I LOVE MY CAR

Mine doesn't have the scoop in the hood or the roof rack, but it is still damn sexy. Plus! I got one with a standard transmission. The only other compact SUV that is available in a stick is the BMW x3, which is way out of my budget. The Forrester is all wheel drive standard as well. There is something about driving the same car (my '98 Honda Civic) for almost ten years that makes a person totally appreciate a brand new ride. I love my new car.

I average 21 mpg in the city through a lot of stupid stop lights and traffic, and high twenties on the highway. It is a partial zero-emissions vehicle, and in the compact SUV class. If you don't know what a compact SUV looks like, think of the Honda CRV or the Toyota Rav4. Subaru is also a very homo-friendly company, which makes me happy to be a customer. I never thought I would buy a car that wasn't a Honda, but I am enjoying the shit out of my new car. It is a nice change to not be forced to grease up Chicken and his friends so they can fit in the back of my Honda with a car seat in the middle. Do you know what a tub of Crisco goes for these days?

*This post is not paid, endorsed, or written while being sat upon by a Sumo wrestler.

Quick! And Off I Go!

I totally fucking missed my four year blogging anniversary. Shit cunt face dammit all to hell. There. I feel better. I have only a moment because I need to pack and get ready to visit the MIL and step-FIL in Central CA for the weekend.

Guess what? I got a new car!! For the first time since January 2001. (And even that was a used car.) I gave them my 1998 Honda Civic and they gave me a nifty 2009 Subaru Forester. The link is for a 2010 but it is the same difference. Oh, and I have to make lease payments for three years. And blow the sales manager twice a month. But, whatever! A car! YAY! I'll post pics soonly. (That is a word in my world. I swear. Soonly! Like soon, but an adverb version of it.) I will try to remember to tell you how awesome the dealership treated me. Seriously. AWESOME. If you want a Subaru and you're in southern California, go there and ask for Carl. I love him long time.

Speaking of awesome, Thank You! For all the advice. I really, really, really appreciate it. It is nice to hear that I'm being prudent and such as opposed to a total cunt-faced bitch. I can always count on my bloggy peeps! Now, off to continue laundry and packing and OMG I'm going to fondle my car. In front of the neighbors.

Straw? What Straw?

I used to be a very physically capable person. Need something heavy hung on your wall? Call Sam. Need a jar opened? Call Sam. My girlfriends were fond of using my abilities, and it was nice to be a competent human being. Of course the last eight years with fibro means that I am stuck with my brains most of the time, when my brains work. Occasionally I forget that I am broken and my former self rears up and takes over my brain. Especially when my pride and menfolk are in the picture. My brain says, "Just because I'm a cute little thing with a big ole belly does NOT mean that I can't XYZ just as well as the next guy" and I'm off to the stupid races.

Today the stupid races involved a car, a bale of straw, and a lot of laughing. Remember the fast little convertible that TB and I purchased in May of this year? Well, shit happened and a faulty belt caused the engine to take a big shit. It's been sitting around waiting for a new engine so we can sell it as we only planned to drive it for six months. New baby + fast convertible = ridiculous. TB finally got the engine in and the car running last week, just in time for my car to eat shit. It worked out perfectly from a standpoint of not having to rent a car while mine is in the shop. It worked out less perfectly because I am a stubborn asshole.

Today I decided that the chickens desperately needed straw. Chicken and I headed to our local feed store where we found out that the straw is only sold in bales. Did that stop me? Nope. Did the gentlemen purchasing several bales of hay with his big truck laughing at me (in a kind way) stop me? Nope. Did my two door convertible stop me? Nope. I was fucking bound and determined to get my fucking bale of hay. Plus, the idea of it all was hilarious and Chicken and I love to have adventures. Watching two guys load a bale of hay into my car was the best thing that I've seen in a long time. And because I'm a giver, I have an early holiday present for you, my dear readers:

I drove with the top up to keep the straw from blowing all over the world, but the picture worked better with the top down. Also, I recommend putting the top down to assist with the removal of a bale of straw from your car. It is very helpful. I must say, I underestimated the huge fucking disaster of a mess that is caused by a single bale of straw. That shit was EVERYWHERE. Including down my shirt and in my pants. I would have more photographic evidence but I had to borrow a camera for this shot as my camera was in TB's truck and I was not about to show him what I did to his precious car. I wonder how many seconds it will take from the time TB reads this post until my phone rings. Hi Honey!

