Natasha Softpaw

Originally posted on my website: http://www.lupinia.eu/cars/sportscar-bonding.htm

As I've covered before, a car is not just a means of getting from point A to point B for me, and whenever I acquire a new one, part of the new car experience is bonding with it. I like to take whatever its niche is, and push it to see just what it can do, whether it's speed, handling, or off-road capabilities. Aside from being a big part of the fun of car ownership, this is also practical: Within six months of acquiring a car, I don't wonder what it can do or how it will react in any specific situation/conditions. I know.

This process of learning and experimenting with what a car can do is also a learning experience for me and my driving abilities. I won't claim to be the best driver in the world, that's incredibly arrogant, but my passion for cars has made me a better driver through my desire to explore what these machines are capable of. I've learned new techniques and practiced my skills in ways that most people never do. I have a lot to learn, and my new Audi is good at showing me just how little I know, but I want to learn it.

In the past, my Land Rovers brought me to explore the world of off-roading. My first Land Rover, especially, was very, very much a learning experience for me, on multiple levels. By pushing my truck into more and more extreme territory, I not only learned what it was capable of, but what I was capable of as a driver, and I learned so much about driving in extreme conditions that it became a whole new passion all on its own. This is the experience I've been having with my Audi TT.

For the most part, since I bought it, I haven't really left an urban environment, or ventured into truly challenging roads with it. I've been able to test its capabilities occasionally, taking sharp highway ramps as fast as possible, but that doesn't really show me anything about the car, aside from a single data point, maximum turn speed. And it certainly doesn't do anything for my driving skill; American highways are too controlled and limited to reach high speeds or exhibit precision, they're simply a means of getting somewhere. Granted, my Audi is great at that, very comfortable and luxurious, but I wanted more. I wanted to see what a real sportscar could do. The sportiest car I've ever been able to really experience was the Acura Integra I had in high school, which was totalled in 2006, so it's been awhile, and I've never had a vehicle this powerful or agile. I couldn't wait to see what it could really do.

Challenging roads are hard to come by in a major metro area, so what I really wanted, since the day I bought it, was to take it to the mountain roads near where I grew up. They're twisty enough to exceed the handling capabilities of most cars below 40mph, and when you throw in the fairly extreme grade of some segments, you get a road that's limited solely by the capability of the car and driver, not by speed limits and threats of law enforcement. In May 2013, I finally got an opportunity to take my Audi there, and see what she could do. I was not disappointed.

I was in my hometown for Mothers Day, and before the last day of my trip, I wanted to get up to one of the high mountain peaks for sunrise photos, and do my ritual mountain drive in the new car. So, in the middle of the night, I headed for Reddish Knob, a trip I've made so many times that I could pretty much drive it in my sleep. Perfect.

The drive started out simple enough, I zipped through curves with ease, going through the rolling foothills as fast as I dared, warming up before the real challenge. And, as expected, it was the most exhilerating thing I'd done in awhile. I was still in my comfort zone, though. Until the second part of the trip.

I stopped at a small lake on the way up, to take a break and make sure the car was ok (having just come from a Land Rover Freelander, it still feels weird to have a car that won't self-destruct on a whim). When I resumed my trip, I decided to step things up a notch. The steep roads and constant curves are difficult for an automatic transmission to make sense of, even a super-advanced one like mine. Plus, part of performance driving is getting the shifting right, a real weak spot for me, so I popped over to manual mode for the remainder of the trip. Instantly, I was grateful for the paddle shifters on the steering wheel, instead of having to keep one hand constantly on the shifter, it made things much easier, and when shifting can be handled with a finger-flick, it feels so much smoother and more controlled. Unfortunately, for a little while, I felt my inexperience shining through. My shifting was sluggish, I was always either too high or too low, and it distracted from my steering at a few points. Especially when I spent so much time looking at speedometer and tachometer trying to figure out which gear I was supposed to be in, or looking at the gear indicator to figure out where I already was (an unfortunate downside of paddle shifters and modern electronic shifting). But, about halfway up the mountain, I had a moment of clarity.

In one of my all-time favorite movies, How To Train Your Dragon, there's a scene that is always both riveting and heartwarming to watch. There's a video here, but it focuses on the main character, Hiccup, learning how to ride the dragon, Toothless, and how to work the prosthetic dragon tail he created. The dragon's prosthetic tail has a series of positions, controlled by the rider, which mimic the dragon's natural tail movements, and in theory, the cooperation of a skilled human rider can allow the dragon to fly as naturally as he could before the accident that damaged his tail. This scene follows the pair on their first test flight, where Hiccup has to put the tail positions he's written down to the test. At first, their flight is a bit awkward, with Hiccup sluggishly going through varying positions, and Toothless grudgingly attempting to both lead and follow. But, after recovering from a spin, Hiccup nearly loses his reference sheet while flying straight into a complicated series of rock pillars at high speed, where one mistake will send them head-on into solid rock. He tries to read from it for an instant, then drops it, proceeding into the obstacles purely on instinct. He doesn't make a single mistake. He and Toothless expertly navigate the rocks at dizzying speed, zipping through the exit without a scratch on them, something that wouldn't have been possible if Hiccup had still been reading from his reference sheet.

Along this drive, I had an almost identical experience. While I knew the road pretty well, there was a particularly nasty blind turn I had completely forgotten about, followed by a series of rapid back-and-forth curves, and it came up on me while I was going way too fast (or so I thought). Instantly, all of my gauge-watching ended, as I reacted to the turn and proceeded through the harsh curves after it. I stopped thinking about whether I needed 4th or 5th, I stopped thinking about whether I should take the turn at 40 or 50. I simply listened to the engine, read the road, and shifted on instinct, the things I should've been doing all along. In the process, I felt more in-tune with both my car and the road than I've felt in a very, very long time, and I made it through the remainder of the drive far faster than I originally thought possible (still didn't break a speed limit though!).

The experience was a truly special one for me. In the nerdiest terms possible, I felt like I just gained enough driving XP to level up, and when I made it to the top of the mountain, I had to just stop and reflect for a moment. But most importantly, it was an experience that reminded me how much joy I get from the essence of the performance driving experience. For years, I've been so hung up on comfort and gizmos that I've gotten even more disconnected from driving as an art than I was to begin with.

Much like my first off-roading trip, this trip was a driving experience that taught me a lot, but mostly showed me how much I have to learn. I've had a sporty car (Integra) and a fast car (Crown Victoria) in the past, but this experience showed me that I know almost nothing about sport driving. But I want to learn. I've now seen a glimpse of what my car can do, enough to see that the capabilities of my car exceed my own skills, and I want to increase my skills to match what my car can do. So, I plan to learn as much as I can, to get the most out of this amazing machine that's now a part of my life.

