Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Invisible Bruises?

I guess yesterday's post was a little longer than they've been lately. It felt good to just keep typing, so I did.

When I finally made it to bed, I slept quite well and made it to work on time in spite of being up later than usual. This morning at work, it seemed like I might've had a bump or a sore spot below my right shoulder, but I feel pretty good and I'm especially glad to be getting rid of this cough & cold mess.

At lunch time, I left here in the parts truck to drop an intake off on my way to pick up sandwiches. The parts truck has a stock, small half-ton-pickup steering wheel, which is probably about the same diameter, but a much smaller grip than the one on the Excursion. Combined with the lack of "nifty accessory" steering wheel cover (from The Salvation Army), it's also not quite as soft.

Against the stiffer, smaller steering wheel, something didn't feel quite right.

I can't see any discoloration, but I'm pretty sure I have pipe-wrench-shaped bruises in my hands.

While that was on my mind, at highway speed, I got to thinkin' I couldn't exactly remember if I'd put that pipe wrench back where I got it from. Did I lay it back on the bench in the garage?? What did I do with it?

When I put the parts truck in park, I discovered the pipe wrench layin' on the back bumper of the Excursion.


Oh well, at least it stayed put!



Monday, December 29, 2008

Delta-Delta-Delta, I tried to help-ya-help-ya-help-ya.

But I couldn't. Maybe it was a knock-off.

Clay and I met in July of '05, and when his birthday came around in December, had been fighting a faucet that just wouldn't quite turn off. I did a little research, peeked into the cabinet under the sink, and thought "noooooo problem, I can fix that." Along with fulfilling that specific request for a white cake with white frosting, I got him a set of towels and a new faucet for the hall bathroom.

Just as I'd suspected, removing the old faucet and installing the new one was certainly no problem. I was pretty proud of myself for that one, even though I couldn't talk Clay into letting me get him a single-knob Delta faucet like we have here at home.

Shortly after I shared that story with My Mom, the faucet in her bathroom developed a drip that turned into a stream. Before I could try & get my hands on it, Mom hit the shutoff and scrubbed at the parts she could see with an old toothbrush, supposedly fixing her problem.

My folks bought this house in February of '78, I wasn't quite two years old. It may be because they're all I ever remember having, but I just really like these one-knob Delta faucets. Straight toward the mirror for warm water, tilt to the right for colder, to the left for hotter, they're just nice & easy.

Nice & easy was a phrase I read several times when I stared reading about repairing them as well, but since Mom's wasn't malfunctioning anymore, I figured it was best to leave it alone. I read a bit about the "cartridge faucets" and it sounded easy enough, so I filed the information away for later.

Supposedly the house was less than a year old when we moved here, but either way, it's over thirty years old. My Mom says the lady who lived across the street told her about watching the guy build the house himself, and about how he didn't exactly have an easy time of it. When my bathroom faucet developed a leak like Mom had described in hers, I discovered just how little that guy thought ahead. My bathroom has two sinks, separated by about three feet of countertop on top of a set of drawers.

That morning that I rinsed out my contact lens case and then couldn't get the sink to turn off, I thought it would be no problem to just reach into the cabinet underneath, shut off the water, and deal with it after work. I opened the cabinet and there were no shutoff valves, just supply lines going into the wood where the drawers were. Same thing on the other side under the other sink. Shit. After taking out three of the four drawers, I finally found the valves, and the "T"s, just below the top edge of the bottom drawer. So, there'll be no shutting off one sink to just use the other. The first valve my hand landed on happened to be the hot one, and when I turned it, the leaking stopped. Hey, I can do without hot water for a little while 'til I can get that faucet fixed -- no problem.

I left it that way for a few weeks, and while Clay and I were fighting with his tub faucet over the weekend, I thought maybe I'd go home and fix my sink faucet. I'd looked at the parts a time or two in my several trips to the big blue store right around the corner from Clay's house, I got to thinkin' I could do it, no problem, and then tell Clay about how easy it was to fix the Delta faucet, so hey, we should get these!

Just in case you're sick of seeing "no problem" here, I'm about to get to the part where the problems start.

Sunday night when I got home, I took a close look at my faucet. I pulled the handle off (much easier than that tub handle at Clay's house) and checked it out just to see what I could see. I got a good look at the shaft stickin' up there, and sure enough, it looked like one of the ones I'd seen hanging on the rack. I pulled the drawer back out and turned the hot valve back on just to see what happened, and sure enough, it ran and ran, the leak was still there. When I shut it off, it still dripped. Shit. Problem. I tied a towel around it so the drips would be quieter, and I went to bed.

