Jun 092005

I suppose you’re wondering what’s up, and all that jazz.

Here’s a quick peek at the skinny in the life o’ Spike.

I am dealing with the repurcussions of that bus-runs-light incident these days.
Beaucoup time spent going for massage or physio appts.
Lots of time spent looking for the replacement truck.
If anyone local knows of a good, used Toyota truck, drop me a line. I am pretty specific about what I want but maybe someone out there is selling my dream truck and I haven’t seen it yet.

It’s a long, gruelling process, this buying a new (used) truck.
Real people don’t tend to sell Toyota trucks, so I find myself going to those car dealerships that are affiliated with no particular manufacturer and about which an entire set of jokes and stereotyping exists. Movies, books, television, all mock the used car salesman.
And now I find myself having to speak with these men, for they alone hold the keys to the used Toyota truck.
I confess, it makes me feel a little dirty.
I confess, I wonder if I have some sort of Toyota truck addiction, the way I will set aside my normally high social standards and suddenly ponder giving Captain Polyester spectacular amounts of money, the way I let him shake my hand and give me his business card.
And for some reason, all of these dealers seem to spray the inside of the trucks with a ghastly dose of Hai Karate cologne. I am too afraid to even try to think what smell they are covering.
I always shower just as soon as I walk in the door.
You never know how low you may sink.
Trust me on this.

But you came here to read about cancer, and not about sleazy used car dealers.
I know that.
So, here is me grabbing the tiny, almost invisible threads that bring these two subjects together.

Over the last week or so, I have looked at quite a few trucks.
Some are quite obviously crap and some look pretty good on the outside.
But I find myself wondering, “what’s going on under the hood? What surprises are brewing beneath the surface?”
And you see, that’s how buying a used truck is very similar to going through the whole cancer shit-a-roo.
Because I am telling you, I never knew what evil was brewing beneath my shiny exterior.
And now, I am left wondering.
About all of it.
And so far, Dr. On-call-ogist says I am good, I am cool.
And I am more interested in keeping him in the good news section of my life than pretty much anything else, but I would still, also, like to get a new, reliable, good looking, reasonably priced Toyota truck.
And now you understand how truck shopping is very similar to ovarian cancer.

You’ve learned something here today, and for that, I am glad.
I would hate to be just another stupid internet site.

 Posted by at 9:28 am

  2 Responses to “It’s what’s inside that counts”

  1. Every Toyota truck owner I’ve ever known has had an addiction to their vehicle. I think there is something in the seats that does it. Or maybe it’s just that they are damn good automotives.

    Glad to hear things are still good under the hood, even if the exterior is showing some damage. That will be sorted out soon, I’m sure.

  2. I learned that we have a few things in common. Luvin’ Toyota trucks(two door purpleTacoma), livin’ in Canada and shit in our ovaries. I got here from a link on Louise’s site. Nice to read ya.

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