Sadly, I no longer live in the Shenandoah Valley, so zipping away to the mountains on a whim is generally not an option. But, I can probably find performance driving classes in my area. And I'll certainly be taking road trips to my old home from time to time, to do this sort of thing again. For me, it's not enough to have a fast car that'll do as much as I want it to. If my skills aren't a match for my car's abilities, not only am I disappointing the engineers who crafted her, I'm wasting my money on a machine I can't properly use. Both are unacceptable to me.

Originally posted at http://www.lupinia.eu/cars/geico.htm

Almost three years ago, I switched my car insurance from a local agent in my hometown to Geico. In the process, I saved almost 75% on my insurance premiums, which would normally be one of Geico's much-applauded success stories. And for most of the time I've been with them, they've been great. Until I had a claim to file.

The short version of this story is that for a solid month, I've been pleading with Geico over some of the damage caused by an incident that happened in February, disputing their insistance that some of the damage caused in the incident was pre-existing, when I had photographic evidence showing it was not. In that month, I've been called a liar, called unobservant and ignorant, and when I wouldn't back down from the truth, subtly accused of fraud. I take these allegations very seriously, as someone who proudly works for a government agency dedicated to investigating fraud; it's not in my character to make an untrue claim for personal gain, and even if it were, no sane person would jeopardize their entire career over something like this. Additionally, when I presented evidence and witnesses, they were ignored and dismissed, in favor of provably-false anecdotal assumptions, the sort of thing I thought I'd left behind when I moved to a real city. All the while, I was without a car for a solid month, and while that didn't affect my ability to perform my job, it did interfere with my spring travel plans considerably.

In the end, I've withdrawn my dispute over the claim, because I'm so tired of fighting, and this battle has brought me to tears numerous times, due to stress and anxiety. But I will never back down from the truth, and I will never forget what happened. If you're currently a Geico customer, or are considering switching to them, I highly recommend reading this; there are no guarantees that this will happen to you, but if they feel the need to treat a customer the way they treated me, they deserve for the world to know about it.

The Incident

I purchased a 2009 Audi TT on February 8, 2013. I took it to the Mr. Wash Car Wash in Merrifield, VA on February 9, 2013, less than 24 hours after purchasing it, because I wanted to do a photoshoot with the car and it had picked up a few water spots from the light rain I drove through to get it home. Unfortunately, this car wash was a violent one. It shook the entire car, brushes seemed to be out of alignment, and at some point in the wash process, the front license plate was physically ripped from the bumper, stripping the license plate screw holes. Upon returning home, to my usual spot in the parking garage at my apartment building, the harsh overhead lights illuminated spots on the hood that were previously not present. Examining them led me to discover that the entire car, front to back, was completely covered in scratches and chips, none of which were previously present, much of it on the nose of the car. Since the paint was mirror-perfect and in original showroom condition when I bought the car, naturally I was upset. The car wash manager initially didn't want to listen, until I pointed out that when I pulled up the second time, one of his employees inside the wash bay was holding my forcibly-removed front license plate. A report was taken, but the car wash's head office insisted that the car wash is "brushless" (it's not), so I turned to Geico for assistance, since that's what they're supposed to exist for.

Before | After

The Claim

On February 12, I contacted Geico, opened a claim, and gave my statement. At first, they sounded exceptionally helpful; it definitely wasn't my fault, and they'd take care of going after the car wash to recover costs, which is exactly what I hoped for and expected. The prospect of going to court myself wasn't very appealing, and Geico can afford better lawyers than I can. We scheduled an appointment for a preliminary estimate with a Geico adjuster, and that's where things started going south.

The Geico adjuster examined the car, and pointed out a number of areas that looked pre-existing, including the severe chips on the hood. I pointed out that I had photo evidence proving they weren't pre-existing, an estimate was written, and I went on my way. When I spoke to the liability adjuster, who was the only person in this entire process who actually listened to what I had to say and tried to be the slightest bit helpful, he looked at my photos and said there would be no issue including the hood chips in the repairs, the evidence was very clear-cut. Trusting him, I scheduled the repairs at the best body shop I could find in the DC metro area, and dropped the car off on March 11.

The Complications

Geico's original estimate showed a great deal of inexperience, saying that the significant majority of the damage would buff out. When it didn't, the body shop contacted Geico for a supplemental estimate for the remainder of the work that needed to be done. The total damage ballooned from $800 to $3000, and almost the entire car needed to be repainted, but almost all of it was approved. The part that wasn't approved? The hood chips, despite me being assured that they would be covered, were not. I was told that they were pre-existing rock chips, and I was welcome to open a separate no-fault claim for them (with a second deductible, of course), but they would not be covered under this claim. My evidence was blatantly ignored, the adjuster said "I don't care what photos you have, I say they're pre-existing rock chips" (exact quote).

The Dispute

When I chose this car, it wasn't the only Audi TT I looked at, but I picked it in large part because it was the only one I could find with no cosmetic damage, not even minor nicks. I examined it when I took delivery to confirm, and re-examined it even more thoroughly when I got home, carefully looking over every body panel. This is something I've always done; I'm exceptionally passionate about my cars, and nothing happens to the paint or body of a car I own without me knowing about it almost instantly. I have a discerning eye for visual defects, which is an asset to my work, so when I say the paint was pristine when I took delivery, I don't say that lightly. And when Geico offered me the option to double my out-of-pocket costs (and impact my flawless insurance record negatively) or settle for a significant number of blemishes on my previously-flawless new car, I refused to accept either option. So I started talking to people.

The liability adjuster, who was the initial point of contact for the claim, was very sympathetic, and the only one at Geico who even looked at the photos I added to the claim. Unfortunately, since it was an auto damage issue, and Geico is weirdly bureacratic and compartmentalized, he was completely incapable of doing anything or helping in any way. I talked to two different auto damage adjusters, who didn't care what I had to say or what the pre-incident photos showed, their minds were made up. I talked to the body shop, who said they did kinda look like rock chips, but they believed me when I said they didn't exist immediately prior to the incident, and agreed that a car wash with foreign debris embedded in the brushes could've caused the damage as easily as rocks. Plus, the chips were down to bare metal with zero signs of weathering. But, since the shop is not Geico, they couldn't do anything either.

I didn't want to name names in this article, but the next two people I spoke to deserve it.