At work Monday, I did a little research on the internet. As amazing of a source of information as it can be, I ran into a few dead ends while trying to figure out this faucet. Information Super Cul-De-Sac. I couldn't find anything that looked exactly like my faucet (probably due to that whole 1978 thing), but still, everything I read said it should just be easy (easy as the half a chocolate pie that I had for dinner before I got started) to just take the top off and put a new ball in and then put the handle back on and everything will be just fine.

Monday evening, I ended up leaving work early to come home and be here alone due to this chest-cold-of-the-damned that we've all passed around. A chance to fix my sink without anybody here to bug me about what the hell do I think I'm doing: schweeet. Except that maybe I need my ass kicked for wading off into that mess...

I came home and went straight in there to try and get the chrome top off (like on the website) so I could take the parts with me to match 'em up. That chrome top, which even had ridges in it just like a jar lid, would not move. I tried with my hands, I tried with the rubber grippy-thingy, I tried with a pipe wrench over a towel, I tried with the pipe wrench over the rubber grippy-thingy. It would, not. fucking. move.

I decided that since nobody sees that bathroom but me, and if I do inherit the house someday, I'll want to remodel that end anyway, I figured it couldn't be so bad to just stick that pipe wrench on there and get that bitch apart. It really didn't want to move. I tried one last time, pipe wrench in my right hand, left shoulder braced against the door frame, and I thought I saw a little movement...

I was tired of fighting it, and I figured there had to be an easier way, there had to be some trick to it. I was once the woman behind the Handyman Connection Craftsman Of The Year, seriously, I was always the one standing there saying "Waaaaaaiiiiitttt, just stop and look, there's got to be some way to do it without tearing it up!"

Attempting to heed my own words, I pulled out the digital camera and took good close pictures of what I had. I put the camera in my purse and hopped in the truck to head to Owasso's big blue store for some parts and possibly some knowledge. Maybe if I could look at the new parts, I'd see something that would make my cartoon lightbulb come on, maybe there would be a book there with some tips in it.

The book shelves didn't have anything close to my faucet, but the parts aisle did! I found the ball with a shaft that matched mine, and next to it, a set of washers and o-rings with an odd little wrench that looked like it would fit right into those odd little gaps just inside my chrome top! Yay! At the big blue home improvement store's self-checkout, I spent twenty dollars and seventy nine cents. I got back in the truck feeling like I'd finally figured something out, so I headed for Owasso's landmark chicken joint to pick myself up some sinful, guilty, salty, lovely, one-of-a-kind, magical, deep-fried chicken dinner on the way home. Larry's was closed though, so I came on back home and had Christmas chocolate pie for dinner. I would've reheated some ham, but I was in a hurry to get back to the bathroom and try out my new (supposed) knowledge and my nifty new tool.

Sure enough, the tool fit right into the gaps, and a little plastic ring unscrewed from around the top of the ball; but the shaft still wouldn't come out. The tiny little sheet of instructions in the package (which only mentioned kitchen sinks, not bathroom sinks) showed a cartoony hand unscrewing the chrome top, so I gave it another shot. Encouraged by what I'd read, I really leaned my weight back on the pipe wrench; carefully aimed toward the door frame so that if I fell, I'd end up on the side toward the bed instead of on my ass in the shower on top of a broken glass shower door.

Nothing happened. I took the wrench off and checked the "chrome finish," which I'd say was officially fucked at this point. Hey, since it's already shot, might as well try one more time -- if it's supposed to come off, it oughtta move. I positioned the wrench semi-carefully and leaned back one more time. Something gave, the chrome top turned about an eighth of a turn, and then the whole faucet shifted in the sink and something clanked in the cabinet below.

About that time, I was starting to get irritated, but I wasn't going to let the faucet win. I started this, I was going to finish it, one way or another. I repositioned the wrench one more time, and tried to hold the faucet by the spout with my other hand. When I pulled on the wrench, I felt the aerator move against my fingers. Hmmmm... Maybe if I take that aerator off, it'll free something up and this chrome top will twist the rest of the way off... So I did, and then I put the wrench back on one more time. The chrome top moved only a teensy bit more, and I could feel myself getting madder.

