Sometimes you walk the line.
Most of the time, the line walks you.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
I don't know about your phone, but when I tried to text the word "craziest," my stupid phone defaulted to "braziest" and didn't even offer "craziest" as an alternate match. Then it asked if I wanted to add a word to the dictionary, and I was like, "If you're too stupid to know the word 'craziest,' I don't have time to teach you." Then I was like, "It's time to go for a walk because I just had a fight with my phone." I hope we make up soon because I need it for work and stuff.
Stephanie and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
And wonder of wonders... it's not over yet. Sweet Jesus, where is the justice in that?!
Chapter 1: The Gas and Go that Wasn't.
I left earlier this morning than I normally would because I needed gas. I knew I needed gas because I drove home from Leamington the day before on empty. Fortunately, I've tested the theory on running out of gas enough to know that you don't actually run out of gas until the needle is at least 2 millimeters below the E line. Well on a real car, that's the theory. On the fuckus that I'm driving until my real car is fixed... not so much. What? You could give it heated leather seats and mirrors, but couldn't adhere to the "below the E line" rule? I hope they all get penis cancer.
Anyway, on with the story: I live in a residential area with lots of four-way stops. And two blocks away from my house, having not yet reached a gas-station, I found myself in gridlock. GRIDLOCK, at a four-way stop, within shouting distance of my bedroom. I was like, "Really? Are you serious? It's 6:30 in the morning!"
So there I am, trying to get on with my drive to work, and I use the term "drive" loosely, because well DRIVING, or more accurately, NOT DRIVING through construction sucks. But "not driving" when you're in a fuckus with none of your own Cd's to speak of, is thirteen different shades of suck. I don't know what kind of mass dementia has convinced a whole city that idling in place for several hours counts as "driving."
Chapter 2: At work. The Bank Deposit/Tim Horton's Run/Terrible Accident.
Believe it or not, I don't actually despise going to the bank to do our accounting deposits. I never have to wait in the "regular" business line, and there's never anyone in the "business services" line, so I'm usually in and out. Today, on the other hand, was unofficial Old-Ass Motherfucker Day. On said day, I believe they let loose all the local nursing homes in the area and allow them to roam freely in town. You wouldn't let your dog wander around without a chain people, why would you let your senile old person?! They could get hit by a car. Either accidentally, or uhm... not so accidentally.
But I digress. After FINALLY making it out of the bank, I stopped at Tim Horton's for the office Timmy run for the day. I guess Unofficial Old-Ass Motherfucker Day also extends to Drive-through zoning, because there were at least (and I'm so not exaggerating here) 25 cars in the drive-thru. I wasn't particularly in a hurry, so I got in line. I should have known better than to engage in sheep mentality. Nothing good ever comes from that.
I was hmming and haahing over the line when suddenly, I found myself violently pitched forward. It took me a second to realize that someone had rear-ended me, which I found disorienting because whenever I imagine myself getting into a car accident, I just assume it will be my fault. So I was pretty unprepared for the million year old man who emerged from the car behind me, hobbled up to my window, and explained, "Sorry, ! I wasn't watching... " And then seemed to forget what he was saying. The bumper was fine, and the old man was fine, and by then I was so antsy I told him not to worry about, and just drove off, completely forgetting about my drive-thru order.
I could write Chapter 3 about how the lady at the second Tim Hortons screwed up the order, despite my giving her a large, but neatly written list, but I'll save that for another day.
But because today has already lapsed into parody, I'm not so excited to talk to Ed tonight. I can only imagine what kind of fun and potentially disastrous little revelations he's come up with during our break.
On the bright side, at least fighting with him will give me something to do. I've been bored all week.
The terrible thing about living in Essex County is that you just can't find a high enough cliff to throw yourself off of.
Last night after coming home from what I can only describe as a fantastic trip to London with Lynz and Amanda, the fnord and I got to talking.
No matter how long it's been since we've spoken last, and no matter what has happened in that timeframe, he's still the same, and I'm still the same, and the dynamic we have hasn't changed in TEN whole years, although the relationship has a great deal. The thing about Fnord and I is that we're completely different, yet surprisingly the same. I think that's why we've been friends for so long: In our differences, we still completely "get" each other. I miss him when we don't talk, and I'm going to do a better job of staying in touch.
Although if he tries to force feeds me sill at his wedding, I may have to kill him and hide him under the porch with all the other men who've tried to make me eat fish over the years. And I know when he sees this he will threaten me with a duck and talk of s&m sex with cute kittens.
In other news:
I hate not having a car.
PLEASE! HURRY AND FIX MY SALLY!
Yes, her name is Sally. She has her own theme song, and before she broke she was even relatively clean., which never happens because I spend more time in my car than at either one of my homes.
This whole without transportation thing needs to stop. I hate having nothing to do. I'm wondering now why I didn't insist on a rental.... My bad. Next time.
I'll be in Bristol, TN in two weeks.
I Heart Bristol.