Steve Wladyka

The Geico adjusters put me in touch with Steve Wladyka, supervising adjuster for the Northern Virginia area, saying it was his decision. So I talked with him about it. He said there was no possible way a car wash could cause paint chips, even one with an obvious alignment/calibration issue and likely foreign material in its brushes, which was hitting the car hard enough to remove the license plate. He didn't look at the photos I provided, nor did he care to. His justification for calling them rock chips? His wife has a black car that's about the same age (but with considerably more mileage), and it has chips on the hood, therefore every car with 20,000 miles has the sort of heavy hood damage seen on mine, in places like this where roads are treated in winter. Because that's scientific enough to base legal decisions on, right? Aside from the obvious falacy in this, what about the fact that the car has summer sport tires and has likely never been driven much in winter? Or the fact that some of the chips exposed bare metal, yet had zero signs of weathering or wear, or touching up? Or, if anecdotal evidence is admissable, how about the fact that among people who have a similar lifestyle to me (commute to work via public transit, car stays in garage almost all the time and is only used on weekends and occasional evenings), no one has rock chips on their car? I could walk through my entire apartment building's parking garage (almost a block long) end to end, and not find a single car with the sort of damage on the nose than mine had.

Mr. Wladyka wasn't interested in the pre-incident photos of the car, which clearly showed a mirror-smooth perfect hood. He didn't look at them, and wasn't going to. He didn't want to talk to either of my witnesses, one of whom saw the car less than an hour before the incident. He couldn't answer my questions about his reasoning for his assumption other than his wife's dinged-up hood. After talking in circles for a few minutes, he finally said I could dispute the claim, which would halt all work on the vehicle, so I did. I also alluded to getting a lawyer involved. Mr. Wladyka's response was almost giddy, with a sort of "bring it on" bravado that really caught me off guard, and while I knew it might come down to involving lawyers, I really didn't want to go down that road.

After that conversation, not much happened. No one at Geico contacted me. My attempts to reach out to the company through other channels were unsuccessful, all I found were people who couldn't help, or chirping crickets (usually the latter). The shop contacted me for a status report at one point, but couldn't be very helpful. I asked around friends and coworkers for a recommendation for a local lawyer, no one could offer anything, and having never done this before, I had zero idea where to start.

Finally, I was able to get the contact information for someone higher up. But things went even worse than with Steve Wladyka.

Bill Knauss

I called Bill Knauss, claims manager for Virginia, on April 4, and left a voicemail. He returned my call on April 5 around lunchtime. The conversation followed mostly the same pattern as with Steve Wladyka; I had photos, eyewitnesses, and science, he had three adjusters following hunches and anecdotal assumptions, which somehow trumps evidence. I had a few new points to make, all of which were summarily dismissed with more nonsense, to the point that I felt like I was talking to a 12-year-old (his LinkedIn profile doesn't help that feeling). But then it got worse. He accused me of having buyers remorse about my car. He accused me of buying it without examining it. He even hinted at an accusation of committing insurance fraud, saying that I was trying to get the car wash to cover pre-existing damage. He had no interest in looking at the photos, which disprove both his assumptions and his accusations, and when I offered witnesses, he said "I'll talk to whoever you want, but it won't make a difference, it's my decision and no evidence you can offer will change my mind" (exact quote).

I did provide contact information for the salesman who sold me the car, an older gentleman who's been selling cars for 30 years, and who is probably the most transparently trustworthy sales person I've ever had the pleasure of doing business with. He took great pride in both the car and in working out the details of my trade-in, and when I told him about the car wash damage after I picked it up, he was devastated, volunteering to go to court and testify if he had to. I don't know if he was ever contacted.

Aftermath

Ultimately, there wasn't really a resolution. I withdrew my dispute on April 9, after contemplating it over the weekend, and evaluating how much more time it would take to continue fighting this.

I contacted the body shop for an estimate to cover the hood chips out of pocket, with numbers already in my head. If it was $200 or less, I could easily pull that out of my next paycheck. If it was $500 or more, I'd start serious lawyer-shopping. The number they said was $400, right in the middle. I opted to go ahead and pay out of pocket anyway; that's a lot of cash to cough up without notice, especially right now (March was expensive), but it's not impossible. I've told both Geico and the shop to resume work on the vehicle.

I will be seeking a new insurance company before my current policy is up for renewal. I will never do business with Geico again. I will never recommend them to anyone, whereas before this, I happily recommended them to everyone who was looking for insurance, usually citing the incredible decrease in my premiums after switching.

Through this ordeal, I ended up paying almost double my deductible. I had to make alternate travel arrangements for several out-of-town events I'd been planning to attend for months. Aside from the generosity of friends, any place I wanted to go that wasn't within a half-mile of my apartment or train station was out of reach. And, of course, there was the Geico-induced stress. I lost sleep over this. I cried over this. My ability to perform my job efficiently suffered, from having to take so much time for phone calls, research, and psyching myself up for those calls.

Congratulations, Geico, you won. I'm not a very strong person, I'm not the sort of person who can effectively navigate or stand up to bureacracy, and you broke me. I hope it was worth it.

Originally posted at http://www.softpaw.eu/personal/the-girl.htm

Once upon a time, there was a girl who was just starting to grow up, but she was very, very lonely, and very sad. All of her childhood friends had gone on to other things, she no longer had school, no college or university would take her, and no one would pay her to do the only thing she thought people would pay her to do. On top of that, she hated her own body and didn’t know why, and she felt like no one would ever love her. So, she spent her days bored, lonely, and sad, doing little except wasting time, waiting for something interesting to happen in her life, or for some way to escape life as she knew it. Such things never happened.

One day, she heard about something that sounded like fun, and being the bored, lonely girl she was, she had plenty of time to look into it. She expected to see a bunch of people who had a weird hobby, but what she found was so much more. She found a world where everyone wanted to be her friend, where she could be whoever and whatever she wanted, and where she could escape her miserable, dull life, creating a new one however she wanted. She might even find love in this new world!

This new world brought her adventure, as well. It took her to far away cities for exciting events, where she was absolutely overwhelmed with new experiences and spontaneity. Where she had previously lived a predictable, pre-planned lifestyle, she now had excuses to drive hundreds of miles on a whim, for all the fun she could hope for, with little more than a few hours notice. And for a time, she was the happiest she had ever been.

Unfortunately, all this adventure led her to neglect her old life. For awhile, she lived with a boyfriend she could only have meaningful conversations with when they were immersed in her exciting alternate life. She held occasional jobs to pay for her alternate life, and still went into debt to go on adventures, but mostly spent the entirety of her time entrenched in her alternate life. When she wasn’t immersed in that world, it was all she could think about, to the point that she considered leaving her real life entirely on multiple occasions.

