20.762068

The last few days have been rough as hell, I guess it started about a week ago, got worse on Monday and just stayed bad 'til last night. There have been times I've had that feeling that "It's me," like I'm just taking things wrong, mountains from molehills, whatever; other times, it feels like I'm stuck in the middle of a shitty situation that's not my fault.

There for a while, I wondered if I really was staying away from writing because I didn't want it to be way too many posts in a row that were just bitch-bitch-bitch.

Monday, and possibly before, I really felt like it was from me, in me, and all mine, and I could feel myself getting irritated about things that really shouldn't have that much of an effect on me. Tuesday (and yesterday) there was that damn Jeep wheel that we'd ordered a week before that hadn't showed up yet -- I got my ass chewed for "dropping the ball" on that one, 'cause ya know, I'm workin' that damn yard in South Texas that didn't see the order and never shipped the wheel. Oh, yeah, that was totally my fault, seeing as how we pay to use a computer system so that I don't have to drive to South Texas and stand there in somebody's face saying "JeepWheelJeepWheelJeepWheel" until they finally notice me and go pull a Jeep wheel off of a shelf. Yeah, totally my fault that that guy didn't see his computer screen.

Yesterday I'd pretty much decided I wasn't going to Tulsa because there was no way my attitude was anywhere near the right place for it, but I didn't want to go home either. I didn't say a word about it, but I had planned to go to Owasso (for good gas), grab something to eat, and then just go sit in the park and knit 'til I felt like going home. My Mom apparently noticed the mood I'd been in and called me about 4:45. Due to Mom's marketing skills, I went home for spaghetti and fried okra with the folks; amazingly enough, some credit was taken for the pissy-mood-situation, and lemme tell ya, that's rare.

After dinner, I alternated between knitting and napping, and then decided I go on out and put gas in my car instead of worrying about there not being any places to get any gas between home and work. In the interest of "saving gas" to be sure I didn't run out before I could get there, I turned off the compressor and rolled down the windows, and it was nice. I'll be honest, I'm usually not a big fan of rollin' the windows down -- if I can't take the whole top off, I'd rather just use the AC. The Mark 8 isn't so bad with the windows down, I don't feel like I'm gettin' blown to death and fixin' to lose both contact lenses, but it seems to cool itself out alright -- of course, we're talkin' about eighty degrees here, not a hundred and thirteen like it was a couple weeks ago.

The Big Car got 20.762068 miles per gallon on that tank of gas that I bought last week in Owasso, where they have the banner that says "100% Real Gas, No Ethanol," and I'd say that's pretty good for somethin' that big, that heavy, and that V-8 Powered.

I drove back home as the sun was setting, and I left the compressor off and the windows down just 'cause the evening air felt so good. I have no idea if it's because I managed to let go of something, or because something finally let go of me, but I felt like a fog had lifted last night, I felt much better.

This morning when I got to work, I found that the second yard had also backed out on me on that damn Jeep Wheel. I had to order it a third time from a third yard and pay fifteen dollars more for it this time, but it'll be alright 'cause nobody's bitchin' at me about it anymore.

Thankfulness? Check.

Like the song says, "Feels so good, feelin' good again."

More later... _\,,/

Drag Strip Report

I showed up at work Monday and noticed that I forgot to scrape the numbers off the left quarter glass of the Mark 8. Whups. Oh well, between the numbers and the corresponding ass-chewin'-from-Mom, the whole thing kinda made me feel like a kid again.

My Mom asks if "that's what happened to the transmission in the SHO." No, it's not. Three or four trips down the dragstrip in 1997 is most likely not the reason it has a little slip in second gear eleven years later.

The ol' $300 Lincoln wasn't quite as quick in the quarter as I'd expected; I figured that if the SHO brought home a best time of 15.02, the Mark 8 would at least do that or better, even if I was just guessin' by the feel of 'em in highway traffic. I was wrong by at least a second, but it was still pretty cool to get back out there and make a few passes. I don't think it was faster than anything out there, but I can guarantee ya it was the cheapest thing in the bunch, and hey, that's still sayin' somethin'.

We had a great time at The Duck Drags, and I can't wait to do it again! Maybe next time I'll rent something... Heh heh...

Tired and a teensy bit sunburned in the spots that I missed with the spray-screen, I went up to the wall to shoot just a little more video as the afternoon was winding down.

I was tired, so seriously tired, but when these guys pulled up there and hit the water for a big ol' simultaneous burn-out, I forgot all about my tired achy feet:



It was more than sight, more than sound, like a tingly hum that started at my collarbones and went clear through me; I was standin' there tryin' to hold the camera still but it felt like my whole body was trying to decide between jumping, falling over, or trying to find something that would vibrate just a little longer. It was incredible, and I'm still struggling with finding words to describe it. It was a bit like the first time I started my first Outlaw Stock, which was just amazing -- and it totally surprised me, which was pretty cool 'cause it's been a while since I'd had that feeling.

Usually wordy, I still occasionally find myself at a loss for words...

The pictures that Clay and I took (and a video of my first pass of the day) are on my Flickr.

More Later. _\,,/

Alert Neighbors Know My Ratios.

How's that for a newspaper headline?

As the youngest kid in a family of "Car People," I learned to drive earlier than most and was countin' they days 'til my sixteenth birthday a couple years in advance. I mastered the manual transmission before I mastered Pre-Algebra. I remember drivin' a red VW around in the yard with one of my friends from elementary school, it must've been around fourth grade or so, 'cause we went to different schools in fifth grade and kinda lost touch.

My birthday is in November, I got my license the Monday after I turned sixteen -- tenth grade. Between getting a license and getting a diploma, I showed up at school in ten different cars. I loved the little black truck I got for my birthday, but I also loved just about any chance to park it and hop into somethin' else for a little while.

