January 2001 Dear Diary,

Since Nate has my camera, I won't be able to finish this week's journal until later. I decided to write about the night that George, my former car, died. I was thinking of it earlier this week and I've never "documented" it anywhere.

Preface: George got his name because he was a '92 Nissan Stanza. And his middle initial was "K"----> Get it? George K. Stanza....like George Costanza of Seinfeldom?

Jana made this magnetic picture frame for my "first" fridge when I got married and moved away:

The Story: Jana, Brenna, and I were all headed to the dollar theater. I tried to pull away from the curb of the house and my car wouldn't move. I revved the gas, it rocked forward and backward a little bit, but went nowhere. I got out, walked around the car, and spied the problem--there was parking block in front of my tire. I don't know how to explain it, but it's similar to this:

Except it was portable, taller, and made for airplanes! As I removed it and threw it in the trunk, I wondered which secret admirer came to my house to play a trick on me. I mean, I was 18 and obviously very cool (going to the dollar theater on a Saturday night with my sister and neighbor and such). So naturally I had tons of secret admirers.

Fast forward ten minutes.

Driving East on Thunderbird Avenue. Approaching the 5100 West stoplight. Someone is fiddling with my radio. I slap her hand and look up in time to see a Toyota truck coming at me! Or rather, it was sitting still and I was coming towards it's bumper. *CRASH* Right in front of Denny's.

After we got home, I cried harder than I ever had in my life. So hard I suffered an epistaxis episode (doesn't that sound much nicer than a nasal hemorrhage or a nosebleed?).

On Sunday, I had to face my Sunday School teacher (Bro. Dorn) who LITERALLY told me seven days earlier that I was a crazy driver. Something about me taking a corner on two wheels and almost hitting him as he rode his bicycle to work?!? I told him--and I quote--"I have never been in an accident." Never mind that I had only received my license 547 days earlier. I was proud of my "no accident" streak.

On Monday, I found out my seminary teacher (Bro. Coley) was the insurance agent for the lady I hit.

On Tuesday, I found out who put the stopper under my wheels:

Rich Crouse "spiking" the drinks at my wedding.

My 'admirer' was our neighbor, Rich Crouse. When he saw my totaled car in the driveway the next morning, he was scared. He thought I was so frustrated with the parking stop that I punched the gas to get over it and ran into a brick wall. He was sure his trick somehow caused the wreckage. I like to think it did...haha. If I hadn't taken those 3 minutes to retrieve it and put it in the trunk, I would have been in front of the truck, and not behind it. So, clearly, the accident was not my fault Ü.

Well, when you lose someone you love, you reminisce about the good times together. I'll never forget going to a kiosk in the mall to have a front license plate airbrushed to say:

I remember the conversation with the employee going like this:

Vendor: How can I help you?
Me: I would like a personalized plate for my car.
Vendor: What should it say?
Me: Aubrey and George Forever
Vendor: Is that all?
Me: Can I have a date put on there?
Vendor: Yes. What date would you like?
Me: (thinking out loud) Well, I know it was in August, but I'm not sure of the exact date. It was before school started....oh, just put the 12th.
Vendor: (incredulous) You don't know the day you were married?!?!
Me: Married? I'm 17. George is my car. (under breath: Weirdo).
Vendor: (under breath: George is a car? Weirdo).

I decided the only way to honor George properly was to hold a funeral before the insurance company towed him out of our front yard.

So, I dressed in my most somber black dress....


I printed a funeral program,



and invited everyone who loved him as much as I did. I even wrote an original poem for the back of the program, that went something like this:

George K. Stanza was more than a car,
A companion to places near and far.
To Sonic, MacFrugals, the dollar movie,
Even to Jamba to grab a smoothie!
He never complained about trips to the mall,
Or even when he hit the car wash wall.
He was so young, yet full of knowledge.
He was going to come with me to college.
Now it's time to make a new start,
But George, you'll always be in my heart.


A few weeks later, I honored George by making my first (and last) scrap book page:


Wow. This is getting longer, but I just now thought of another facet of this memory. I was a TA for Ms. Culbertson at Centennial High School. TA = Teacher's Assistant---which basically meant I roamed the halls for an hour and hung out with other TA's (Cuffy, and I think Clifford) . Hmmm...between TA 2nd hour and Student Council for 3rd hour, I wasn't in a classroom for very much of my senior year.

Anyway, if you ever had Ms. Culbertson, then you probably recall "Happy Notes." They were anonymous notes you wrote to other class members to say things you like about them. {Monica, are you digging these "words of affirmation"?}

As a TA, it was my job to round up the Happy Notes, make sure they were appropriate, and then distribute them to their owners. After the accident, I received a lot of Happy Notes with sentiments for George. HAHA Ü