But, her alternate life helped her through the dark times. It helped her discover why she hated her body so severely, so she could lay out a plan to fix it. It helped her meet more new friends than she could ever imagine, friends who cared only about who she truly was, and weren’t interested in the layers of masks and bravado she created in her real life over the years to make it more bearable. And, most importantly, it helped her discover that she had creative talents that were worth more than she ever dreamed possible.

Strengthened by her alternate life, she set out on the greatest adventure of her entire life, a quest to seek out the sort of real life that she thought was only a dream. Equipped with a fraction of her belongings, she took the scariest step of her life, a step away from the safety net of her home. Surrounded by the incredibly deep love of the friends she met in her alternate life, her confidence blossomed, and she put her creative work in front of wealthy people, hoping that someone would pay her to pursue her passions. And, after several months of this quest, when her resources were dwindling, her quest paid off.

Suddenly, in her real life, she had more money and power than she ever dreamed possible, with more available in the future. Her real life was no longer painful to think about, it was something she was actually proud of. She had the money to go on more quests and adventures than she had time for. And, her friends from her alternate life were so proud of her, and so happy for her, that she cried for days just from the sheer, overwhelming joy surrounding her. Her alternate life brought her so much joy over the years, brought her true love in a way she never imagined even existing, and above all, it brought her the strength, courage, and ambition to turn her real life into something that didn’t bring her pain. And it did all that without her having to pretend to be anything she wasn’t. She didn’t have to wear a mask with her friends, she could show everything in her heart, good and bad, and trust that they would love her with all their hearts, just as she loved them with all her heart.

But perhaps most importantly, she now knew that she didn’t have to escape into her alternate life ever again, because for the first time in her life, she knew with certainty that she had the power to change her real life to look like what she truly wanted. And, in time, she knew that she no longer wanted to leave her real life. Instead, she knew with certainty that she could continue reshaping her real life, until it simply became her alternate life, without sacrificing any of her fun, or any of the love in her life.

This post is mirrored from my website. View the original here.

Just under a year ago, I wrote an article about why I love my Land Rover Freelander. It was as much a reassurance to myself as it was a genuine post about the virtues of this much-maligned vehicle, and for much of the time since then, it accurately described how I felt. Unfortunately, that time has passed.

My vehicle purchases tend to be influenced by what I disliked about the vehicle I was replacing (or the vehicle I owned at the time). When I chose my Integra, it replaced a Honda Accord that was boring and uncomfortable. When I bought my first Land Rover, it was to augment the Integra's complete inability to handle winter weather. When I bought my Crown Victoria, it replaced the much smaller Integra at a time when I was spending the vast majority of my time behind the wheel. The purchase of my Freelander was no different; in this case, to replace the Crown Victoria, which I actively disliked, I desperately wanted a vehicle I could feel passionate about, and that had more luxury features than the very bare-bones sedan. I greatly missed the love I felt for my old Land Rover and for my Integra, a love that, while irrational, made the very act of owning and driving the car a joyful indulgence every time I did it. Additionally, this love made it easier to justify routine maintenance, something I didn't have money for throughout much of my life.

I had a few options when I was shopping for my Freelander, but ultimately chose it because, within my price range (less than $8000), there simply weren't many vehicles that met all of my criteria, and the Freelander appealed to my longing for another Land Rover. I didn't go into it completely blind; I did the research, I knew the stories, and I knew the odds. Based on the mechanical problems known to occur with the Freelander, it was a possibility that it would suffer catastrophic engine issues around 60,000 miles, and if it made it to 100,000 miles, I'd be one of the lucky ones. Despite the fact that luck has almost never been in my favor, I went into this purchase thinking I could beat the odds, and that through the power of being a die-hard Land Rover fan, I'd be able to keep it going.

In retrospect, it seems as dumb as it sounds to type it out.

In my defense, there was a lot of information witheld from me at purchase time. The dealer failed to disclose a number of known mechanical problems that I discovered quickly afterwards, including a heater core leak (which, two years later, has not been fixed), a failing power steering pump, and a few other small issues that were discovered and addressed in the course of repairing other problems. Of course, the biggest issue was the seized camshaft, which cost $5000 to repair (and that was after the mechanic cut me a break). I can't prove this, and thus can't pursue legal action against the dealer, but there's no way the dealer didn't know there was a problem with the oil. Either the oil change they performed was incomplete (didn't replace the filter), or they saw evidence of the previous owner's severe neglect and said nothing. Regardless, I had a massive repair bill that nearly exceeded the value of the vehicle six months after purchasing it.

At the time, I was faced with three options: Have the engine repaired by a specialist for about $5000-6000, have the engine replaced by a specialist for $6000-7000, or scrap the truck, default on the loan, and destroy my credit. My payment was at the absolute limit of what I could afford, and the loan was at the limit of the credit my bank would extend to me, so rolling it over into another car was not an option. Since my engine had about 46,000 miles at the time, and most rebuilt engines were at 60,000-80,000, I chose option 1, and my family helped me pay for it. But, I almost went for option 3. I was desperate at the time, and while I was exceptionally proud that I had been able to maintain near-perfect credit through circumstances that would drive most people to bankruptcy or worse, I did still have my Crown Victoria, and ultimately could have survived.

When I chose to have the engine rebuilt, I did so with some mental caveats. The mechanic made no secret of the fact that this would very likely not be the end of my issues with this truck, but he also took it as a matter of personal honor to get it running well. With that in mind, I spent a lot of time thinking about the decision, and chose to fix the truck with the hope that there wouldn't be any further catastrophic failures or major maintenance for at least a couple of years. For awhile, that was the case.

The work was completed in March 2012, just before I wrote the aforementioned article about how much I loved it. And for awhile, things went exactly like I wanted. There were a few issues - failed fuel pump, which turned out to be a recall unaddressed by the previous owner, and a failed oil filter - but for the bulk of 2012, it was exactly the truck I wanted it to be.

Until it started getting colder.

Just before the engine rebuild, I noticed that it often ran rough in cold weather. I assumed this was normal, and it was never particularly problematic, so I ignored it. After the rebuild was completed, the mechanic observed that the truck practically wouldn't start at all on cold mornings, and held it for months trying to diagnose the issue. As the weather warmed up, the problem decreased, and he eventually released it to me, leaving the truck with a residual glitch that, while slightly inconvenient, didn't present much of a problem. And during most of the summer, I didn't notice it at all. But, as the cold weather became more prevalent, the problem worsened.

