I start tentatively canceling the week’s dinner plans … fill Favorite Boy’s text message inbox with car lamentations … and gnaw on the few remaining nails. “Is there anyone who hates you enough to put sugar in your tank?” he asks.Īnd so they keep my car overnight, while I spend the evening saying shiva to my vacation plans. They’re going to take apart my fuel system to see if there’s something wrong in my tank. (I come up with $57.28.) The MD calls late in the afternoon to let me know they can’t figure out what’s burning up fuel pumps. I wait, gnawing nails and calculating just how much I can afford to pay to have my car’s internal organs rebuilt.
Tales of androgyny codpiece install#
Mechanic David apologizes and promises to install a cross. I really am beginning to feel like Bill Murray. Nothing like tequila and sangria to relax a carless girl.
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Tales of androgyny codpiece how to#
Swirly Girl knew how to turn that frown into a smile, taking me out for post-baubling swirls. I slam the car door … call Favorite Boy to whine and snivel … and walked to the nearest MARTA station. The Lord obviously heard my vacation savings plan, and continued his toying. Pop in the car … turn the key … nothing happens. One hour later, I’m dressed and ready to fill my pockets with new baubles and unnecessary plastic objects. I think, “I can transfer that cash into my vaca-savings account, and my balance will be where it was last week.” The weekend anchor mentions that the Dubya rebates will be direct-deposited in the coming days. I’m watching the news and eating lunch before meeting Swirly Girl at an arts festival. Made it to work … to Nick Lowe … to Tapes ‘n’ Tapes.
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Readers wonder: Just how many trite phrases can she squeeze in one blog post?Īnd so I spent the next several days saying silent prayers as I turned the key. They replaced it at no charge and sent me on my merry way. The wallet got a reprieve it appeared to be a bad fuel pump. The AAA wrecker met me after breakfast and carted my car back to my mechanic. I have so many great people in my life.īut Monday morning brought another tow-de-force for me. Many mojitas and a martini later, I was relaxed, laughing, enjoying the day, my friends, my man. I quickly called Janice to make alternate plans in my little corner of the world, while the Beetle sat in the drive, mocking me with its disabilities. Hop in the car … turn the key … the same nothing. We were going to spend the day in our old school ‘hood since it’s seen a major revitalization and none of us live there anymore. We went to high school together, so I’d arranged for us to hang with some of our favorites: Janice, my CHS BFF during the day, then dinner with Holly and Randy that night. Favorite Boy was in town, caring for his post-op mama. I had a fun, jam-packed Saturday planned. He detailed my car before I picked it up - at no charge. My vacation savings, just twelve hours old, went back into my checking account.īut my mechanic is a class act. And so my silver Beetle hopped on the back of a tow truck while I hopped in the cab, and we headed to my friendly neighborhood mechanic.Ĭost to replace the fuel pump? $661. It wasn’t a battery issue as I’d prayed to the God mocking me above. The heroes showed up in less than thirty. I had wisely reupped with AAA last month, so I called. The damn car is as dead as Abe Vigoda was once rumored to be. Got up for work the next morning … pop into the previously mentioned Beetle … and nothing happened when I turn the key. I paid off my credit cards about 18 months ago, and so far have kept the balances to nil - a balance I want to keep in anticipation of upcoming (and intentionally cryptic) life decisions. While balancing my checkbook, I found I was way ahead cashwise, so I transferred $650 from my check account into my savings account, earmarked for the tour.
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Yep, it’s a dream come true.Ī couple of weeks ago, I did the unthinkable (well, the unthinkable in MY world). Friends at every stop, bloggers at every cocktail bar. An escape from my adult life and stresses. The Little America Tour is coming soon - just five or six weeks away.