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Driving Graycie Home: The Tesla Model S Goes for a Long Drive

Matt and I worked on this next blog post together. Well, I shouldn’t say together exactly, since if we actually wrote it together, it wouldn’t be almost 22 years of wedded bliss now, would it? I wrote some parts and he wrote some parts and we meshed it together. Actually, I have to admit I slept most of the drive home; put me in the passenger seat of a smooth car and I’m out faster than a mellow baby in a swing. Matt was very sweet not to mention this part and I’m very lucky he was busy driving and not taking pictures . . .

We had been planning our “unplanned” trip home with the Tesla Model S for a few weeks, ever since we decided to go pick up the car from the factory instead of having it delivered. My dh, Matt, had wanted to make it a “bro weekend” with our son, but hello, anything that included a vehicle factory tour must include me, so the ladies barged in on their plans.

We drove to the airport and parking our old Lexus RX330 in long term parking. A colleague interested in buying it would pick it up later that day and try it out over the four days that we would be gone. We have not been in it since. She served us well.

We flew into San Jose and went out to grab a cab to go to the Tesla factory about 10 miles up I-880 in Fremont. It was amusing; the cab line in Las Vegas can be scores of people long with cabs lined as far as the eye can see. In San Jose, there was one cab waiting. So we hopped in. It was a Prius. Gas guzzler.

The factory has a new owner greeting and waiting area, where we were greeted and waited. We were early, and looked around the parking lot at the new, shiny Teslas.  On a whim I looked at the VINs of the gray cars, and lo and behold, there was ours, just waiting for us.

  

Tesla S Review: The Electric Car You’ll Want to Buy

Over a year ago, my dh let me know that a new electric car company, Tesla, was taking pre-orders for their cars. The Tesla was going to be an all-electric plug-in car, just what he wanted. Matt had looked at the Prius, and we had the Lexus CT 200h for a while (and his mom even has one!), but they just weren’t what he was looking for. This new Tesla Model S had the perfect combination of geek: lots of electronics, lots of batteries, lots of flash. Could he please, please, please buy this new car? Please? How could I disappoint him? Besides, when one back is scratched . . .

Anyway, the kids had a day off school early in November so we decided to maximize the fun by taking a trip to Disneyland. We’ve been there many, many times and were season pass holders at one point, so we were looking forward to the trip. But this trip was different because Tesla Motors recently opened a small showroom in the Fashion Island mall in Newport Beach, and that was the real point of the trip, right? Even the kids were excited to take a test drive in daddy’s new car because after all, we’ve heard about this car every day, several times a day—many times a day. For.The.Past.Year. Matt has even already wired an outlet in the garage in anticipation of plugging in his new car, even though its arrival isn’t expected until probably February. I really wanted to see the car to make sure the company that’s had our money for over a year is living up to its promises.

So let’s talk about driving Motor Trend’s 2013 Car of the Year, shall we? It was made Car of the Year for a reason, right? Yup.

The New Addition

I have written previously in this esteemed Blog about the copious number of car seats, from infant seats to convertible seats to booster seats, that reside in my living room, garage, attic, son’s closet and likely other places I don’t know about.  This situation is generally tolerable.  It allows me to keep my useless items around the house without fear of reprisal or more than the ordinary amount of nagging.  Before you become irritated at the implication that car seats might be “useless,” let me clarify.  Of course the seats themselves are not inherently useless.  They are, in fact, essential for the safe transport of small humans in motor vehicles.  They are useless in the sense that we have no use for most of them for our own small humans, as the older has outgrown them completely and the younger only needs the booster variety.  The only one in the family who could fit into most of these things is the dog, and trying to put her into one would probably really piss her off, and as retaliation she might pee on the carpet.  At least that used to be the case.

It is the case no longer.  Not content to have car seats without something to put in them, my wife, who doubles as one of your gracious Blog hostesses, has seen fit to purchase inanimate replicas of small humans that some people refer to as dolls.  Some of the dolls have no resemblance to flesh and blood living humans.  Their only remarkable attribute is that the dog attempts to eat them, for reasons unknown to the others in the family.  The dog also eats her own poop.  Some mysteries are beyond our ability to explain.  The most
recent addition to our family of fake humans, however, is quite life-like.  It has piercing baby blue eyes, and a sort of a smirk that suggests it knows how you will die.  Before you become irritated at my referring to a real, fake baby human being as “it,” let me clarify.  I have not investigated the gender of the intruder, and while it wears blue clothes I prefer not to rely on gender stereotypes based on an individual’s fashion selections.  Plenty of real human females I know wear blue; that does not make me assume they are actually men.

Not being a fan of horror movies, I have not seen any of the Chuckie/Bride of Chuckie franchise of movies.  This is probably a good
thing, because having done so might make having the new addition to the household even more unsettling.  This is so because the baby recently became armed with a kitchen knife.  It is my belief that my wife, your gracious Blog hostess, who apparently also is slightly unbalanced, put the knife in the baby’s cold hand as some sort of hoax, but one cannot be sure.

We have a zombie in the backyard named Mort.  You should get one; he’s really quite amusing.  Mort appears to be climbing out of the ground, though on closer inspection one realizes that Mort is not a complete body, but only head, arms and chest.  Mort is not particularly frightening, unless your husband puts Mort right inside the bathroom door to get you back for putting him in the office closet and then asking you to please go get an envelope, even if your husband is so tall that he didn’t even notice Mort was in the office closet in the first place.  In the case of the bathroom placement, Mort is frightening, and, based on real life events, after screaming you will likely berate your husband with a string of expletives as he attempts, in vain, to simultaneously cover your children’s ears and flee the premises.  In my defense, Mort was in the bathroom, and according to my wife it scared the poop out of her, so I apparently performed a valuable service.  I received not even so much as a thank you.  Ingrate.

But mere height does not allow one to overlook the homicidal armed human baby replica doll thing in the guestroom (yes, we have a guestroom and live in Las Vegas, no, you can’t use it, and you probably wouldn’t want to because we live far away from the Strip, my cycling shoes are in there and I’d have to wake you up pretty early in the morning to come in and get them, and there’s a homicidal armed human baby replica doll thing in it).  The only fact that allows a peaceful night’s sleep is that it is a newborn, so should not be able to (i) grip the knife, (ii) walk with the knife, (iii) crawl with the knife, (iv) make any sort of stabbing motion, (v) articulate a taunt or threat, or (vi) hold its head up to see where you are.  Perhaps I’ll lock the knives up just in case.  And hopefully the wife doesn’t get a fake toddler or, and this would be really bad, a teenager.  She knows not to even suggest getting a lawn gnome.  That’s grounds for divorce.

Matt and the Bubble Gum, er Bum

My wife, currently Heather, has been suggesting that I write something for CarseatBlog.com.  Were the suggestions more frequent or insistent, I would refer to it as nagging, but to her credit it has not yet risen to that level of annoyance.  In an attempt to nip that in the bud, the following is an irrelevant blog entry for your reading displeasure.