During the winter, additional problems developed. The windshield cracked, which is no cheap repair on a heated-windshield vehicle. The climate controls jammed in a way that's left me baffled, and left me unable to use the defroster. An oil change at the dealership resulted in a series of catastrophically-failing oil filter seals. While all this was going on, I was settling into a new job, new apartment, basically a whole new life, and while I had a vastly higher salary than at any point in my life, I also had a lot of residual moving expenses, and didn't have much for car repairs. Thankfully, I also didn't have to drive for work, but I did have to drive for anything social, and I'm a rather social person.

The game-changer, however, was when I had an oil change performed by a specialist, instead of the dealer, after the second failed filter. They did an excellent job, but they discovered a fair amount of coolant in the oil. Combined with rather obvious oil seepage from the head gaskets, the diagnosis was head gasket failure (albeit a minor case, since it still runs). I was never given an estimate for repairs, but it's a procedure known to cost upwards of $1200-1500 on cars far easier and cheaper to work on than this one, and it was a very expensive specialty mechanic.

Throughout December and January, the cold-start issue and head gasket issue seemingly teamed up to make the truck borderline undriveable. It now takes upwards of 15-20 minutes to cold-start it, a process that gets worse the longer it sits between drives, and once I do get it running, it runs rough at highway speeds, in a way that makes it feel like it may not bring me back home from my destination. I've gotten oil changes every few hundred miles as a precaution, but obviously, I avoid driving it as much as possible, knowing that it's in no shape to be driven.

The combined cost to fix all the current, known problems is somewhere around $4500. Not counting the cold start issue, which will need to be diagnosed all over again by someone different. The truck is barely worth $4500 in perfect condition, and no amount of love can justify sinking this much money into repairs for a vehicle that, in all likelyhood, will only continue to have major mechanical issues on a regular basis. I mentioned 60,000 miles as a milestone earlier, because most Freelanders that aren't scrapped for seized camshafts at 40,000 miles are typically scrapped at 60,000 for slipped cylinder sleeves. Without taking the engine apart to replace the gaskets, there's no way to know if this is what happened to mine, but given its symptoms and the fact that it just rolled over 60,000 miles, it's a realistic possibility.

More importantly, with all of this going on, my Freelander has lost my trust, so to speak. Even if I were to fix everything, I would no longer have faith that it will get me from point A to point B without catastrophic mechanical issues, especially for the long roadtrips I miss taking. And as it stands right now, I don't even trust it to get me to and from locations within the DC metro area. A few days ago, I missed out on a party at a friend's house, because it was 20 miles away, I had trouble getting a ride, and I didn't trust my truck to get me there and back (mostly back). While I do still have affection for my truck, that's unacceptable.

So, my current options are: Sink thousands of dollars cash into repairs, to fix the current problems. Keep driving it as-is until it's completely undriveable, leaving me with a worthless vehicle that I still owe money on. Or trade it in on something more reliable, now that I'm in a position to afford a higher car payment. Option 1 is borderline impossible, since I don't have a particularly large cash reserve yet, and the assistance I previously received from family is no longer available. As for option 3, I'd mostly be rolling the entire balance of the current loan into a new one, but given the low value of the vehicle and the relatively small amount still owed, it wouldn't affect a new loan much.

I still have a great deal of affection for my Freelander, but I'm giving up. I can't keep throwing money at a vehicle that was so poorly designed that its lifespan is half that of comparable vehicles. I can't keep paying for a vehicle that doesn't serve the fundamental needs of a vehicle, transporting me from point A to point B. And, I can't keep missing out on life because of transportation issues.

I learn lessons from every vehicle I own. My Land Rover Discovery taught me to recognize trouble spots when purchasing a high-mileage vehicle. My Crown Victoria taught me that a car needs to be enjoyable on its own merits, not based on psychological/societal associations, and it taught me the difference between car love and car lust. This Freelander taught me a great deal of things, probably more lessons than any previous vehicle. It taught me that I am not a mechanic; I can perform some tasks and some diagnostics on my own, but I'm dependant upon others to do the dirty work, and therefore, a vehicle that can't be worked on by most mechanics probably isn't a good choice. It taught me that love for a car doesn't make it a good car, and love for a bad car can be extraordinarily expensive. And, it taught me to never, ever buy a car without examining it for myself first.

With these lessons in mind, I have a short list of candidates for my next vehicle, and I'm already in the process of arranging purchase of my first choice. We'll see how things play out. As for my Freelander, it pains me to see a car I love go into the hands of someone who won't love it as much as I do, but I'm done with this chapter of car ownership, and I can accept sending it into the trade-in auction system. I'll even eat the entirety of the current loan, rolled into a new one, if I can be rid of the Freelander and not have to put another dollar into that toxic money-sink.

You may find yourself in another part of the world
You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
You may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife
You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?

Thanksgiving is near, and in past years, it's been a bittersweet occasion. In fact, in every year of my adult life, with the exception of one, reflecting on what I'm thankful for has mostly consisted of "well, I guess I have a car that runs, and I cherish my friends". And with the year that was an exception, in hindsight, it wasn't much of one. This year is different. Within the last month and a half, almost every facet of my life has changed dramatically, and if the way I feel now is any indication, it's going to feel weird for a long time to come.

The song I quoted above, "Once in a Lifetime" by Talking Heads (aka "the 'how did I get here?' song"), has always intrigued me, partly because I associate it very strongly with the movie Rockstar, a movie about a lower-middle-class kid from Pittsburgh who's suddenly catapulted into being the lead singer of a top-charting rock band in the 1980s with no lead-up. In my mind, this song has always struck me as a description of what it's like to win the lottery. I now know it doesn't take a windfall to feel that way. I currently find myself living in a beautiful luxury apartment, in a wealthy neighborhood, working a job that's as close to a dream job as I could ever hope for. I suddenly live a very urban, upscale lifestyle. I see my friends at least a couple times a week. And while I don't have as much discretionary income as people seem to think I do, I can't call myself "broke" anymore. To put it simply, in just one month, I've not only caught up to where I always hoped I'd be by my mid-twenties, I've achieved the sort of life that, at many points in my life, seemed as distant and impossible a dream as winning the lottery or joining Starfleet.

I can't help but contrast this with the recent past. One year ago, my gross annual income was a four-digit number, I lived in a large but run-down apartment in my mom's basement, 120 miles from the nearest friends, barely able to keep out of bankruptcy. And my mom is far from wealthy, so aside from free rent and utilities, and help during crises, I was mostly on my own, financially. Things started turning around just over a year ago, in December, when I started getting pretty steady work as an independant contractor, but it still wasn't great. I was able to save money, and quit the job that was making me miserable, but there was no lifestyle change associated with it. I still lived with mom, still in the middle of nowhere. Even a few months ago, while temporarily living with a dear friend, it didn't feel like much changed. That experience helped me get past the initial shock of living on my own, improved my telecommuting work ethic, and gave me what I needed to diminish my long-term depression. But I didn't truly move, I was still barely scraping by (especially when my company couldn't pay me regularly), and it felt like more of the same in a different area.