The last couple years we've had so much fun up there that we've made it an annual spring trip. I'm hoping it won't be as cold this year as it was last year, but true tailgaters can deal with any weather. Rain, sleet, ice and cold....which is pretty much everything we had up on the mountain last year actually. So I'm hoping for some sun, but it'll be just as fun either way.
I have nothing clever to say. Actually, I don't even have anything amusing to say. I'm still in a really good mood.
Ed isn't a very patient person. Ever. It's just how he is, and mostly I'm cool with that. A couple weeks ago my driver side tire went flat. Now, I can change a tire in a pinch, but I don't know if you've noticed or not, but it was frickin' freezing out for a while. Anyway, girls who have roadside assistance don't need to change tires, a man in a little truck shows up and does it for them for free. Unfortunately, girls who misplace their roadside assistance card with the ID number and the phone number on it have to call their boyfriends to come and get them, because hell will freeze over before they get down on the snow covered ground to change a tire themselves.
Anyway, the tire was so flat that it actually came off the rim so when he asked me if I was sure it was flat, I was very certain about the tire, and moderately annoyed that he thought he should ask if I was sure or not. Like I can't tell the difference between a properly inflated tire, and one that is so flat, it's actually come off the rim. After a couple more stupid questions on his part, he came, stuck the spare on and then followed me to Canadian Tire to see if they could repair the tire, or if I needed an entire new one.
They couldn't find anything wrong with the tire. Nothing. At. All. Apparently, it was just flat. No pinholes in the tire, no problems with the rim, nothing. They re inflated it, sealed it back up, and it was fine. They didn't even charge me for looking at it.
As this is going on, Ed is giving me the "I told you so" look, like I've imagined the whole thing. because clearly, there's nothing wrong with the tire and I made him spend twenty minutes on the cold ground getting a tire off for nothing. He actually said that. That I imagined it. Despite the fact that the tire was obviously flat. I was SO mad, but couldn't say anything because I couldn't explain why exactly the tire had gone flat in the first place. So I quietly festered to myself and he maintained that it was all in my head, and I had no idea what I was talking about.
Fast forward to the other day:
"There's something wrong with my car. It's making a noise." "There's nothing wrong with your car." "Yes there is. It's making a noise. I can't place the noise, but I certainly hear a noise." "It's probably just the cold. There's nothing wrong with your car." "Yes. There is. I should know. I drive it every day and it's making a damn noise." "Yeah. Like the way there was something wrong with the tire?" "The tire was flat, jackass." "Uh-huh." "I knew you'd bring that up. But whatever. Can you just listen to it?" "Is the engine light on?" "No..." "There's nothing wrong with your car." "Eddie, it's making a noise, if you'd just drive it, you'd hear it." "I'll put it on the scanner. When that comes back with no code, will you drop it?" "Why would you scan it? It's not going to code if the engine light isn't on..." "Just let me scan it." "OK...but drive it, I just want you to hear it. It doesn't even make the noise really until you're in fourth gear" "It's shitty out right now. I'm not driving your car anywhere. Get snow tires. I'll scan it, then you can drop it." "I'm not imagining it Ed." "Just pull it into the garage and let me scan it."
So he scans it, and as I expected, no code came up BECAUSE THE ENGINE LIGHT WAS NOT ON. By that time my blood was already boiling because I was tired of feeling like I was wrong when I was pretty sure I was right.
"See, nothing wrong." "But the noise--" "There's no noise. I listened to it." "You listened to it while it idled. You can't hear it until you're in fourth. I think I explained that about forty times now." "There's nothing wrong babe." "Don't patronize me. I'm not imagining it, and all I want you to do is drive the damn thing." "Stop getting excited over nothing." "I'm not excited, and you're not listening" "You're getting all worked up, and I'm not listening to it because you're wrong."
A couple other choice things were said, and I left. I think I may have slammed the door on the way out, too which I'm sure impressed him further.
Still stewing in my own rage, and feeling a bit on the petty side, I spent the day out and about and then decided to take the car over to BFI for Jay to look at. Just to have someone on my side at this point, I actually stopped caring if there was something actually wrong with the car of not. I really just wanted someone to tell me that I wasn't losing my mind, and there was actually something wrong with my car. Even better than Jay, the actual mechanic who works there, Bruce, was still there and he offered to take my car for a ride (in lousy weather, might I add). And when he was done driving it, he actually got down under the car to confirm his suspicions.
And yes, ladies and gentlemen, there IS something wrong with my damn car. I did not imagine the sound. Bruce totally heard it. It wasn't in my head. I'm not losing my damn mind.
I'll have to take it in to the dealership to find out exactly what, because it's hard to diagnose a problem by just taking a quick look, and I thought that Bruce had already done enough for me for a night.
He even wrote me a note explaining to Ed that there's something weird going on with the rear differential.
I heart Bruce.
....and boy is Ed mad at me for going over and above to prove him wrong. Sometimes even when I win, I lose.
