Car smartz

My car thinks it's smarter than I am.

Granted, there are days when this (insult to my questionable intelligence) might appear to be accurate but I contend that assertion is a hot pile of poo.

Seriously, I'm not a total rookie, clueless of all basic car functions. For example, I know where the gas goes, how to use the keyless remote entry, how to schedule an oil change, and I'm even pretty skilled at using the DOORS. However, MY car has recently decided that even after nearly 24 years of driving experience I've not mastered the concepts of open and closed doors. Yeah, that makes me feel special.

The car was insistent; showing me the "Door Open" message on the LCD screen, burning my retinas with the red open door symbol on the dash, and piercing my abhorrent thoughts with a series of shrill bleepin' beeps.

At first I actually thought the car was warning me of something real, important and urgent. So much so, I found myself running impromptu chinese fire drills at various stop signs, testing every door, certain there was one rebel in the group remaining ajar. But alas, not so much.

Convinced the car was WRONG and it had instigated a system wide conspiracy of trickery I called for a service appointment. I was rushed right in, six days later. During the interim the car toyed with my feeble mind: one day warnings were on, two days they were off; one day warnings were on, two days they were off. Evil genius.

Today I took the car in for the service appointment. Of course the warnings were OFF. And, as the service attendant informed me, the problem can't be identified unless the warnings are on. Craptacular. I'm being pwned by a little four-wheel drive-me-crazy, cockamamie crossover, FU Vehicle!  Nice.

photo by freeparking some rights reserved.

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Back to the daily grind

It's the first Monday of the new year. The first full work week following the holidays. And for working saps it means. . .

it's time to put on the pumps (maybe even for the guys. hey, I don't judge) and get a stomp on.

it's time to join the masses and kiss some major work ass.

it's time to endure the dog eat dog world of office politics.

and, it's time for a maniacal happy face while on the inside cursing out all irritating dumbfuckers.

Oh sorry, that was a flashback to my own work experiences. Here's hoping your week is better!

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Loony bin

Thank freaking gawd the move is over. (for now)

I've already come to realize there are several things I definitely WON'T miss about my old apartment aka the loony bin.

I'm thankful I no longer have to deal with. . .

the electrical wiring nightmare that caused the kitchen lights to dim and the fridge to run dangerously slow whenever I used the electric teapot or toaster, and gawd forbid I should try to use the coffee grinder and microwave at the same time. (this reinforced my theory that cooking can kill)

the randomness of the boiler heating system (on the rare occasion it worked) that caused the apartment to be 90 degrees one day and 40 the next. (unlike a hot guy, the hot boiler wasn't an appealing reason to rip off my clothes one minute and curl up for warmth the next)

the impetuous nature of the hot water flow which resulted in showers that alternated between third degree burn and frostbite. Also, the pathetic water pressure that was roughly equivalent to the drool rate of most dogs. (yes, a tongue bath would have been better)

the coin operated washer and dryer that were a hundred times older and crustier than any I've ever seen in the nastiest laundromat or filthiest college dorm. (it was criminal to charge for the use of those decrepit, dingy-making dinosaurs)

the ancient, broken down plastic garbage cans that couldn't even hold their own weight and provided the back alley dumpster divers an engraved invitation to rip through the refuse. (I gave and gave, but the divers didn't give back even so much as a tiny thank you scrawled in the grime)

the clueless, crazy, little old lady apartment manager who thought a natural gas leak was no big deal and that it could wait to be fixed the next day. (yeah, blowing up the neighborhood would have been so much fun)

and the many other hellacious happenings as well. Good times.

So long loony bin. Love ya like a cold sore!

photo by tuppus. Some rights reserved.

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