Refusing to give up, refusing to call anyone for help, refusing to do the extreme cleaning that would be required to let anyone else into my bathroom to help, I decided I had to fix it, one way or another. Tapping didn't loosen it, that only caused another clank underneath, so I decided I'd just yank that bitch outta there and get a new one tomorrow. I emptied out the cabinet, putting all the spare shampoo into the other cabinet, and wiggled under there with some wrenches to get the faucet out.

What the hell were these people thinkin' when they built this house? Where every other faucet I'd seen in stores while I shopped for Clay's gifty one had lines that connected directly onto the bottom of the faucet, this one did not. The clanks I'd heard were big washers on small bolts that held the faucet down on the sink. The faucet itself had copper lines that came down about six inches down from the faucet, then connected to the supply lines from there. When I finally pushed it up outta there, it seemed like I could see a lot of plastic up there.

Surely Delta, praised on every corner of the internet, exalted by homebuilders, loved by my family for thirty years, wouldn't do that. Surely Delta wouldn't make 'em that way.

I wiggled my body back out of the cabinet and stood up to grab the dead faucet out of the sink and was stunned by what I saw. Those little copper lines coming directly out of the faucet had twisted like a rope -- that was the give that I felt when I pulled on the pipe wrench, it was the whole inside of the faucet turning and pulling and twisting up those copper lines.

By the time I carried it from the far end of the house through the garage and out to the driveway to toss it in the back of the truck, my irritation had progressed to anger; but only slightly at myself for believing what I'd read on the internet. "Oh, this is how it works, it'll be easy, it'll be so fast and so simple!"


After calmly smiling into my own eyes in the mirror as I picked up the wrenches, after walking unhurried through the house, after refusing to slam the laundry room door on my way out, the anger got the best of me. Yeah, the anger won, but the faucet did not. I threw it to the sidewalk, hard, and that was so satisfying, I picked it up and did it again. And I picked it up and did it again. A few plastic parts had disappeared into the grass and when I picked it up that fourth time, I saw two screws that went up from the bottom right in the middle. Surely those weren't what kept that chrome top from coming off...

I came back inside for my keys and popped the tailgate of the Excursion so I could fish out a screwdriver and get at 'em. One came right out, one was obscured by part of the copper rope, but I was able to bash it out of the way with the pipe wrench and take it out too. Nothing changed.

I ended up on my knees in the driveway, lit by the glow of the Excursion's dome lights, holding onto one of the copper lines and repeatedly bashing the faucet into the concrete again and again and again. 'Twas so very satisfying.

Tomorrow, I'll toss it somewhere; possibly the dumpster, but most likely the creek.

I'll take my unopened part and my carefully opened tool back to the store and see if I can get my money back on 'em. Depending on the ease of the return process, I'll buy a new faucet -- there if it's easy, somewhere else if it's not.

Everything'll be just fine, no problem.

Seriously. No. Fucking. Problem. No problem next time, okay?

That just can't be a Delta. Delta wouldn't do that.

It must've been a knock-off.

More later... _\,,/


Monday, December 22, 2008

Complete and total Wow.

Have y'all seen this? It's the newest subscription in my Go0gle Reader.


I heard about it on NPR today, and I was fascinated.

I can't imagine riding a bicycle all the way across the Northern United States, all the way from Pacific to Atlantic.

Amazing. Just amazing.

It's an incredible story with beautiful pictures and all sorts of wonderful expierences, now go read about it! You'll be stunned!

More Later... _\,,/

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Thursday, December 18, 2008

Is this crazy, or is it just me?

A few months ago, a body shop called us up and ordered a tailgate for a Chevy Truck.

Amazingly enough, we had one. It was black, and it was really nice, and it had all it's parts, the handle, the latches, the inside panel, the trim, and everything. It was so nice, looked like it had been oh-so-carefully lifted very gently from the back of a really nice truck, probably wrapped in a blanket and laid carefully into the back of a minivan or something like that. It was that niiiiii-iiiii-iiiice.

We delivered it, sans blanket and minivan, but nonetheless, a nice, shiny, black tailgate.

A few weeks later, the body shop calls back. They don't need it anymore. They ask for a refund. They ask us to come pick it up.

When we get there, it's been totally taken apart. The metal shell has been sanded down to the primer and sprayed white around the edges and all of the other removable parts are gone. When we call back, it takes 'em forever to root through their stuff and find all the pieces and send 'em back here.

Even though the tailgate we got back was far, far from the quality of the tailgate we sent to 'em, they don't take kindly to the thought of paying a restocking fee.


