I Will Channel Lightning and Send It To You

In a word CARS. Americans love their cars, small ones, short ones, fat ones, skinny ones. American made, foreign made, legal ones, and yes even the politically correct " undocumented" ones. After all, there ARE 2.2 cars in every driveway, right? Or is that children? No matter; no other man-made device since the shields and lances of the ancient knights fulfills an ego like an automobile!

THEN they break down. Yessiree we hate car repairs and the accompanying bills that go with them. Lord knows I've had my fair share of your typical maintenance  and upkeep, so have you, I'm sure.

Not withstanding the 4 times I have been rear ended, I'll admit I've been pretty lucky and it's been smooth cruising since having Yoshi's Auto Body remove the magnets from my bumper and One Day Paint and Body remove Yoshi's " take me at my word that I'll refer others to you"  from my lift gate. I'm on a first name basis at Yoshi's and love love love these guys but my idea of referring to them was by word of mouth NOT  

painted on my tail gate. Not to mention it reeked suspiciously of  copyright infringement and I kept hearing "Open Open Open" ! Yoshi misses me terribly but sends his love often. We remain lovers from afar.

But alas, I digress. 

At the end of September my beloved automobile  lost communication with Mission Control; essentially it's transmission. Even I, being female and all, knew that a layer of plasma had not formed underneath the vehicle preventing said communication. After all it's not the Shuttle and deep down I KNEEEEEEEEEEW.   I cried, I stomped my feet, I wrung my hands, I kicked it's tires then sobbed for doing so, as I watched her being towed to the nearest Ford ER waaaaaaaaaaaaaay to soon at only 59,203 miles.

Sigh.. 

Yes, I said to Nick my service rep at Galpin Ford whom I've had a relationship with for the last 15 years, put the new tranny with the 3 year warranty into her. Save my baby Dr. Nick!

 Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaay,  I have her back, I'm 3,696 dollars and 11 cents poorer, but she's back! It's smooth sailing and all is well...

until mile 60,445!

WTF!! It's December 15th WHY is the "check engine" light on and WHY is the "overdrive" light continually flashing? This cannot be happening............this is not my idea of "deck the dashboard" for the holidays. Back you go.  Don't worry. I'm thinking as long as we hit that wire with the connecting hook at precisely 88mph the instant the lightning strikes the tower... everything will be fine. Shit I can't accelerate past 30!!

"Hellllllllllllllo Nick, oh, it's the torque converter you say, and that's covered in my 3 year warranty you say?" Well, then by all means let's test out that new warranty in as much as  I totally  want to be assured that I am getting my $3,696 and 11 cents worth and so quickly too! Why I'm only at mile 60,445. Are you sure you wanna test it that soon?" 

I truly am still trying to be nice, after all Nick and I have a relationship and it IS the holidays and I do know that this is not HIS fault per se, but I am thinking  that maybe I should have been kissed first. That "ahhhhhhhh the lil' woman" thing that I'm sure all mechanics think whenever they are dealing with the female species at large when it comes to cars,  is goin' through my head repeatedly like a needle stuck in the groove of a 45. Maybe it's MY torque converter! 

 December 28th rolls around, my car is ready and I've returned the loaner which by the way, why is it that every loaner car, and even my own car after repairs, is given to me with a steering wheel that I need to locate the lifter for in order to remove said steering wheel from my crotch?!?! What is up with that you guys! You are not 9 and these are not roller coaster seats. Get a roll bar in your car and stop pretending in my car.... otherwise I WILL feel compelled to prove to you that yes, I really can walk and chew gum at the same time and that these

 

are my sensible every day shoes. 

 January 7th - mile 64,445  I write to keep my head from exploding Nick. Soooooooo, today you tell me it's a broken band in my new transmission. Really Nick? And you're sure it's not a turbine sensor? 'Cause I want you to know Nick that I'm really getting an unwanted education here and that for the record it's too late, my head has exploded.  

l

 My dear sweet Nick, here's what will happen. I no longer care what part you tell me is broken in my "new" transmission and for your convenience I'll even allow you to pick a part...however I am no longer participating in transmission bingo so your attempt at part picking will no doubt be pointless.

   

 You WILL be giving me another new transmission.

