Tuesday, the body shop couldn’t take the truck, so I decide to go to the laundry mat. On the way there, the oil light comes on and although I know it goes down a quart, every 1000 miles or so, I didn’t want to be the chick that blew her engine. I pull over…sort of, pop the hood, fish through random vehicle fluids, locating the oil and proceeded to top her off. I pour half a quart in nice and neat without a funnel, no mess… and then it happens…the oil cap slips out of my fingers and falls into the engine compartment. Far enough in where I can’t reach it even after climbing into the engine compartment. fk.

Since the universe likes to screw with me, while I am in bike shorts, upside down, in an engine compartment –  I suddenly found myself surrounded by traffic. And even though I was putting on quite a show rotating from, laying on the ground, to being butt up and buried under the hood…that damn oil cap was only getting wedged further and farther, in.

 I decided to leave her there like a wounded manatee and walk home. A few rain drops in, I remembered that, said manatee’s, windows were down. fk.

Once I reached the house, I run up to the 3rd floor and look for this jacked up piece of 1960’s coat hanger (they don’t make them like they used to) told myself I’d remember to bring this squirrel cage harness back before the landlord comes looking for It, and raced down the stairs.

After some speed walking I made it back to the truck, apparently nobody wanted to steal her, and the short version ending is- I got the damn cap out slapped her hood down, slipped in a CD and was gone.

Let’s fast forward to the next day shall we…
I put the truck in again because they are trying to help me and so I am not top priority but it’s got to be done before a trip and so fingers crossed. Works for my pocket, anyways…they call me later and the message is, ‘we did this and this but can’t do that because we are not set up for it’…fk. So I call back and say ‘well, I have to throw something on and walk there…what do I owe? / Nothing? Really?..ok..and sure if you want to send Dan with the truck to get me..that’s great.’ So he shows and we drive back to the shop. For whatever reason he pulls up at the curb instead of into the lot and when I go to get out, in front of 5 people mind you, my keys, all 300 ounces of them, fall into the sewer. So….Now I’m tearing through everything in the back of the truck looking for that 1960’s coat hanger again. I was so lucky the drain was dry and there is a ledge…

 I manage to leave the body shop and head home to regroup, grab my ID..oops and go buy a beach chair. I then drive back home again, look for a spot and go to the apt and put my sitsuit on, because you will not see my ass swimming in the harbor…no sir..

So I am at the beach, maybe 120 seconds with my Walkman on, yah, I said Walkman, drink beside me, chillaxing and bam, a bird poops on my neck, right on my right side…getting the new chair, my suit, my towel and the sand. I then took my new beach towel and grabbed the glob of Seagull shit off of my shoulder, flapped it off of, my new beach towel, wondered if the 7ish?.. people behind me, facing me, just saw this and decide to casually slip on my flip-flops and walk back to the apt.

After using half a bottle of rubbing alcohol and wondering if that bird had eaten anything but sand, I headed back to the beach.

I get back to my chair, slip off my flops and sit into the most uncomfortable chair setting ever experienced by man. I remember thinking…did somebody reposition my chair?? I get up like a 2 minute old baby horse and survey the situation. After several runs, I have the chair back into a good position for me and I sit and the chair swallows me whole. It’s broken. Fk.

take your headphones off…




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