2004 Takes One Final

Dump on me.

Fuck me running.

I must take partial blame for this, but I'm not taking all of it. I'm blaming most of it on the shitty year known as 2004. Bastard.

So I get in my big gas guzzling SUV to drop off my crock pot at my bro's house and go to the bank. I get to the end of my street, and step on the brakes.

Ummm...brakes...work...please...pretty please?

They worked a little, but then started making this horrid clunking noise. I had to push them all the way to the floor to stop. Thankfully everything around here is in a big square, so I just coasted up over down over back to my driveway.

Those of you that have read my blog for awhile realize that I used to be a repairman (woman, person, whatever)before I graduated college.

Should I have known something was wrong? Why yes, yes I should have and indeed I did know. Monday morning I actually have an appointment to get the thing looked at, as I don't have anything big enough to jack it up. It's the caliper, I know that...I just don't have the resources to fix it.

I get in the house and realize that I have all this crap to do and don't have a vehicle. I do have another crap death trap mobile that I drive back and forth to work during pristine travel conditions. During snow, rain, or fog I drive the big honking SUV. It's all about survival of the fittest then...

The crap death trap mobile is currently at my brother's garage in different states of disassemble, much to my sister-in-law's disdain. I knew it was about to die on me, so I took it over there to do some serious work on it, seeing how the only tool I have at my house is a butter knife that works as a screw driver and big wrench that also doubles as a hammer.

I discovered after changing the plugs and brake pads (aren't I a cool chicky?) that one of my rotors was seriously worn, so I kind of left the tires off of it and the caliper disassembled until I could grab one from the junk yard.

Don't you hate it when you bite your own ass?

So I'm stuck. At home. With no visible form of transportation.

Panic sets in. I put my head between my legs before I hyperventilate (that is so spelled wrong).

Ok, so maybe it wasn't that bad, but I did panic.

You see, driving is a very important factor in my life. You know how people talk about their newborn baby and how it was the most precious moment of their life?

That's how I talk about getting my driver's license. I cried tears of joy at 16 when I first pulled out of my driveway all by myself and realized I could drive anywhere I wanted to, at any time. If there was a road to it, I could go there!

Freedom, glorious freedom!

My freedom had been stripped. It was gone. I would now have to depend on something I really, really didn't want to depend on.

A 20 year old guy with a low rider and big speakers...

Joooooooooey? I called down the hall towards my nephew's bedroom. He's working 3-11's right now, and hell it was noon. It was time he got up anyway, right?

So we pile into his low rider, and off we go. "Could you turn down the music a little?" I ask. "WHAT?" he replies. "I SAID COULD YOU TURN DOWN THE MUSIC A LITTLE BIT I'M GETTING A HEADACHE."

He snickers and makes some kind of insinuation that I'm getting "old".

Fucker.

I come to the realization that I am now completely in the hands of this 20 year old guy, and he KNOWS it.

Fuck.

So we drive toward the bank at what feels like the speed of light, as I have the death grip on the headliner grab handle.

"IF WE CRASH THAT WON'T HELP YOU MUCH," he informs me.

"I DON'T CARE, IT MAKES ME FEEL BETTER," I yell back.

We get to the bank and my 34 year old knees scream with disgust at me as I try to somehow gracefully exit this vehicle that is so freakin' low to the ground.

Warp speed ahead to my brother's house. My right hand no longer has feelings in my finger tips. The little asshole decides to finally turn the stereo down, after realizing that yes, one day my vehicle will be fixed, and oh yeah, it would suck to have to live in a box.

My brother tells me the old "I told you to get your truck in earlier, blah, insert more annoying shit, blah".

Then he informs me that he doesn't have time to come back and get me tonight. My nephew says he can pick me up in his snow plow and drive me, since it's on his route for the night.

What a fitting end to 2004. To literally be "dumped" off at a party in a state owned vehicle.

Hey, at least I'm getting a little extra for all those damn taxes I paid this year...

Interesting side note:

Blogger's spell check recommends using "foreskin" for "freakin'"

Happy foreskin New Year Everyone!