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oh, shit
Ok, I have a suggestion here, lets rename this journal altogether into a Girl with a Shitty Car Diaries.

Actually, if anybody is shitty in this story, that’s me, not my car.

So, horizons cleared, job found, phobias fought, number of uncertainties decreased, I am heading to LA to… to do what? To pick up the rest of my stuff, or to spend a week dancing, or to say good bye to the close ones – do I have close ones in LA, really? – Or to say “hi” to those I hadn’t had a chance to see yet since my return from Russian more than a month ago? All these are legitimate explanations for my journey to LA, but if you look me in the eye and ask straight, so Perrita why are you going to LA, I'll say “I don’t know..”

Some gut feeling whispered I shouldn’t have; yet, a stronger drive is taking me back to the la la land. The green sign of the freeway promises 80 miles to LA when my car starts losing its speed. I believe the last time I was driving here, my car was just as tense and I even stuck my head out of the window while driving to check on a flat tire. So, it must be the road going up the hill, but then why is that everybody is passing me? The same gut feeling whispered I should move closer to the curb and as I do, all the emergency lights are on and I see smoke coming out of the hood and am compelled to jump out before it explodes.

Its’ freaking hot in southern California these days and I drive my windows opened, t-shirt off taken. Yes, you got it right, I am driving wearing my bra only. And a skirt. A short one, to that matter. Jumping out on the freeway wearing a bra and a skirt will increase my chances to survive. The battle of dignity and life saving concerns lasted for a spec with the former taking over. No way the danger squeezes me out on the freeway half naked, I pulled my shirt on and whisked of my car. May be you are car savvy, having a good laugh now, knowing there is no way a car could explode. Well, in my world it could. Before I even had a chance to start thinking what to do next, some dark blue car was backing up towards me on the curb. Quite a character emerged from quite a shitty car. The guy in his fifties with a pony-tail, three weighty ear-rings and a tattoo around his biceps was heading towards me. GET A REAL BIKE, FUCKING PUSSY – his white shirt gently invited. Welcome back to LA, I thought.

There I was standing on the freeway next to my smoking car, heels ten inches – don’t ask why those shoes on a road trip – short green skirt and hair, both messed up by high winds, the latter usually messed up anyways. I scanned the guy in the manner animals sniff each other. He had a net of delicate wrinkles all over his face and the eyes. He had the same eyes the biach from my last workplace had, the one who wanted to f##ck me up yet ended f##ed up herself. I knew this one could be trusted. Glanced at his car and spotted quite a hairy head on the passenger’s seat. – Wife - slight disappointed crossed my mind as I realized the guy is not gonna stay with me for two long and I am to deal with the shitty situation on my own. Meanwhile he opened the hud.
-Any chance I burned my engine all together? – I asked
-Very likely so, do you have an AAA?

Guys, whatcha think, do I have AAA or not? Do I look like a person who has AAA for emergency situations? Do I sound like one?
-Hey, but I can get it while ordering for road assistance- I responded with confidence.
I know I can, I did that before, when my membership expired.
-Do you have a cell phone? – asked the guy with his ear triply pierced.

I rolled my eyes, and wanted to burst in indignation whether I look like a person who doesn’t have a cell phone but then recalled the AAA thing and changed my mind.
-I do – I said calmly instead.

We spent some good thirty minutes holding and talking to AAA people. I was holding and the guy was speaking, making them tow me beyond seven miles for no charge. I was sitting next staring at him with an overwhelming admiration. By that time the hairy creature crawled out of the car and turned out to be of an M sex, named Bear with Bob Marley hair style, which basically entitles messier than mine. All of the above generated a sigh of revelation and I turned back to my savoir who just flipped his cell phone.
-By the way – he said after almost an hour we spent in and around my car and reached out his hand –my name is Steve.

I made an effort resisting a hiccup of astonishment. Is that a ghost of Steve coming down to help me? These days, as his birthday and death date was approaching I have been thinking of him more than ever.
Stroke I shook Steve ghost's hand and muttered my name.
-Do you mind if we smoke? – asked Steve
What an old fashioned consideration I thought
-Pot? – he clarified
-Ej – I said – no, I guess. Who was I to quibble? I thought a reincarnated Steve wouldn’t let me down.

