OKOKI’mrushing!
I’m tired but I have a lot to tell you! And you care, I know you do. Please say you do. Please? Yesterday felt like about three days in one. I did a lot, and the highlight was my DIY brake job. Pardon me while I take some proud-time. I’m really happy about it. Having done my own brakes, I now know why most people don’t do it at home. It involved about fourteen different wrenches, a 2-foot-long metal hammer (for banging on stuff, seriously), gobs of anti-seize, and a giant c-clamp. (Did that sound like the supply list for a niche porn flick? Anyway.) Brakes are filthy. The dust washed out of my clothes, but not off me, so I have a serious case of mechanic’s-hands, which would be a problem if I didn’t think that was hot. At auto shop, we wash car parts and ourselves off in this sink called the Ozzymat, which spouts its own magical Ozzyjuice (I KNOW!!), chock-full of Ozzymicrobes. I am not making any of this up. The thing with the Ozzyjuice is it works a lot better than water and that gravelly soap that removes 80 layers of skin. It just smells so bad it makes me gag, and it’s the color of iodine. Maybe it’s iodine. It kinda smells like blood and um… I dunno. Dirty car things. Gross. Today I took a break from that inconvenience I call work, and ran errands all over the damn place. I went to the Mall o’ America, which is almost always a mistake. However, I checked out the car ramps at Sears, and I’ve added to my xmas list the following: ramps, filter wrench, and oil pan thingy. Best girl-gift ever, in my opinion. Later, I brought my car into the body shop to get the estimate so that the construction people who forklifted Chico can pay to have him restored to his original condition. The claims lady basically condemned the lil rig until further notice. But the superawesome thing is this: the day after the accident, I did the balance/rotate on my tires in autoshop. The instructor pointed out a big gash in the sidewall, and said I should replace that soon. I was hoping to get a pair of new tires on there the last week of class. However, it turns out that the gashed-tire was also torn up as a result of the damage to the car, and will therefore be replaced anyway. That’s some serendipity. So now I find myself the proud new renter of a bright-blue Cavalier, even though I asked the lady if she could get the insurance people to approve a Jaguar. I am not the least bit excited about driving this vehicle for the next up-to-two weeks. I have named him Captain America. Tonight, in between stuff and more stuff, I stopped at the coffeeshop, and it was one of those moments again. Like a reunion or something. I walked in and I saw Shelly, my old knitting teacher, leaping out of a chair to give me a giant knitting-teacher hug. I kind of feel like she might be my grandma. She’s that great. I think I might take her class again just to go hang out with her. Then I realized I tend to have somewhat strange relationships with my instructors. Like Dario, my Mr-Miyagi-esque kickboxing teacher, who told me I was like family to him, asked me to be in his instructional video, and calls me every few months to talk. And Sandi, who wanted me to take bodyshaping on the road with her. And Kore, who did my tattoo and is like my hero. It’s kinda funny. And cool. So, hmm. There was more, but I forgot and I’m tired. Hey, there are pictures of all this stuff and more (and by ‘more’, I mean Scotty’s underwear) on the photo project site. Go, go! Bye now.Jenni