Now, fast-forward, it's several months later. The same body shop calls, now they specifically ask for a black tailgate for a Chevy truck.

"Well, I've got that one that was black when y'all got it the last time..."


"If we couldn't laugh, we'd just all go insane."


_\,,/ More later.


Monday, December 15, 2008

For Dogs and Short People.

Last night when the sleet started, I decided I probably should hurry up and head home before it got any worse. I left Clay's house a little after nine, and the sleet was starting to show white on the ground.

Somewhere between growing up in the car business and racing several seasons on the dirt, I've learned to enjoy the feel of knowing what the car is doing. When it comes right down to it, I'll mostly avoid being out when the roads are icy; but there comes a time when staying in is the last thing I want to do. The SHO was alright the time or two I had to get home in bad weather, most front-wheel-drive cars are okay if ya drive 'em easy, but I wasn't about to take a chance on someone else hitting me in it. That's why I'd find something else to drive for those occasions -- both of the three-quarter-ton pickups stayed put pretty good, and I never had any close calls with the big Chevy Van or the Windstar either. I can't say I really liked the big Chevy Van, but I do remember coming home in a blinding snow one night and feeling just fine about it.

The Mark 8 is my first experience with Traction Control, and since the SHO lost it's anti-lock brakes somewhere around sixty thousand miles in '98 or so, I've found the anti-lock brakes amusing as well. I've fiddled with the digital traction goodies a little bit, but when it comes right down to it, I'd rather drive with my own brain and keep it together to the point where that stuff doesn't kick in. The feel of the difference between front and rear wheel drive is an experience every driver should have. I can't help but think I've learned a good bit from the feel of the race car, but I can't say the same about that being an experience everyone should have -- mostly because we've got enough crazies out there who don't know what's goin' on, but that's a whole 'nother rant by itself. That's not where I was going with this... Back from the rabbit-chase...

When I left Clay's house, the traction control light came on just a bit at the first stoplight, so I took it easy on around to the highway entrance ramp. I got on the highway real easy and ended up behind a fairly new white GMC Pickup. There was a pet taxi in the back, and I hoped there wasn't a pet in there freezin' in the cold. I stayed behind the GMC, we did 35 or 40, and all was well. When the highway widened out to three lanes, the truck moved over one lane to the left; he was in the middle, I was on the right, the left was empty.

I was just thinking I'd go ahead and move over behind the truck when I car came flyin' up behind us. A new blue Mustang appeared quickly behind the GMC and stayed right beside me for quite a while. When wondering "what the hell?" finally got the best of me, I looked over and was stunned by what I saw.

She was sitting up super-straight, that tensed-up impatient pose often seen in heavy traffic. She was the only human in the car, but she was not alone. She had a dog in her lap. Not a little purse-poodle, but a good-sized black & white dog, like maybe a Border Collie, up in her lap and nuzzling her face.

I know it's terrible, and what I had in mind was every bit as unsafe as a dog-in-the-face, but I couldn't help it, I reached for my camera.

I wasn't fast enough. Before I could get my hand over into the shotgun seat and reach into my laptop bag, she moved on over into that left lane, passed the GMC, and was gone.

I moved over and got behind the truck again, and we took our time making our way slowly around the loop toward US75 North. As we made our way around toward the overpass near Cain's, I could see red & blue flashing lights.

Sure enough, there it was, the blue Mustang, spun out and pointin' the wrong way with the front end tore up and the driver's door against the right side wall overlooking Tulsa's landmark ballroom.

Airbags can be deadly for short-legged folks who have to sit too close. I'm sure an airbag would be undoubtedly deadly for a Border Collie who's wedged ever-so-close between his human and the steering wheel.

I've heard they're smart dogs... Maybe he figured out what was goin' on and made a dive for the back seat.

Wear your seatbelt, think about your safety and the safety and health of your pets, and most importantly, slow the fuck down out there. Traction control, anti-lock brakes, four-wheel-drive, sure, they're helpful, but they're no substitute for brains and they don't mean you can do 80 and be invincible.

More later... _\,,/

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Wednesday, December 03, 2008

There was a time, and there is now.

There is a sameness, and there is a difference. As humans, we're all the same in some ways, and we're all different in some ways.

I have a few little secrets I keep; I have a few things I'm not afraid to talk about.

One thing I'm not afraid to talk about is that I know what $40K in credit card debt looks like, and I know what it feels like to mail off that last payment and feel free from it all. It was an amazing feeling, and when I opened the envelope the following month, I took a picture of the statement where it said "Due: $0.00."

