Car shopping with Jesus

So I've mentioned how I've left Chicago for Colorado, right? Good. Have I mentioned that I'm living with the 'rents till I can find a suitable apartment? Well, I am. And have I mentioned that I did without a car in Chicago, but now that I'm back in Colorado, I must needs find a vehicle for mine transportation? No? Well, I must needs.*

Apartment hunting doesn't bug me so much. I call possible places up (or send some request via e-mail), set up a walkthrough, and say "yea" or "nein" (the latter if I'm feeling more German; "no" is just so... passe), or maybe "Can I have a few days to think about it?"

Well, not that I've actually scoped out any apartments yet, but this is how I envision it going. And even just looking at the floorplans online, I get to imagine where all my furniture--and yes, most of it is as yet unbought, but who cares?--will go, and stare at the spot on the kitchen counter, or the squiggle that represents the counter, where I'd set my (also unbought) electric kettle. It's finding a fresh start and all those other cliches, possibilities are open to me, blah blah blah. But the thing is, when you're hunting for your future domicile, I think some of that future home-ness can't help but seep into the process. A sort of relaxation; the knowledge that you're finding out where you'll be able to put your feet up after a long day, mug of tea in hand, and let out that contented Ahhh. It's fun to figure out where you'll hang your hat.

Not so fun is to figure out where you'll hang your pine air freshener.

At least, not for me. My mom this morning was telling me that her father loved to go car shopping. He liked bargaining down to a good price, and though my mom didn't say it, I bet my Papaw's eyes took on the shine of the hunt as he bartered. That car-hunt-shiny-eye gene considered placing itself in my DNA and then ran off laughing maniacally. I'm an Internet hound and I didn't even enjoy looking up car models online. This, fanbase of six, is a sad thing indeed: the day I dreaded online research of a future purchase.

What I really wish could happen with the car search is that someone could just tell me "This is a good car. Buy it." Then I would smile and take out my checkbook. Simple! Only of course it can't be a car salesman, because if TV has taught me nothing else, it's that you can't trust car salesmen. Salespeople. Whatever.

So I decided to use the broker my parents used to purchase their new car last summer--hey, I figured, I don't have to scour all those online listings of used cars! (Budget dictates that my car must be used unless I want to be in debt a very, very long time. Insert weeping here.) All I have to do is pick a model, throw in a few guidelines such as Must not smell of urine and CD player would be nice but not crucial, and the broker finds me the perfect car.

But even this, though better than doing all the work myself, is difficult, because the broker is being a good broker and not pressuring me into one car over another, but giving me more things to think about, like how an older car, though more in line with my budget, wouldn't be under the manufacterer's warranty, and thus repairs would come straight out of my pocket. D'oh.

So I'm back to wanting that special someone who can tell me "This is a good car. Buy it."

And that, fanbase, led me to this realization: Basically, I want Jesus to tell me which car to buy. Jesus wouldn't lie about a lemon. And being God, he's omniscient, right, so he'd know exactly which car is the Amanda car; which car might, when I get behind the wheel, give me that same at-home feeling that I envision of my future apartment. I mean, how neat would that be, to feel at home, really at home, in my four-wheeled cage of steel? Super cool!

Sigh. If only I could go car shopping with Jesus.

Anyway, as long as the car wouldn't shame me too much, I may post a picture of it once I get it. Stay tuned, fanbase; hopefully things will pick up quickly.

And you can bet your sweet patootie that if Jesus does decide to come down from heaven to help me car shop, you'll hear about it here first.

*"Must needs." What's the origin of that term, anyway? I've heard it when people are attempting some sort of medieval-type language pattern, but is "must needs" really part of Ye Olde Englysh, or did somebody just say "Hmm, 'Must needs'--that sounds medieval-y! I'm sticking it in!"? What happened here, people?