I really should have a better attitude about getting my car fixed. It's not like this is new for my car, as every other day there seems to be a light warning me of danger or a new problem, it's just got crap timing. I mean, it gets me around town, most of the time. In this instance I began to notice my car smelled like gas and I was only getting about 230 miles to the tank instead of 330. Now, I am not the soul of immediate car maintenance, so I assumed if I got an oil change I would be fine, but on my way to get the much needed oil change, I noticed the $20 I put in my tank the other day got me about 38 miles. I mean, wow. I could get in the car and the gas needle would be where it was the day before, so it wasn’t leaking when it was parked, but the gas needle was making a sickening dive. I mean, gas is almost $3.00 a gallon and I’m averaging 6 miles to the gallon—bad news! Also, when I went to get it washed, the guy who was set to vacuum the inside started yelling in Spanish, and pointed to the puddle of gas beneath my car. I'm not a car professional but, well, a puddle of gas can't be good, eh?
So, I took it to the nearest car repair place where they wanted $99 just to look at the car and since it’s a VW, an additional $30 for being stupid enough to buy a foreign car. I then, after a short bit of hyperventilating, called my friend Roy. Roy might be more than my friend, maybe not, but I figured he’s male and he talks about his truck all the time, maybe he would know someone who could fix my car with a more ‘We can get the job done with duct tape and paper clips.’ approach than the ‘Why don’t we keep the body and replace everything underneath it?’ way the dealership likes to spend my money. He directed me to Jesse, who said he’d look at it today and give me the diagnosis. I asked him to not, if he could at all avoid it, make me cry like a baby. So, if you’ve ever sweated a car repair, please join me in the full body clench one might have if one were awaiting the impact of an atomic bomb.
Back to my attitude regarding car care. When it’s in the shop, as it is now, I miss it dearly because I’m either house bound or begging rides. Right now I’m bound in my sister’s house and dependant on her good graces to go where I need to go. It kills me. Since Jesse’s shop is on the east side of Phoenix and my house is far North, I thought it would be a good idea to have Jesse drop me at the pool hall (Where all good things happen, of course!) and my sister could pick me up later. It was sound in theory as I figured I’d give him the car, hang out with my sister, he’d have it done today (Tuesday, for those on the other side of the planet!) early enough for me to run some errands, and I would just stay the night at Mary’s house. That doesn’t seem to be the timeline we’re following today, and to have my car back splashing gas all over Phoenix doesn’t seem like such a bummer or potential health hazard. And, well, if my car were to catch on fire, that might be bad as well. I’ve heard bad things about flaming cars.
I told Mary I might need her car to run errands and she nodded, as Mary often does, but this morning she left the house without waking me up, which tells me she really didn’t want to loan out her car but there wasn’t a less passive aggressive way to get that across to me. So, I’m hanging out at her house, playing on her computer, waiting for Jesse to call me with the bad news. I could be getting stuff done, like buying interview clothes (All mine are either too large, or too small, none just right.) for my job interview tomorrow. So, while I hate the car and every car payment has to be ripped from my bank account like they’re trying to take my newborn infant, I realize I have a serious need for independent transportation. I hate being stuck. I'm trying to embrace the experience as a patience lesson...Pfft!
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Car repairs....grrrrrrrrrrrrr
Monday, July 16, 2007
Alright, I think I'm 8% guy.
I believe this to be the truth because when bad things happen 92% of me needs to sit on my sofa, eating a bag of cookies, watching movies until you can't tell where the sofa leaves off and I begin. I trim and polish my toes, I sent out resumes, as in this case, as I've just lost my job, or if I'm just depressed, I curl up to a pillow. The other 8% determines what I end up watching while I'm on the sofa, which tends to be The Godfather, The Godfather Part II, and war movies. Why? I mean, if you know me, I’m all girl. I love getting my hair done, my nails polished, reading (Alright, unlike most females I know, I read everything, including patently guy literature, biographies of notable war heroes and politicians, so that may be the 8% once again making itself known.) books and The New Yorker.
I know I'm a card carrying girl because I'm big into comforting others, caring for them, making sure everyone's well fed and somewhat well adjusted, comforting my friends in their time of need and I've been known to whip up the occasional carrot cake for someone else who is depressed or hurt. Carrot cake is the ultimate comfort food, followed up by lasagna, and finally the handy bag of cookies. I go for my third favorite first because I can eat a few cookies and be satisfied. I could eat a whole carrot cake and still want more carrot cake—a very dangerous proposition for my hips.