 

Oh, Ford, says it has to be above a certain dollar amount and  approved and that that's what my warranty is for? Let's see I brought you a bad transmission at 59,203 miles which in my not so humble opinion was bad enough and you gave me a new transmission that to date has not made it past 1,600 miles.... No Nick, I don't think so.   No, it's not doing the same thing it did the last time, remember Nick? Last time it was the torque converter. This time it did the same thing it did the first time! The first time required a new transmission.... and yet this time it's a broken band? Well if that's the case then it only needed a broken band replaced the first time according to that scenario. So your mission will now entail making sure whatever part you pick is above the amount that Ford requires to replace my new transmission with a newer transmission and oh, btw Nick, I'll be needing copies of every part order that was requisitioned from day one.

As I said earlier I'm getting quite an education Nick AND I have a new pair of kick ass shoes that I am smokin' hot in.

 

You just give me the word Nick and tell me which one of the  talking heads at Ford I need to have a "come to Jesus" meeting with and  I WILL channel lightning and send it! 

Somebody is gonna wish they had kissed me first.  

 

Too many cooks in the kitchen?

I have discovered that the age old saying of  "too many cooks in the kitchen" is not the problem but that is it is indeed the fact that my significant other (I question that significant part), since retirement,  is in the kitchen quite often and touches my stuff! Bless his heart he tries to be helpful or so he thinks, but dammit some things are just sacred.

Don't  get me wrong here, it's not that I don't like my stuff touched  if you were headed down that particular path of thought (shame on you): it's the fact that after touching my cooking, preparing and eating utensils,  they are not put back where I have been  putting them  for years. Years I tell you!  Minor detail right? WRONG!

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, sooooooooooo wrong. 

Let's think about this for a moment here, shall we? It's akin to putting a brain surgeon's tools in a backpack without the benefit of being sterilized, wrapped and labeled and since plumbing (the profession he retired from) is akin to brain surgery do you know what the hell would have happened if I'd have rearranged plumbing tools?? If I'd have said "Here Honey, I thought I'd help you today, and I've rearranged all the shelves and tools in your plumbing truck"? Yea, would have gone over like a fart in church. 

This is SERIOUS crap here, do not take this rant lightly. It is not that I am not grateful for someone to unload a dishwasher, I am, but learn where each tool goes! I have a system, an age old system for that matter,  and the cheese grater lying neatly on top of the forks is NOT part of my system and it doesn't work for me. The same way a plunger  is not the first thing you would grab to install a drain pipe from a sink, a cheese grater is not my first eating utensil of choice.

 Sigh.......... I'll leave the art of  putting groceries away for anutha day while I ponder the beauty of chopsticks and exploding toilets.

 Can a toilet really explode?
Yes. But it’s a perfect storm, written up in plumbing textbooks and witnessed by few in the trade.

Muddy Waters ..or footprints as the case may be

No, not the artist McKinley Morganfield, aka Muddy Waters if that’s what came to mind http://www.muddywaters.com/home.html but muddy gravelly water from the parking lot of the office  which caused an insufferable offense to the carpet as I walked into the office this morning.  

Unbeknownst to me the heel of my left boot was committing this atrocity and leaving a path that the most novice of trackers could follow without the aid of a full moon on a dark and stormy night. Halfway to my desk I hear, “Whoa…..STOP, who’s filthy!!” rather like  "Halt, who goes there?" from the  Fort Apache movie from 1948! Not that I'm that old mind you but I do like old movies.

Seriously? Did I just hear El Jefe ask “who’s filthy”?  How rude is that? Not who’s tracking mud,  not who’s got something on the bottom of their shoes but “who’s filthy”?   I don’t see guns drawn nor do I see John Wayne which would be difficult at best without a seance but okay, I’ll stop. Much to my dismay I see that my boot is the culprit and there is no denying that it’s on my left foot.  Damn.

Forget that this is one, embarrassing and two, easily remedied quietly with several multiple choice cleaning aids but you’d have thought I’d just tracked in 3 pounds of elephant dung topped with a good dose of Penzoil the way Mr. Clean was carrying on.  Why I do believe it might have compared to what one would refer to in the venacular of the beloved South as a damn Hissy Fit.  Bless his heart!