Don't look at me like that, I also know without a doubt what it was like wading into that $40K, and I'll never do it again.

That know-it-all-guy just walked in here and asked me if I'd "already given up the monster truck."

I'll be honest, I was a teensy bit puzzled. When I think of "monster truck," I think of the big, serious, massive, six-foot-tires, jumpin' over cars Monster Trucks. Maybe something like that new commercial for washing machines where the guy drives one across the top of a row of machines. Maybe those shows they have alongside the car show every year. Maybe, possibly, something like that Suzuki Samurai with the big fat knobby tires. Maybe.

My first response was a no-brainer. "Do what?" I think "Do what?" may be the wordy replacement for "Huh?"

"Well, the white Lincoln's back out there, did ya already get rid of that silver truck?" Oh. The Excursion. Once I figured that out, I mentioned that the Mark 8 gets about twice the gas mileage so I've been switchin' off every once in a while.

His turn to make the puzzled face, he says "Oh, so you're going to have both?"

I just nodded and went back to the PC without saying anything else.

Yeah, actually, I'm gonna have all three; the SHO, the Mark 8, and the Big Silver Monster Truck, four or five if you count the Hearse and/or the ol' Outlaw Stock Camaro, and I don't really understand why people think that's so odd. It's always good to have a truck around, ain't it? Ask anybody who's ever had to try and borrow one from somebody else -- now, if I want to move something or haul something, I just pop that third-row seat out and cram whatever I want in there, whenever I want to. I don't have to wait for anybody else to make time for me, and I don't have to struggle with starting the ol' diesel Racin' Ambulance in the cold.

While I'm on that topic, that third-row seat is sooooooo much easier to deal with than the one in that Windstar that I had for a while. The third-row seat in the Excursion has wheels on it, so once it's un-latched and rocked forward, it just rolls right out -- get it to the ground and it'll roll right over into the corner of the garage. Handy. As. Can. Be.

The charge on my card for the Excursion would not even come close to a reasonable tip on that dollar amount that I mentioned earlier. It was such a cheap deal, seriously cheap, I'm talkin' cheaper than a new 17" MacBook Pro... I know my interest rates, I've planned my payments, everything'll be alright. Why'd I do it? Because I wanted to. Because I can. There was a time when I couldn't do that, but now, I can, so I did.

Don't get me wrong, it's still the first thing for sale, first for-profit offer can drive it home, I just wanna christen it with a road trip first. The SHO's been with me too long to let go, the $300 Mark 8 was a Birthday Present so selling it would be just tacky. For right now, yeah, I'm keepin' all three.

I'll talk cars with just about anybody, but that know-it-all-guy can just bite me.

Y'all wanna hear about that lady who tried to get me kicked outta the Monster Truck Rally??

;) More later... _\,,/

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Tuesday, December 02, 2008

Disjointed Much?



Yesterday, I watched a dad coerce a ten year old into shaking the unholy hell out of a nearly-full bottle of Mountain Dew that had been left momentarily unattended by another adult. "Stop, stop, stop!! Put it down, here he comes!!!" So, apparently, this dad is raising a douchebag.


After work, I stopped by WM (sorry, figured I'd better Go0gle-proof that) on my way home to pick up some prescriptions and a teeny bit of Christmas stuff just 'cause I did not venture out into the Black Friday madness at all. I found a reasonably decent parking space and as I pulled in, I noticed a blue four-door Corvair parked in the row in front of mine. I've read a few articles, but I niether love or hate the Corvair, I could take it or leave it. Essentially, I love cars, and any car that old that's still on the road under it's own power deserves a second look.

As I was lookin' the Corvair over and thinkin' it looked pretty slick for it's age, I noticed a Saturn in the next aisle over behind it with the brake lights and back-up lights on. A lady walked by pushing a shopping cart, and there was a little girl following her a couple steps behind. I'm not good at guessing ages, but I'd say she was right around somewhere in between old enough to know better and big enough to know not to do that shit. She was head & shoulders taller than the decklid of the Saturn, and as she walked behind the car, she ducked down and stopped to hide right in the center. I watched the woman turn around and giggle a bit as the kid ducked down behind the car a second time.

I'm not anybody's mom, but if you think watching your kid duck down behind a car that has back-up lights on is funny in any way, you're raising a Darwin Award Winner.