It's my choice of viewing material that I wonder about, being that 92% of me is girly fabulous. Why do the war movies and mafia revenge flicks make me happy? Is it that I would like to see the people who wronged me summarily put to death? That perhaps there's a justice to the world that is more direct and potent than composing a strongly worded letter to my congressman? Is it that watching the actors in 'Blackhawk Down' pretend to shoot at each other (As an aside, most of the actors playing American soldiers in this movie are, in fact, British or Australian. It's adding a sub-layer of construction to my depression that we can't find enough good American actors to play good American fighting soldiers. Of course, I could watch Ewan McGregor do anything, so he's a keeper no matter how mad I am at his countrymen for taking jobs from hardworking Americans.) disburses a the violence I feel toward the people who ousted me from my occupation? Is watching the Godfather therapeutic because I’m happy that somewhere in the world, at another time, someone sat down at a typewriter and thought up so many ways to kill off characters in his novel, which in turn made a filmmaker put it into a visual format? I wonder if the author knew I'd be enjoying his work during the 'bag o'cookie depress-athon', probably not, but I'm happy he wrote the book. Well done.
I think just the measure of revenge makes me feel stronger, gets out the violent streak you know I'd never bust out with in my daily life. I can't just assassinate the customer service people at 'The Arizona Republic' because they can never seem to get the Sunday newspaper to my front door. I can't call in Army Rangers to come in and set up a perimeter around my old office building and have them fire at it until they give me my job back. I can watch all these things happen on my DVD and step out of my world awhile.
For those concerned for my mental status, I've also been watching 'Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark' and all three of the X-Men flicks. I've been tossing some fantasy/violence into my revenge/murder/violence for good measure. What makes me look toward action flicks and war films for my dose of escapism? The 92% is deconstructing my psychological make-up while the other 8% would like the 92% to bring it a beer.
I know I'm a card carrying girl because I'm big into comforting others, caring for them, making sure everyone's well fed and somewhat well adjusted, comforting my friends in their time of need and I've been known to whip up the occasional carrot cake for someone else who is depressed or hurt. Carrot cake is the ultimate comfort food, followed up by lasagna, and finally the handy bag of cookies. I go for my third favorite first because I can eat a few cookies and be satisfied. I could eat a whole carrot cake and still want more carrot cake—a very dangerous proposition for my hips.
It's my choice of viewing material that I wonder about, being that 92% of me is girly fabulous. Why do the war movies and mafia revenge flicks make me happy? Is it that I would like to see the people who wronged me summarily put to death? That perhaps there's a justice to the world that is more direct and potent than composing a strongly worded letter to my congressman? Is it that watching the actors in 'Blackhawk Down' pretend to shoot at each other (As an aside, most of the actors playing American soldiers in this movie are, in fact, British or Australian. It's adding a sub-layer of construction to my depression that we can't find enough good American actors to play good American fighting soldiers. Of course, I could watch Ewan McGregor do anything, so he's a keeper no matter how mad I am at his countrymen for taking jobs from hardworking Americans.) disburses a the violence I feel toward the people who ousted me from my occupation? Is watching the Godfather therapeutic because I’m happy that somewhere in the world, at another time, someone sat down at a typewriter and thought up so many ways to kill off characters in his novel, which in turn made a filmmaker put it into a visual format? I wonder if the author knew I'd be enjoying his work during the 'bag o'cookie depress-athon', probably not, but I'm happy he wrote the book. Well done.
I think just the measure of revenge makes me feel stronger, gets out the violent streak you know I'd never bust out with in my daily life. I can't just assassinate the customer service people at 'The Arizona Republic' because they can never seem to get the Sunday newspaper to my front door. I can't call in Army Rangers to come in and set up a perimeter around my old office building and have them fire at it until they give me my job back. I can watch all these things happen on my DVD and step out of my world awhile.
For those concerned for my mental status, I've also been watching 'Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark' and all three of the X-Men flicks. I've been tossing some fantasy/violence into my revenge/murder/violence for good measure. What makes me look toward action flicks and war films for my dose of escapism? The 92% is deconstructing my psychological make-up while the other 8% would like the 92% to bring it a beer.
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