Coming back to Thanksgiving, all these changes have made me think a bit differently about the holiday. For the first time since high school, I have so much to be thankful for that thinking about it is overwhelming. It's a position I've never been in before. Even when I was a kid, I grew up in what could generously be described as a lower-middle-class household (more accurately, it was a household living way outside its means because there's simply no questioning the idea that a family should own a house in rural America), and my parents found creative ways to make us feel less poor, but throughout my entire life, we were undeniably in budgetary trouble.

I've been assured that I shouldn't feel guilty for my sudden success, but I still do, to some extent. Mostly because I know so many friends who have not been so lucky. And it really is luck. I'll admit to being talented at what I do, but it's luck that I happen to possess that particular talent, and that I happened to be able to look for work in a city where that talent is highly-paid and in high demand, and that I happened to be able to get to that city in time to start the job that was offered.

So this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful that after so many years earning wages below the poverty line, if any wages at all, I was able to make a direct leap into an upper-middle-class career. I'm thankful for the job that finally allows me to make a dent in nearly a decade of accumulated debt. I'm thankful that I no longer have to stress about how I will pay for basic necessities, or worry about being unable to pay my recurring bills. I'm thankful to be able to afford a nice, quality residence in a safe neighborhood, something that really shouldn't be a luxury in America.

But above everything else, I'm thankful for the many wonderful friends in my life. I literally would not be here today without the care of those around me, many of whom are now conveniently close, who have given me so much love and support through the rough times in my life. I hesitate to use this word, but I'm truly blessed by the amount of love surrounding me, love which gives meaning to everything else that's positive about my new career and lifestyle.

Thank you.

I've completed my first week at my new job, and it's fantastic. My coworkers are insufferable conservative dicks, but aside from that, it's as close to a dream job as I could realistically hope for.

I've moved into my new apartment, and while I'm still setting things up, it's pretty awesome. A luxurious condo within easy everyday walking distance of a subway station and a classy shopping center. The price is a bit high relative to my income at the moment, but within reach and, to me, worth paying for.

So, things are pretty freaking awesome right now. But I'm discontent.

A big part of it is that Foxcub spent the week with me, after doing way more than his fair share of work to help me move, and he left last night. So I'm a bit lonely right now, which has put me in a contemplative mood. But on top of that, I've been thinking a lot about how much my life has changed in such a short time, and I'm not sure how to process it.

I grew up in a small town, where the median income is and has always been rather low. I lived my entire life there, up to this point. When I was in school, even long before income inequality really became an obvious thing, there was a pretty stark contrast between student income brackets. Being in the middle of nowhere, no one was truly super-wealthy, but there were a lot of kids whose parents were doctors, lawyers, professors, and other upper-middle-class professions with financially secure households. True poverty wasn't super-common (it's Virginia, not Michigan), but the majority of kids were from blue-collar lower-income families. There was almost no middle ground between these two groups, but there were a few such kids/families. I was one of them, as well as one of my closest friends at the time.

After high school, those income differences continued to shape futures. The richer kids, whose families usually had funds saved up for full or partial higher education, went to four-year universities. A few who didn't fit that description also went to universities, with the help of student loans. But all of the kids I went to high school with who went to a four-year university had one thing in common, every single one of them came from a family where the parent(s) had university degrees. As for everyone who didn't come from such a family? Some attended the local community college for awhile, but relatively few graduated. Most attended vocational schools for skilled labor certifications/training. Some never went beyond high school. In my case, my family wasn't as poor as some, but we were hardly doing well, and with no one in my direct family tree (parents, grandparents, siblings) having a university degree, I didn't really have the proper guidance to pursue it in a way that would lead to success. I went to the local community college, and dropped out after one semester.

So where is everyone now? Almost everyone I graduated with who achieved a university diploma now lives in a major metro area (most of them here in the DC area), working an upper-middle-class career (or being a stay-at-home parent in an upper-middle-class household), like their parents did. Those who didn't are, for the most part, still in Harrisonburg or similar towns in VA, with careers ranging from skilled labor, to lower management, to entry-level service positions and dead-end high school jobs, to long-term unemployment. There's a little bit of middle ground, a handful of teachers and such with a middle-middle-class lifestyle, but they're a very small number.

What's truly interesting is that, out of a graduating class of ~250, only one person has made any sort of meaningful income or lifestyle upgrade. Me. I didn't go to a university, I don't have a degree, I really don't have any specialized certifications, and I spent my entire life living in Harrisonburg, working dead-end jobs. Statistically, I should still be doing that right now. And while I've spent most of my adult life pushing for this, I'm not sure how to process the fact that I actually did it.

I've been down this road before, in 2008 when I got my first real web developer gig. In hindsight, it wasn't as great as I thought it was, and part of my problem is that my employer and I had very different views of what sort of job it was. But I felt like this back then, and never fully sorted out why. And really, not much changed back then. I travelled a little more, went to a con I normally wouldn't, and bought a little more stuff, but overall, my lifestyle was the same. I still lived in Harrisonburg. This time, there's no question about it, and no qualifying statements required, I have a truly good job, with a massive upgrade in living conditions. And that feels weird to think about.

I'm aware that I'm in a fairly unique position, in the sense that despite not attending college long enough to matter, and having no formal training or certification in anything remotely relevant to a modern workplace (I have A+ and Microsoft certifications several generations outdated), I was able to take a hobby of mine (building websites) and develop it into a marketable skill on my own. And I was able to do it well enough to impress a relatively prestigious employer. From that perspective, I have to admit I'm pretty proud of this, a pride that carries over into my work. It takes a lot of work to prove you're a competent programmer, or a competant designer, without degrees in each field. I did both simultaneously, and for the first time in my life, I feel truly validated, like my skills really are as strong as the fluff on my resume says.

But when I look at how much of this was pure luck, I start to feel guilty. Among my current peers and friends, I know a staggering number of talented artists in the same boat (developing their craft outside the system), who deserve this success, but have not achieved it. Among my high school classmates, I remember a staggering number of people with dreams of moving up in the world, many of whom had more clearly-defined goals than I did and more tangible motivation, and most of them are in Harrisonburg, toiling away at minimum-wage jobs worse than my terrible jobs (this is why I've been referring to Harrisonburg as "the town where dreams go to die" lately), having given up those dreams years ago.

I don't know how to end this post. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this.