My Birthday landed on Thanksgiving this year, and unlike the last time I celebrated the two together, I was not essentially alone and I did not get called an "alcoholic." We had a truly fascinating time that included Clay being handed a card and told "Happy Birthday, Hun," 'cause ya know, he looks a lot like me with that beard and everything. Heh. Later, we got a big laugh out of a brand new question, "Is he a Mennonite?"

Anyhow, wherever he had to drive that damn horse & buggy to, he did a great job birthday shoppin' -- I've waited for that CD since Junior High, and the moment that album appeared on a CD, he grabbed it.

With this birthday also arrived my first time receiving yarn as a gift! It's white and very soft with just a teensy bit of shine to it, and it'll surely turn out somethin' warm & fuzzy.


I got myself a nifty new purse via that popular auction site that rhymes with me-hay too. (sorry, more Go0gle-proofing there) Of course, if I said that out loud, I'd catch hell for it, so I told the folks it was also a gift from Clay -- which wasn't really a stretch since it matches the wristlet he got me a couple Christmases ago. I'm still gettin' used to it, but I really like it, I waited a long time to get my hands on a Dooney Tulip, I found a good deal, so I grabbed it. I guess that's a pattern with me... Make of it what you will.


Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention... I put the second full tank of gas in the Excursion the Tuesday before Thanksgiving so I could do the math. Ten point seven miles a gallon, but at least I got to fill it up for a buck-fifty a gallon.


I should also say hello to the friendly blonde-haired family, also in a silver SUV, who were waiting behind me at the pump that night. I salute you, even though you're probably not reading this, I appreciate your warm friendliness.

When I saw the other car pull up behind me to wait, I was standing just in front of the hose, leaning against the quarter with my hands in the pockets of my favorite jeans. The pump was somewhere near thirty gallons (yeah, *gasp,* but I'm glad I knew to expect it, the tank holds 44) and I figured it was close to stopping. Since I was on the opposite side of the hose, further away from the pump, I decided I'd step over the hose so I could be on the other side when it finished.

Dumb idea. Why the hell didn't I just wait for it to stop and then put it back in the pump? Why didn't I think of the fact that if I just grabbed it from where I was standing, there would be no need for stepping over once it was back on the hanger? Am I stupid or somethin'?

So, with my hands still in my pockets, I took a quick look at the numbers on the pump, which was still running, and I put my left foot over the hose. Hands still in pockets, I put my left foot on the ground on the other side of the hose successfully. Somewhere around that time, everything went to shit. My right foot wasn't wantin' to clear the hose, the hose wasn't about to dislodge from the truck, and the more I tried, the more it hung there, so I ended up down on all-fours, or at least three out of four.

Even though I had that "s-l-o-w-m-o-t-i-o-n" feeling, I still have no idea how I got my hands out of my pockets fast enough to put 'em out and keep from bustin' my face into the concrete. I also had no idea my self-imposed reflex of guarding my left knee was powerful enough to turn me around and make the right knee, the one that had been above knee-high off the ground and tangled in the hose, hit the ground first, but apparently it did. The first thing I could see was my hands and my hair touching that nasty concrete and all I could think of was the people watching from the other car. I got up fast and I knew I'd better take control of the situation and diffuse the awkwardness myself 'cause I really did not want to deal with who-knows-how-many strangers leanin' over me askin' if I was alright.

Back on my feet, shake my hair back, little wave, big smile, "That was graceful, wasn't it?"

"Huh?" the blonde-haired guy in the silver SUV asks, "Oh, I thought you had somethin' wrong with your truck..."

They didn't see a thing. They thought I was lookin' under the back of the Excursion. All they saw was me gettin' up, so if I'd done that "cat method" and let on like "I meant to do that!" nobody would've suspected a thing... Until the security camera video turned up on some website...


I guess it has been a while since I posted... We went to see "Zack & Miri Make a Porno" (finally), and I thought it was a great film... I laughed and I cried -- yeah, there's naked people and porno-movie-making in it, but the love story, oh my my, I never saw anything hot about Seth Rogen until he put his hand up into the back of Elizabeth Banks' hair. I was so stunned I cried, and I loved it.


As if I haven't mentioned these before, I just answered a phone for a caller who asked for a '96 Dodge Fuel Pump, and when I told him we handle Ford parts, there was a long pause, then he said "Oh, well how'bout a transmission for a '91 Honda Accord?"


Maybe I really could write a book someday...


More later. _\,,/

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