Reluctantly I was expecting the tow truck to arrive. Not because I was fond of being stuck on the freeway, rather cause I already imagined the moment of moving all the stuff from my car to Steve’s. CD’s, laptop, backpack and shoes: red, yellow, cognac, black and two pairs of dancing shoes – was making it to LA fully equipped – with purses to match all of the above scattered over my car. Yet, that was the least. Mmm… due to no time or poor organizational skills I … well, ugh, I didn’t do my laundry. So, without giving much benefit of a doubt, I .. yes, I stuffed all my laundry in a big white trash bag and threw it into the trunk. Oh, my.. That exact moment I should have sensed I won’t make it to LA with no trouble.

For a second I though I should better leave stupid laundry in the trunk, but then, recalled Steve’s estimation about the engine and that it might be the final destination point of my baby girl, so I thought I at least owe my dearest car a dignified death spare of my laundry.

Carrying the white plastic see-through trash bag stuffed with my laundry was the only moment I thanked God it wasn’t some lexus - shmexus with one highly sophisticated stunning dude who stopped to help, rather some shitty car with two obscure characters smoking pot.

Steve opened the door of a towing truck station with his foot and confronted the staff in a tonality that cried for a gun: “So, how much are you gonna charge her for storing the car?!!” The gal at a tow station fired back and gave me an inquiring look. I detached myself from the situation, bending towards the toyish Italian hound that showed up from behind the tables. Appearance of the gullible, sleepy animal calmed all the tempers in the room and I heard somebody said that the charge will probably be $30 per night or no charge at all. Both options sounded promising. A sleek newsman on TV was commenting the footage of fires in San Fernando Valley with a falsely dramatic voice: Calabasas, Sun Valley, Woodland Hills.
-Where are you going? – Somebody asked me
I pointed to the screen and said: “To the Valley.”

- Who’s taking you home? – asked the gal who successfully resisted Steve’s attitude. It was white middle aged woman with round glasses and long hair that reminded of Native American скво.
- Them – I nodded towards Steve.
- Do you know them? – She rolled her eyes.
- Ejj.. no, not really, but they’ve helped me.
- But of course! – She hissed and looked at me as if I was crazy, which I was, but for a whole other reason. My affiliation with Steve was the least crazy thing I am to do in the adjacent days. Oh, my.. Get me out of LA or else..

I saw the tow truck with my baby girl on the deck arriving to garage. My heart stopped as I saw her standing there on the deck, all alone and miserable. It became astonishingly clear that it may be the last time I see her. I crawled to the back seat of Steve’s car, nested there feeling the warm plastic bag with my hip and concentrated for a prayer.

Please, God, help me, please do something to make it possible to fix and keep my car. You know how much I love my baby girl; I learnt my lesson, I will be more responsible person from now on, I will change my priorities. Things of real importance will come first. From now on I won’t allow the attractiveness of unknown draw me away from the things proved significant in my life. Things that are really dear to me will now become my first priority. Egh.. yes, the same principle I will apply to people. I swear, I learnt my lesson, I will change, I will be more responsible, considerate and I will even try to be organized. God, my dearest God, only help me keep my car. I will be a better person; shall stop putting my contacts in the old solution…

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Написано ахрененно. kak native speaker (кроме того two вместо too :).
Натаха, а ведь тебя в Нью-Йоркере опубликуют!!!!

ну, видать и прямь тебя проняло, раз даже по имени ты меня назвала.

Погрешеностей там навалом, разгильдяйство, в том числе и грамматико-пунктационное, мой .. этот, враг? или просто часть меня.

Надеюсь, ты права. КОгда меня напечатают в НЙ и у меня начнет получаться "боди айзлэйшнз" то я стану абсолютно счастливым человеком. Эт я те точно грю.

"..я знавал одного человека, который на полном серьезе утверждал, что будет абсолютно счастлив, если ЖКО починит ему фановую трубу"

Так чет вспомнилось :о

Присоединяюсь к мнению вышеприсоединившегося оратора.
Здорово! Приключения продолжаются!

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