Recap: I own a 2003 Land Rover Freelander SE3, which is a 2-door half-convertible SUV. The roof it came with is the standard hard-top, which is awesome because it's well-insulated, but it weighs over 60 pounds and it's basically the entire rear quarter of the truck, so removing it is a pain, especially by myself.

Well, yesterday was a pretty beautiful day, and the urge to drive around with no roof was particularly strong, so I decided to take the roof off in the afternoon, in time for a bunch of afternoon errands. Unfortunately, despite the air temperature being relatively decent, it was a beautiful sunny day, and the removable part of the roof is made of aluminum. Painted flat black. And the back of the truck faces southeast when parked. So, it was hot enough to cause genuine burns if I handled the outside of it for too long. Ouch!

I managed to get it inside my apartment, and I have a perfect spot for it, between the couch and the wall next to the door. Except, with the roof so hot, I couldn't get a proper grip on it to get it into place. When I initially set it down, it was too close to the door for the door to close, and I couldn't get my hands on it long enough to move it to the side without scratching it. Finally, out of desperation, I grabbed one of the clamps to use as a handle; I wasn't planning to put a full amount of force on it, I just needed something to hold onto, to help lift and slide. Unfortunately, I didn't make it that far; it seems the clamps are held on with a flimsy plastic hinge, and the material is heat-sensitive (which explains why the roof rattles so badly on a hot day). The simple act of pulling on it in the same direction it's pulled on when the roof is attached caused the clamp to snap off like a toothpick.

Crap.

Now, if this were any other vehicle, my first step would be to check used parts dealers, Ebay, and other assorted places. Even for a Land Rover, a pretty oddball/exotic make in the US, parts usually can be found if you're an enthusiast and know where to look. However, the Freelander SE3 was an extremely rare version; less than 2000 were ever made, worldwide, and while I can't find exact figures, I know it was a popular option in Australia, so I'd guess that maybe half of that 2000 made it to the US. If that. On top of that, anyone parting out an SE3 model isn't going to want to disassemble the roof, since that would kinda make it useless. Sure enough, a cursory search yielded absolutely zero results, so I called the dealership.

I've dealt with the dealership before, with my old Discovery, and it was never a particularly useful experience. They're the most friendly car dealership I've ever had the pleasure of working with, awesome customer service, but their prices are so nightmarish that even BMW owners would make rape jokes about it. This is the same dealership that wanted over $800 for an alternator, $350 for a windshield wiper switch, and $250 to install a pair of headlight bulbs. So, for a rather complex roof latch on a vehicle that even makes Land Rover enthusiasts say "WTF is that thing??", I was expecting a pretty painful price quote, if they could get it at all.

The parts guy I talked to was awesome, but as I expected, he had no idea what I was talking about, and hadn't seen one of these in-person since they were new (Fun fact: Land Rover Richmond has only ever had 1 Freelander SE3, the showroom demo). So, while it took over an hour to find the roof clamp in their catalog (and confirm that it was the part I was looking for, thanks to Rover's cryptic component names and diagrams), we did eventually track it down, and by some miracle, they even had one in their warehouse (the alternative is to have it ship from England, which can take weeks, as I discovered with the aforementioned wiper switch). Yay! I went ahead and ordered it, and it should be here around Wednesday. The price? $100. Not that I could afford $100 right now, but I was able to borrow enough to cover it. And, really, that's an acceptable price. Still kinda high for a plastic lever-thingy, but for a dealer part that I can install myself and that I can count on receiving in a few business days, it's not too awful.

I initially thought this meant I'd have no roof until Wednesday, which was rather nice today, and I figured I could cover it in a tarp if needed. But, after examining the clamps in greater detail, it looked like I might be able to get the broken one to close; all that silly-looking design complexity turned out to be useful after all! I figured it was worth a try, since we'll have rain on Tuesday and painfully-hot temperatures until then, so with my mom's generous help, we put the roof on and tried to clamp it down. Nearly an hour of struggling later, I finally got the darn thing to latch, yay! Definitely still getting the replacement clamp, I like taking the roof off too much to deal with that every time, but it'll hold until I get the replacement.

All this got me thinking about the soft-top kit again. It was an option that the previous owner of my truck either didn't get (I don't think she even removed the roof the whole time she owned it), or kept and sold separately when she traded it in. Either way, I don't have one, and with the rarity of the vehicle combined with the initial expense of the soft top, they're essentially impossible to find. When they do come up, they typically cost upwards of $500. But, it's tempting, especially if I do end up keeping this truck long-term (it's my current plan). The hard top is quite nice, and very comfy; it's well-insulated, so it's considerably quieter than a convertible rightfully should be. However, it's such a pain to remove, and it obviously can't be stored in the truck, so I can only take it off when I'm at home and have a safe place to put it. If I want to go out to the woods with the top open, for example, I have to leave the roof at home. And, even if I had triple the strength I do, it'd still be near-impossible to install it myself, due to its bulk. With as much as I love opening the roof, the soft top would be really fun, even with as complex as it is. Plus, I could sell it later for probably what I paid for it or more. I just don't have that kind of money right now, or likely anytime soon.

On a lighter note, here's a conversation from a forum I admin that was rather amusing. It's a furry site, and it's somewhat traditional to have "Species Change Week" at some point in the spring, where everyone picks a different fursona species for a week. For example, last time they did it, I was an otter :-P

Anyway, a thread came up asking when it would be, and no one had any ideas. I generally don't even participate, but one of the other admins jumped into the thread, so I figured I'd let him do it. Having just seen a bunch of My Little Pony episodes, I was feeling a little silly, so I posted this:

I, Princess Softpaw, decree that the lion known as Spaz shall be in charge of Species Change Week. :-P

Thankfully, he's a pony fan too, and didn't miss a beat:

Dear Princess Softpaw,

Should I run a poll to assign the date? Or just go BADASS ADMIN and assign it myself?

Always, your faithful student,
Spaz.

Not sure if we'll keep this going, but I wanted to preserve it, because I was very amused. And I posted this:

My faithful student Spaz,

I trust your judgement, do as you see fit. Report the details back to me when you've come to a conclusion.

-Princess Softpaw

Everyone who owns a car has their own limit of how much car maintenance they're willing/able to do on their own. Some people prefer to do everything on their own, and will only go to a mechanic for problems of the "engine falling out" calibre. Others couldn't find the oil dipstick if it were bright orange with a big "check oil here" sticker; in fact, that's how the oil dipstick is usually marked in a car. And, as someone with decent knowledge of car maintenance but little practical experience (I don't like getting dirty, eww!), I don't criticise anyone who prefers to let others do the work on their cars. Self-maintenance is awesome, and I have unending respect for those who can be their own mechanic (I hope to join such people someday), but it requires considerable passion and effort, and for many people, that outweighs the cost savings. And that's just peachy.

