURRRRL THAT WAS DIRRRRTY!”) to now, where it is by far the worst car in the parking lot at work.

My number one most favorite part about it is that I have to honk my horn with my left foot. I have the ability to honk my horn while giving someone the double bird. I have never actually taken advantage of this opportunity because other drivers are terrifying people.

Someone else with longer arms can just use their left hand to honk the horn, but I am not that fortunate. The horn was rerouted to a button underneath the dash at some point in the very beginning of our long term relationship. No one in my family really remembers why it had to be rerouted, but I feel like it had something to do with the disconnection of my airbag. I sit far too close to the steering wheel and don’t really want to run the risk of receiving a broken neck if I get rear-ended.

An aesthetic feature I enjoy are the back windows that refuse to stay up. At any given moment, I have an assortment of things shoved into them so that they don’t roll themselves down at inopportune times. Currently, it looks like I mugged a third grader. I have a rubber ruler, craft foam, and pieces from a McDonald’s Happy Meal serving as half-assed window jambs.

Other miscellaneous issues include: driver’s side window that pees on my shoulder when it rains or I drive through a car wash, gear shift that won’t move out of park in sub zero weather (have to keep Hot Hands nearby to heat it up so I can actually leave), white paint smudges on the front bumper because I don’t know how to pull out of my garage, and scratches all over the doors because I don’t know how to back down my driveway without running into the bushes/fence/actual house itself.

In conclusion, I drive a hilariously terrible car because I am a hilariously terrible driver who should not be trusted with anything nicer.

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The One Where I Begin.

My name is Laura and I’m a procrastinator. I’ve said for years that I want to be a writer, but never actually attempted to write anything for public consumption.

There are three reasons that I’ve been somewhat hesitant to try my hand at blogging:

  1. Fear. Once you put something into the public domain, you’re inviting assholes to have opinions.
  2. Generally poor follow-through on all projects I embark upon. I’ve been accurately pegged as a procrastinator since I was in preschool. “I’ll Do It For Homework” was my award at our preschool graduation ceremony. My mother still has the award somewhere. I should probably frame it.
  3. Too many other little people bloggers. There seems to be an over-saturation of bloggers who have dwarfism and something to say. I’d like to think I have something to say and I happen to have dwarfism.

Clearly, my stature affects my life on a daily basis and skews my view on many issues, but I don’t think it’s my defining characteristic as a person. It’s usually a secondary consideration when I think about who I am. I’m more likely to worry about my potential awkwardness, weird vocabulary, and relative inability to be a mature adult.

I’m hoping that the more I write, the closer I will get to figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. I’m 30. It might be time. Onward!