Not one to miss a golden opportunity I’ll be sporting these courtesy of  http://www.kiko-kids.com/product/ashiato/index_en.html on my next trek through the parking lot and on into the office.

 Seriously Dude? Mom’s have been cleaning up tracked in mud and havin’ hissy fits over it for eons but  I doubt not a one compared to yours. In the meantime I'll be perusing the web to find Jack Ass tracks to add to the bottoms of your footwear.

29 ... one more time?

Forget the fact that he’s now 6’4 and that I still call him my “Baby Tom”!  My baby turns 30 tomorrow. Well, he’s really not the baby, as in baby of the family; we’ve just always called him ‘Baby Tom”.  I’m quite certain that our term of endearment has caused him to roll his eyes on more than one occasion.

All that aside, I am still amazed at how this could possibly have   happened. He cannot be older than me now! After all I’m still 29. How dare him! And wasn’t it just yesterday that I was breathing a sigh of relief for getting him through high school?  Actually I’m sure I felt a collective sigh by many a teacher who had not taken early retirement.   It was just yesterday that I was thanking a school principal for his fortitude and the persistence of his teachers for being a part of my village.

Mr. Romans,

                It is with great pride that I write this letter to you. I would like to sincerely thank you for the interest you took in my son. Those many months of Horticulture and your confidence in his abilities inspired a much-needed confidence in him. Your respect for him as a person inspired him to be a respectable young man who has now hurdled obstacles in his path that a year ago seemed insurmountable to him. You have instilled a desire in him to further his education and for that, his father and I thank you!

                Our kudos to Mrs. Keithly who did what no other teacher or private tutor could do, and believe me there were many who tried. She taught him Algebra! Through her diligence he was finally able to comprehend it and pass! In our opinion she deserves and should receive the Congressional Medal of Honor.

                Mrs. Miller taught him “failure was not an option”. She opened up an entire new world for him; the written word. How she was ever able to get him to read a novel in its entirety is beyond us. This young man has fought reading for an entire school life and now wants to major in English! Her faith in him gave him faith in himself.  Mrs. Miller, “the memory of a good deed can never be taken from the heart of one who is grateful”!

                And last but certainly not least there is Mrs. Bratton. Our thanks to her for making him feel loved and one of her own! He calls her one of his other mothers but don’t tell him I told.

                We thank you all for being a part of Our Village.

Well, he’s turning 30 tomorrow and I’m feeling jist a tad bit melancholy that those days of fighting over homework and broccoli are long gone. Though I can’t say the same about the then president who didn’t like broccoli either and with whom Tom felt he had an ally. Wait ‘til NATO hears broccoli has caused so many wars in America; Civil and otherwise!

 Where did the time go?

Seriously?

Some conversations with my significant other often just make me shake my head in wonder. Not like a winter wonder land type of wonder more of a hmmmmmmmmmmm, I wonder what now.  Especially when it comes to the logistics of transportation once one of your vehicles decides that this is NOT the day that thou shalt drive. Today's lively little banter was just such a nugget.

The scene: at the dental office with Dr. Cheap Cheap drillin' away and my trusty terminal trainee at my side. More on that at a later date.

Assistant #1 answers the phone with her sing song "Good morning, Dr. Danger's office". Hands the receiver to me saying it's your hubby.

Tim via phone from the mechanics: You need to come get me, they need to keep your car and we need to get you a rental.

Me: Reeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaly? Seriously?
Why would I come and get you if you need to rent me a car when you are standing in the mechanic's  car rental office? Just rent me a car and drive it to my office so you can take your big friggin truck I had to drive to work this morning without killing 97 illegal aliens in various crosswalks and exchange it with me.

Tim: Oh. ...Okay I'll rent the car and bring it over there.

Me: Honey? Don't rent something stupid, K? I don't need anything of Mr. Shelby's.  sigh

Some days are just not worth chewing off  the restraints. Hell, some are not even worth getting out of bed for and then there are those that are just like sneaking back out of the grave. And yet it's always a revelation when I find myself standing up and once again proclaiming to myself "Carpe diem"!

Today not so much. I am now driving a Mazda.

Carpe Noctem!
Dar