However.

Anyone who takes a car to a mechanic for a dead bulb, or even allows a mechanic to fix a dead bulb when the car's there for something else, is indefensibly throwing away money. In 90% of cars, it's the easiest possible thing to fix, ranking somewhere between checking the fuel gauge and checking the tires. You don't need tools to do it, detailed instructions are in the owner's manual (along with a comprehensive list of the bulb types used in the car), or the internet, or a book/computer in the store, and thanks to bulb base/socket designs, you usually can't do it wrong. Even headlight bulbs, which are fragile due to the high gas pressures used, are usually pretty easy; just make sure to write "Don't touch the glass!" fifty times before starting. It's like taking your car to a mechanic to have the tire pressures checked, it's a stupid waste of money that really can't be defended with the usual time/effort/eww-dirt/skill reasons.

And for the other 10% of cars, that require tools and/or strange hand contortions to replace some of their bulbs? It's still easier than changing a tire, and as I said above, detailed instructions are always in the owner's manual. So there's no excuse there either.

This thought brought to you by the fact that my car needs a new reverse bulb, and I'm glad I noticed it before taking it for inspection tomorrow, because I can replace it for $2, while my mechanic would charge upwards of $35 (minimum .5 hour labour, plus markup on the bulb) for it.

On a related note, if you buy a car, the first thing you need to do once you get home (or wherever you're going from the lot) is read the owner's manual cover to cover. If you already own a car, and haven't read the manual, go get it and read it tonight. No excuses. I don't care if you've had the car for ten years, or if the dealer spent an hour telling you how the various doohickeys work. If you don't read the manual for your car, it's my opinion that you don't deserve to even own it, because the manual contains every detail of every feature in the car. It also contains basic maintenance information, operating tips (especially for vehicles with unique capabilities, like 4WD or adjustable suspensions), and other details that you may not have even thought about. "Read The F***ing Manual" really shouldn't be a meme, it's truly important advice for everything from a frying pan to a Ferrari.

For example, my sister bought a 2004 Grand Prix a couple years ago, and even though it's a relatively ordinary sedan, it has a pretty nice set of features, including things that weren't in her previous car. Plus, "Read The Manual" is my personal motto nowadays, especially for cars. So, when I delivered her car, I grabbed the owner's manual and strongly encouraged her to read it. She never did. So, in a car she's owned for two years, she can't figure out how to turn on the fog lights, fold down the rear seats (she didn't even know it was possible, but I did, because /I/ read her car's manual), or do anything in the little computer display thingy that every car has now. It took months for her to figure out how to open the trunk without the remote. And I love her, but after this much time, I have no sympathy whatsoever for her lack of knowledge of the features of her own car.

So please, go get the book out of your glove box, get comfy, and have a nice read. You just might learn something about the engineering marvel that moves you around. And if not? At least you'll know for certain that you already knew everything there was to know about it.

Oh, and replace your own bulbs, it's not worth paying someone else to do it, ever.

Recently, a group of in-character account popped up on Twitter, consisting of people playing the roles of various cast members from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Pretty much every character is represented, including the main cast, supporting roles, and fan characters like "Dr. Whooves". And yes, even Derpy (*eyerolls*). They primarily interact only with each other, which is interesting to watch, if not particularly engaging. But, occasionally they'll interact with their followers, which is fun, and can be very endearing if executed well. This is why I'm an even bigger fan of this project than when I first found out about it.

Since this is a public post, I'll give a little background info: I have a moderate case of seasonal depression, so sunlight (and lack thereof) has a very strong effect on my mood. Usually, it's manageable, I'm fortunate enough to have a home office with amazing sun exposure (the few weeks I worked in a windowless office during the day were downright torturous), and skies are pretty clear around here during most of the year. However, winter is often rough on me, and while I've definitely had plenty of less-abstract reasons to be depressed this year, the weather hasn't helped. It's bad enough that there's less sun every day, but when the skies are cloudy for weeks at a time, it's hard to keep my head straight.

The last few weeks have been unusually emotionally turbulent for me, but earlier this week, we had the clearest skies I've seen here all month. It was absolutely beautiful, but only for about two days. Then we went back to icky, cloudy days, and on Wednesday, I was feeling downright miserable. So, Wednesday night, I posted this on Twitter:

Why am I so emotionally unstable? Just days ago, I was feeling great, and now I'm back to wanting to cry again. I hope sunlight is to blame.

It led to this conversation with Rainbow Dash:

mlp_rainbow: .@lupinia Sounds like your weather pegusi are slacking! I'll give 'em a kick for you, send some nice sunshine your way to cheer you up.
lupinia: @mlp_rainbow Hehe! It's been dark, cold, and rainy ALL day, bad news for a season-sensitive girl. But I live in the Everfree Forest :-\ {a lame reference to living in a mountain/forest town, as well as living in the "real world"}
mlp_rainbow: .@lupinia Okay, well that kinda sucks. The weather still change there, though! Just... Really... creepily. >.<
lupinia: @mlp_rainbow Yeah, I don't get the luxury of awesomely-talented pegasi clearing the clouds and showing off their rockin' flight skills :-P
mlp_rainbow: .@lupinia I know, I am pretty awesome! Hey, I gotta go, long day sky clearing ahead. You feel better else I'll come kick the sad out!
lupinia: @mlp_rainbow *squeaks* Yes ma'am, I'll try :-)

Overall, a pretty silly conversation, but you know what? It made me feel a lot better. More than that, it really warmed my heart, and even brought that so-happy-I-could-cry feeling to my eyes. Not only did it clear up my depression that night, it did it so well that I felt like writing, and actually did it, something I've been struggling to motivate myself to do for weeks. To say it was a special evening is an understatement.

Unfortunately, the feeling didn't last much beyond sunrise (I've been nocturnal this week); the weather was miserable, and it was the sort of day where not a single thing went right. But, for a few hours that night, I might as well have been in the Carribean. I don't even know anything about the people involved in this, and to be honest, I like it that way, it makes this all the more magical.

So, I highly recommend checking them out, the accounts are linked below. I don't know if they're some super-organized RP group, or a bunch of random pony fans from an obscure IRC chat, but whatever the case, they're doing a great job of bringing already-vivid characters to life in a way that all the fanfics and artwork haven't been able to. Plus, it can lead to special moments for pony fans like me.

And, if Rainbow Dash reads this, thank you. You may not be able to jump dimensions and clear the Virginia skies, but you definitely cleared the clouds of my emotions.

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( The list of accounts associated with this project )