The black '91 Ranger. The orangey-red '78 Fiat (which occasionally led to walkin' with Fiat keys and a Bass Trombone, because the trunk wasn't big enough to close with the Trombone Case inside). The red Geo convertible (doin' sixty in that felt about like doin' 120 in anything else). The black Bronco II (AC-DC's "Jailbreak" always reminds me of that one). The Bandit Trans-Am (same one My Mom took me to my first day of kindergarten in). Mom's '75 GMC. Dad's red '92 F-150 (the one I crashed my first Christmas Break in college). The black & grey 80's F-150 with the high-output 351 in it. The red '87 Suzuki Samurai (which was simply too short to sling out sideways in the gravel like the Ranger would). And last but not least, the white '91 Escort 2-door that taught me the difference between Rear and Front wheel drive. Heh. Even though it's a four-cylinder and a five-speed just like the Ranger, there is no way to make it sling sideways under power, no matter how hard ya pop the clutch. Heh heh.

Time to cars, that works out to a ratio of roughly two-point-five to ten.

Ain't much changed over the years; I dearly love the SHO that I got for graduation, but I still get a real kick outta parkin' it for a bit to drive somethin' else. Mom says it keeps the miles off the "good cars," that's why her "good car" is in the garage while she's drivin' her $400 truck. When I met Clayton, I was drivin' my grandma's bright-blue '96 Ford Contour. Well, the night we met, I was drivin' a diesel Ford pickup with a race trailer hung on it, but when I parked that, I hopped back in the little car, anyway.

Clay's neighbor has a little boy who's about four years old or so (I say "or so" 'cause I know I'm bad at guessing ages) -- he knows what's goin' on outside his window, I'm guessin' he's the best of the best when it comes to Alert Neighbors. Friday morning, I took the SHO to the Ford dealership for that Cruise Control Recall -- when I got to Clay's house that night, the little man pointed out the window and said "Clay got his other car back!!" I love that car so much, even a preschooler knows it!

That may not seem like much, but in the light of my "time to cars ratio," he's good! Clay and I have been together for almost three years -- it'll be three in July. In those not-quite-three years, I've showed up here with a lot of cars!

My Green SHO. Grandma's blue Contour. Mom's burgundy $400 '96 Ranger. Dad's white '03 F-150 "7700." The white '92 F-250 Diesel that I used to pull the race trailer with. The Ambulance. The blue '93 Taurus Wagon from Cra!gsL!st. The green '95 Windstar with the odd-colored front end parts (and "No Bells = No Fair" on the windows). Dad's white '91 Bronco that I borrowed while it was icy (that was the night The Black Keys played in Tulsa). The burgundy Taurus that I washed in the driveway 'cause it was naaaasty inside. The red '03 Mustang that I was driving the night we went to see The Gourds. And the Mark 8, which I got right after the Mustang sold in November and drove 'til I got the SHO out Thursday evening.

Just under three years. Twelve cars. Two-point-eight to twelve. Heh.

The Mark 8 has been consistently "the other car in Clay's driveway" for a solid six months after a string of others; but a four-year-old still remembers the Green SHO.

That kid will be a "car guy" in no time at all!!

Three Hundred Bucks...

Thanksgiving was nice, notably less stressful than I'd figured. "Black Friday" was also nicer than expected -- much like last year, Mom and I went to Skiatook for a little morning shopping and lunch and it was a really nice time.

Thanksgiving was my first "long trip" (Mounds) in the Mark 8, and Friday was Mom's first "close look" at it too. I like it a lot, but I'm still not about to give up the SHO. I said a while back that I wanted something two-doored, rear-wheel-drive, and V-8-powered, and this Lincoln coupe turned up with perfect timing. I hadn't really considered a Mark 8, but...

It was a call-n-haul, the guy we got it from said he was leaving soon and didn't want to mess with having it fixed. The pump for the air suspension had quit working and he took the three hundred dollar offer on it. That was the day before that red Mustang sold, and I'd just came back from Claremore in it when I walked in and saw 'em unloading the Lincoln off the truck. Pearly white with tan leather, reasonably slick for ten years old, and not too raggedy inside either -- I leaned into the passenger door to take a little peek, and following in the footsteps of My Mom with her four hundred dollar truck, I went back inside and said "It's nice, I think I want it." The next day, when we got it inside the building to really check it out, I was sure I wanted it. It's got goodies like I've never played with -- even with all these years in the car biz, I'd never had my hands on anything with a power tilt & telescope steering column, and honestly, that little joystick is pretty damn fascinating. When ya turn the key off, it pulls in and up to let ya get out, and when ya get back in, it moves itself back to where it was. Same with the front seats -- when ya flip the backs forward to get in the back seat, the power track moves the seat all the way forward to widen the gap.

For three hundred bucks, you bet I want it... I was ready to reach for the checkbook when Dad told Mom we "had the birthday taken care of." I took it home the night before Thanksgiving.

On the highway, it has a little heavier feel than the SHO and doesn't seem to wiggle it's ass around as much as the Mustang did; the 4.6 is tremendously well-powered and the car seems very stable at (reportedly insane rates of) speed. It really sticks to the ground and handles real nice, but I sometimes wonder if it might not be quite as nimble as the SHO -- that could be my habits from 12-plus years with the feel of the SHO though...

Yes, I do smile when I see it across the parking lot... But I am still keeping the SHO, because I Love them both. Maybe it's a little like having more than one kid. Maybe. Don't worry, I'm not about to adopt any other ten-year-old. Heh.

I hope Mr. S.C. is healthy/safe/happy on his trip to Singapore, and I wish him all the best, 'cause I'm sure diggin' the car he sold before he left Tulsa...



More Later. _\,,/