02.05.2003

i hate cars

Someone like me should not be allowed to have one of these thingamadoos. Maintaining a drive to write something regularly is difficult. The world too easily intrudes on my fragile mood.

Last night I drove my car to the car horsepistol. They fix 'em cars there, you see. It's really a dealership, and my car is way, way out of any sort of warranty. But this particular dealership has thus far been the most reliable place I've found to take it. SO, I took it there to have the front brakes replaced. You see, they were going "GGGGGGGGGGGJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ" when I stopped. Previously, for a very long time, they were squealing. People like me, then, should also not be allowed to have cars.

So my car's there in the car horsepistol and while it's there the guy there calls me. Except he doesn't call me, he calls my office. I would be at my office, you see, except that my car is there, with him, in the horsepistol. So he called there at 9:30 and left me a voice mail, while I sat here working on my laptop, doing my thing. Then he called there at 10:30 and left me a voice mail, while I sat here working on my laptop, doing my thing. Then I called to check my messages at 11:15 and heard his messages. In his second message he explained that my muffler strap was broken, and my transmission cross-member was bent. All told all of this stuff's going to cost me around 600 bucks. The part where I get all "Ooooh, cripes, I hate cars" about this is that I don't know from a transmission cross-member. A transmission cross-member is a johnson rod, as far as I'm concerned.

When I talked to the guy he told me that the transmission cross-member looked like it had been hit. And I went ahead and told him to go ahead and straighten the thing. Because what the hell do I know? I know just enough about cars to know that with the help of one of my more knowledgeable acquaintences I could probably fix most of the problems that present themselves myself, without resorting to going to a car horsepistol. I also know that in the process of doing the fixing myself, with whatever friend or brother comes along to help out, I'll be able to bust a knuckle, cut my arm, lose some nut down inside some part of my car and spend four hours getting it out, smash all the fingers on my left hand, put everything back together but then realize there's this one damned piece still sitting on the sidewalk, do everything over again except this time remember to put the piece from the sidewalk back where it belongs as well as only take 2 hours to get the nut that goes down into the innards of the car out because I remember how I got it out the last time, and then end up with a hopefully-fixed car.

I say all of that because it makes me feel a little better. I still wish I knew what a johnson rod... er, transmission cross-whozit is. Though one other thing I know about cars is that when I put all this out there for everyone to read, there'll be more than enough people willing to tell me how much of a dumb-ass I am for agreeing to let the guy fix my bent cross-whozit, since there really isn't a cross-whozit at all, at least not on a 96 Grand Am, and even if there were, it couldn't get bent because nothing could actually hit it, and even if something did hit it and bend it it wouldn't be a problem, and even if it was a problem it shouldn't cost a hundred bucks to get it straightened out, because you could just do that yourself for four dollars for a new non-existent cross-whozit and 15 minutes with a screwdriver.

That's the world that smashes my fragile moodbubble into little pieces and causes me to write about IT, instead of something cool, like how I think this guy and Dave Blackwood got exactly the same score on the Hipster Handbook's Hipster Test, though I could be wrong about that because I can't find where Dave posted his score anymore. And if they DID get the same score then that just illustrates how much of an EXACT personality indicator this thing is, because that one guy and Dave are EXACTLY THE SAME GUY! (I was told I am 50% hip, which has to be accurate, too, because I'm always exactly in the middle on every issue. Especially issues relating to hipness.)

Okay, so that's not so cool either.

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