Bad Car Day
A lady I work with, Jessie, got a new car about a month ago, and since then, every time we go for lunch, she drives.
The reason for this is twofold; one, she's in love with her car (I can't blame her) and two, I am a horrible, horrible, garbage magnet. Or rather, my car is. I personally am not a garbage magnet, because that would be gross.
I drive an old Cavalier Z24. I like to make sure I always add in the "Z24" because it makes the car sound really fast and stylish, when in reality, it's just a '94 Cavalier with a lame little spoiler attached to the trunk.
Anyway, questions of speed and coolness aside, I can't seem to keep the thing clear of junk - I'm not sure how it happens, but I've cleaned it out four times so far this summer, and it's STILL crammed with gas receipts and coffee cups, though I religiously throw them away every time I get a new coffee.
Yesterday I finally did some basic cleaning, just enough to clear some room on the front seat. And this afternoon at lunch, I insisted on either giving Jessie gas money, or taking over half of the driving duty, because it doesn't seem fair to always be booting around town in HER car. After a brief argument, which I might have ended by threatening to sing "I'm Henry The Eighth I Am" at the top of my lungs for the rest of the afternoon, and demonstrating a couple of verses in the parking lot, she finally got into my car and we took off for lunch.
I should add; nobody ever rides in my car. The Hotness has a company pickup truck that we use for the odd trip to town, and we have his old pickup truck for everything else, but my car is usually too messy to ride in. And it's not cool enough for The Hotness to be seen in. But mostly, it's just the mess. Essentially, this constant lack of witnesses allows CrazyRachelle to behave quite poorly towards other drivers.
Anyway, Jessie and I are driving along, planning a strategic hit on the buffet, when some lady with big hair pulls into the busy street, right out in front of me, slams on her brakes, then pulls out a map. A MAP! IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUSY STREET!
CrazyRachelle surfaced instantly. Without thought, I slammed on the brakes, screamed "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, JACKASS?" out my open window, and laid on the horn.
Almost immediately, I realized that I wasn't alone in the car, and I looked over at Jessie, to see if her head had exploded. To my utter amazement, she's sitting there looking at her fingernails, wondering if she should change her polish color, completely unfazed by our near-but-not-really-near death experience. I'm all "OMG, I'm so sorry!" and she's all "WTF are you talking about?" and "Who cares?"
CrazyRachelle has finally found a wingman!
Unfortunately, it appears that CrazyRachelle might be going off the road for awhile; I went to a few garage sales on my way home this afternoon, and after the last one, I started to smell something strange coming from the vents. Kind of an...electrical smell. I turned onto the road that leads to the highway, and suddenly there were great clouds of greasy blue smoke billowing out of the vents, smelling vaguely like burned dog-crap (yes, I know what that smells like - another post, I'll tell you about it.)
Apparently, the sewing I planned to do this weekend has been replaced by dismantling my dash and seeing if I can find the cause of the smoke.
I wonder if I didn't subconsciously mess with my car so that I could engage in more Big Dress Avoidance, a term I learned from Brooke, who is also making herself two wedding dresses.
Oh well, at least it's leftovers tonight, so I don't have to cook dinner, and can run to my sewing room right now and finish the window seat for the cats. Now that IS Big Dress Avoidance at its best.
The reason for this is twofold; one, she's in love with her car (I can't blame her) and two, I am a horrible, horrible, garbage magnet. Or rather, my car is. I personally am not a garbage magnet, because that would be gross.
I drive an old Cavalier Z24. I like to make sure I always add in the "Z24" because it makes the car sound really fast and stylish, when in reality, it's just a '94 Cavalier with a lame little spoiler attached to the trunk.
Anyway, questions of speed and coolness aside, I can't seem to keep the thing clear of junk - I'm not sure how it happens, but I've cleaned it out four times so far this summer, and it's STILL crammed with gas receipts and coffee cups, though I religiously throw them away every time I get a new coffee.
Yesterday I finally did some basic cleaning, just enough to clear some room on the front seat. And this afternoon at lunch, I insisted on either giving Jessie gas money, or taking over half of the driving duty, because it doesn't seem fair to always be booting around town in HER car. After a brief argument, which I might have ended by threatening to sing "I'm Henry The Eighth I Am" at the top of my lungs for the rest of the afternoon, and demonstrating a couple of verses in the parking lot, she finally got into my car and we took off for lunch.
I should add; nobody ever rides in my car. The Hotness has a company pickup truck that we use for the odd trip to town, and we have his old pickup truck for everything else, but my car is usually too messy to ride in. And it's not cool enough for The Hotness to be seen in. But mostly, it's just the mess. Essentially, this constant lack of witnesses allows CrazyRachelle to behave quite poorly towards other drivers.
Anyway, Jessie and I are driving along, planning a strategic hit on the buffet, when some lady with big hair pulls into the busy street, right out in front of me, slams on her brakes, then pulls out a map. A MAP! IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUSY STREET!
CrazyRachelle surfaced instantly. Without thought, I slammed on the brakes, screamed "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, JACKASS?" out my open window, and laid on the horn.
Almost immediately, I realized that I wasn't alone in the car, and I looked over at Jessie, to see if her head had exploded. To my utter amazement, she's sitting there looking at her fingernails, wondering if she should change her polish color, completely unfazed by our near-but-not-really-near death experience. I'm all "OMG, I'm so sorry!" and she's all "WTF are you talking about?" and "Who cares?"
CrazyRachelle has finally found a wingman!
Unfortunately, it appears that CrazyRachelle might be going off the road for awhile; I went to a few garage sales on my way home this afternoon, and after the last one, I started to smell something strange coming from the vents. Kind of an...electrical smell. I turned onto the road that leads to the highway, and suddenly there were great clouds of greasy blue smoke billowing out of the vents, smelling vaguely like burned dog-crap (yes, I know what that smells like - another post, I'll tell you about it.)
Apparently, the sewing I planned to do this weekend has been replaced by dismantling my dash and seeing if I can find the cause of the smoke.
I wonder if I didn't subconsciously mess with my car so that I could engage in more Big Dress Avoidance, a term I learned from Brooke, who is also making herself two wedding dresses.
Oh well, at least it's leftovers tonight, so I don't have to cook dinner, and can run to my sewing room right now and finish the window seat for the cats. Now that IS Big Dress Avoidance at its best.
Labels: Big Dress Avoidance, CrazyRachelle
Ah, it's always so fun to visit your blog! As usual, this post caused me to start laughing at my screen, which in turn causes me children to think that I've finally taken that last leap into insanity!
Oh, and I'll be singing "I'm Henry The Eighth I Am" all day!
Car trouble is a great excuse for BDA!!! My current excuse is having a cat on my lap that I don't want to disturb. That is not such a great excuse.....:-P