Actually, I'm still in a good mood. Nonetheless, a list of things things that irritate me:
People who are incapable of answering questions of the "yes" or "no" variety. If the question has one of two possible answers, there is absolutely no need to make addendums to it! Why oh why is it so hard to say either "yes" or "no?" I don't need a detailed blow by blow of your day, all I'm looking for is... "yes"or "no." Period. That's the end. Stop there. If I need more information than that, I'll certainly ask. I'm not shy. I swear. As with accessories, sometimes less is more.
Buggy eyed white boys who kill and dismember their wives. Yeah, I'm looking at you, Stephen Grant, you sick bastard. What the fuck is up with that anyway? It's always the arrogant white boys who want to hack you into bits and then sprinkle you all over a park somewhere. http://www.freep.com/apps/pbcs.dll/articleAID=/20070305/NEWS06/703050349/1008/NEWS06
Cats. Why can't you play nice and quiet like the dog? Listening to you two race around and crash into things makes me doubt that you're as clever as you would have everyone believe. Knock it off or I will be forced to feed you to the roomba.
Fifteen year old boys. If your mommy is still driving you to school, you ain't no gangster. Pull up your damn pants!
Telemarketers. I have problems hanging up on you because I know that you have a job to do too. Normally I solve this by simply not answering the phone. Sometimes you trick me and I pick up the phone despite my better judgement. When I discover that you're trying to get me to test your vacuum, or buy your vacation package, it just fans the flames of my rage. When I tell you that I'm not interested, it's really taking all the restraint I have to not call you nasty names, or sound an airhorn in your ear. Please... just take me off your damn list.
Morning Radio I cannot abide it's incessant nattering about the mis-adventures of Hollywood's dumbest. And those stupid phone pranks? So old. So over. Please do something else. Actually, please Just.Play.Music. I don't want to have to pay for Sirius radio, but I will. Do not test me, I have a Best Buy card and I'm not afraid to use it.
Cold weather. Enough already. We get it. It's almost time to break out the strappy sandals and if you mess that up, so help me god....!
Bi-weekly pay periods. Jesus, Mary and Joesph! It's impossible to get anything accomplished on a bi-weekly pay period. Bills have a knack for coming due on the off-weeks. On the subject of money, banks irritate me to no end. Nuff' said.
Prostitots. Mamas, don't let your daughters grow up to be hookers. She's seven, she doesn't need fishnets. You're just asking for some JonBenet loving psycho to come and snatch up your kid. Knock it off.
Pressing 1 to continue. ...and then being redirected to a subsection of a menu that you don't need... like the main menu again. Do away with the automated menu. Give me a live person or give me death. You must join the Church of Automated Menus Suck for which I, the Reverend Horton HAAAAAAATE and the the senior minister.
Rap songs that sample nursery rhymes. Especially that one about your chain hangin' low? Actually rap in general makes me want to slit my wrists, but it's just sort of a jumping off point for the raps that sample nursery rhymes. There's something innately wrong about combining bitches and hoes with orphans and wobbling to a fro... or uhm something like that. I just don't like it. Whatever. Shut up.
Squirrels annoy Amanda. A lot. Yeah.
Books the do not fit the size pattern of the other literature on the shelf. It makes dusting a real bitch. See Also: the inevitable small book that gets jammed in there so tightly it requires dynamite and surgical forceps to retrieve it.
I never get to stay in bed all day. I don't let myself because,
A) it's highly unproductive and it makes me feel guilty, and B) I usually get so bored a couple hours into it that I have to get up and do something anyway.
So yesterday when Ed and I didn't get out of bed ALL day long, it was weird.
I didn't make it out of bed because it was cold. That's it. That's my reason. It was cold, and I didn't want to. I hate the feeling of cold floor on bare feet, and I can't sleep with socks on. Additionally, we were up ridiculously late and while I wasn't sleepy, I was a little run-down.
Ed didn't make it out of bed because he and the boys went through four bottles of Crown Royal the night before. I guess there's something to be said for persistence.
I have this theory where if you don't open the blinds, the sun hasn't actually risen. So while I did get up briefly, it was only to let his dog outside, make sure it had food and all that good stuff, make Ed some toast, and turn the dishwasher on. Other than that, the house remained dark except for the TV in the bedroom.
Ed and I have different ideas when it comes to Sunday afternoon television. He likes to watch whatever kind of mind-numbing sports program he can find, and I watch the race (and it was in California this weekend which made it not only a long race, but a late race with the time difference). Aside from being hungover, he must have been in a good mood because when I came back upstairs he had the race on, and was happy to see that I came back with toast for his tummy, and tylenol for his head.
He's cute when he knows he's drank too much. He's super cute when he's being sheepish and trying to make up for the fact that he's drank too much.
We watched the last couple hours of the race, and while Ed isn't a big fan of racing he follows it enough for my sake to know when to yell at the television in all the appropriate places...which is also cute.
So later that night when he looked at me and and asked me if we had to watch the Oscars, I couldn't help but smile inwardly and reassure him that we absolutely did NOT have to watch the Oscars, although I did reserve the right to flip to them during commercial breaks just to see what Hollywood was wearing.
Instead we ordered chinese and ate it in bed while watching Van Helsing. Twice.
