After many phone calls and much aggravation, we were finally able to locate two 14″ rims at a giant junkyard in Leominster. A hundred bucks got us the rims and delivery.

Check out my dope new gangster rims:

Tight, right? They only look as though they’ve been vomited on two or three times. I know you’re totally jealous.

I’m debating on whether I should even put my hubcaps back on or leave these babies out.

Who would have thunk it. For the first time in my life, I have a car that doesn’t break down on a bi-weekly basis yet it is constantly victimized like a hot chick in a seedy dive bar. Son of a gun, I woke up this morning to find my car on blocks (I’m so angry even curse words are escaping me; I am now using expressions like ’son of a gun’ and ‘yabba dabba doo’).

Gone are my two driver’s side tires and rims. I am now the proud owner of two beautiful chunks of wood. I think I’m going to make good use of my new possessions. I haven’t quite decided what to do with them yet but I’m considering hurling them off the Tobin Bridge.

My dad says I should be thankful the thieves were kind enough to leave my car on blocks of wood and not just on the pavement. I think, if anything, the thieves should be thankful that I was sound asleep, happily dreaming about the NFL draft and other awesome things because I can promise you, I would have done something crazy had I heard my car’s tires being stolen. My dad does have a samurai sword collection, you know.

The joke’s on them though because they stole two, balder-than-Matt-Hasselbeck tires with over 100,000 miles on ‘em and left my brand-spankin’ new right side tires alone. But I’m pretty sure it was the rims they were after and not tires and I know this by the remarkable difficulty I’ve had in locating used rims to replace the two stolen ones.

What I was able to find were wheel locking lug nuts because my dad fears the thieves will return for the other two tires tonight. It really pisses me off that I have to use wheel locks to protect standard, factory-issued rims. I’d feel justified if I had some flashy, gansta rims to protect. Word to all the late 90s Honda Civic owners… invest in WHEEL LOCKS!

I’m also considering investing in a pit bull. I’ll tie him to my car every night and place a piece of steak just outside of his reach just to make him extra mad. I’d like to see someone go after my car then.

I’m not one to complain about snow but yesterday’s “3-5 inches” that turned into a foot of snow is ridiculous. Especially when you find yourself stuck having to drive 20 miles down an unplowed Rt. 128 to pick up the boyfriend’s kid.

Of course, Boyfriend thought it was “so beautiful” while I struggled to keep my shitty Honda from careening off the road. Must’ve been nice to be a passenger because being the driver sucked ass.

Unless you are a Honda sedan driver yourself, you would not believe how awesomely bad Hondas are in snow. It’s like driving a car on skis, not that I’ve ever been on skis myself but I assume that’s how it feels. My dad (the household car expert) tells me that I should put five or six cinder blocks in my trunk to weigh down the car and give it better traction. And here I thought my fat ass would be enough to weigh the car down. Apparently not enough.

My poor Honda. As if narrowly avoiding death 60 times yesterday afternoon wasn’t enough, the after-effects (Pot Holes) are for sure going to do my car in. Even the smallest crack in the road back in September has opened into a gaping (gaping, ha ha) crater. I hit a pot-crater this morning the size of the Grand Canyon and now I think I screwed up something important because now my steering wheel won’t stay still. With my luck, I’m going to be cruising down the highway and the tires are going to pop off.

Anyway, check out the table in my backyard. Does this look like a mere 3-5 inches of snow as was predicted on Saturday? No, it doesn’t.

Boyfriend thinks it looks like a “snow muffin.”

Well, I’ve had an interesting day. This morning I quickly learned the ONLY drawback to owning a Honda Civic. As I left my house for work and casually made my Monday morning gloom and doom march to the parking lot, I noticed something was amiss. I looked to my left, looked to my right, and low and behold, my car was missing. Stolen. “Hot.”

It also doesn’t help that my car, a 1995 model, is ranked as the most stolen according to this.

Seething with rage I somehow managed to call the police. I finally got a police officer on the phone and I told him I needed to report a stolen car and told him my neighborhood.

“A black Honda with Patriots license plates?” he asked.

OK, how the hell did this dude know my car? My first thought was my car had been involved in some crazy crime like a bank heist or something equally cool. Or, what if it had been blown up or something and the fire department had put out the fire just in time to save the license plates?!

“Yes,” I replied.

“Oh, your car is over at [blah blah blah]. You can go pick it up.”

By “blah blah blah” I mean directly around the corner from my apartment building. As in, less than 100 yards away. So, I walk around the corner and this is what I find…

That would be my car, on my neighbor’s front lawn, roughly five feet from her front door. She had called the police to report a car in front of her door so that’s how the police knew it was there. OK, I see God is playing yet another practical joke on me again.

In the past, two idiots tried to steal an old car of mine. Fortunately, Dumb and Dumber didn’t actually learn how to steal a car before they attempted it. The shitheads were caught in my car with a hammer and screwdriver chiseling my steering column.

Whoever stole my car this time around knew what they were doing. The plastic thingy under my steering wheel had been carefully removed and was placed on my passenger seat. Some wires and the ignition were hanging out, but nothing had been really damaged and the car could be easily started – and driven.

But why did they leave my car on my neighbor’s front lawn? Why did they steal it and drive it a mere 100 yards? And by the way, we could see tire tracks in the grass from my street, to the corner, and finally to the lawn. And why was the cop who showed up such a dick about the whole thing? I’m a victim, damn it! Take care of me! My taxes pay your salary! *wink wink*

I guess I can’t complain too much. Replacing an ignition is A LOT cheaper than replacing a car, especially for my broke ass. My boyfriend has also decided he’s getting me The Club for Christmas. And I learned the valuable lesson that the three seconds it takes to lock your car doors is actually worth the effort.