Fucking Rock

You, dear readers fucking ROCK. I just had a very long day and topped it off by hitting something on the damn freeway with my poor car. Chicken and I are 45 minutes north of my house on the 15 and BAM! it does not sound good. I pulled over to find part of my bumper hanging out with my tire. Nice. I manage to tape it into position (because I'm fucking handy like that) and get back on the road, where I notice that I must have sustained exhaust damage because my car sounds a little more burly than any stock Honda Civic should. F.U.C.K. So I'm stressed, driving in the slow lane going 60ish (the speed limit is 70 and thank you seventy hundred cars up my ass, I know I'm going SLOW. MY CAR IS BROKEN FUCK YOU VERY MUCH). Where was I? Oh yes. Upset. Come home. Exhausted. Open up laptop and read my wonderful comments from today. I totally love you guys. Thank you for making me smile, making me laugh, being supportive when my mom sucks ass, and generally just making my day. You fucking rock.

Update: TB took a look under my hood (heh heh), and I cracked my exhaust manifold. Fuuuuuck. For those of you that aren't mechanic types, this is not good. There may be more damage, but that combined with the body damage turns a "Teddy Bear can fix it" into a "how much is my car insurance deductible again?" type of problem. Although I am sure that the two of us can fix it, the time, money and effort involved will exceed my deductible. Even if the monetary cost is slightly lower than the deductible, right now we need to concentrate on finishing the house and preparing for a baby-not working on my fucking car. But guess what? I hit something on the freeway and everyone is okay. *repeat as needed*

Switching Gears

When I was a very little girl, my dad used to spend a lot of time on the race track circuit kicking ass and taking names. My mom and I would travel with him, rooting him on and probably inhaling all kinds of wonderful things. Yay asthma! According to family legend, the first time I went to the races I was six weeks old. When the light turned green my body would levitate from all the noise. Because bringing a tiny baby to the race track is a super neato idea, right? I can't believe I am not deaf. However, I managed to survive and drink up a love of fast cars, burning tire smell, and OMG the smell of a greasy garage does something for me. No, that isn't twisted at all. Really.

When my father passed away I inherited a shitload of tools. When Teddy Bear moved in with me I found someone that shared my passion for going fast AND someone with the know-how to mess with cars. So hot! I am sure that with my tool collection I had Teddy Bear in the bag. Old chick? Check. Kid? Check. Baggage? Check. Tools? OH YEAH. Damn, where was the point? Oh, yeah. Remember the door handle that TB ripped off The Car? I promised a post about The Car. This post! How exciting! Let's do a pee-pee dance, shall we?

Thursday night I took a trip down to San Diego in The Car to hang out with LD2 and the cantelope that she apparently swallowed. This picture is an approximation of The Car, so you know kind of what I am talking about without skeeving me out too much. It's a convertible, it goes fast, and it is gray. I thought that the whole hauling ass with the wind in my hair thing would do my irritable mood some good. We had a great time and I had a little bit of frisky left upon arriving back in my home city. Fuck I hate calling this place home.

Somehow I managed to encourage not one but two cars to race me down the southern main strip of my city. Without even giving anyone the "hey baby, wanna race?" look. Not the "I'm going as fast as I can because I want a ticket or to cause death and dismemberment"type of race but the "light turns green punch it through a couple gears and then slow down upon hitting the speed limit" race. And I got schooled by a fucking Toyota Camry.

*pause for laughter*

I did try more than once. It was late, there was very little traffic and we caught several red lights in a row. It was close, but I lost. I know part of the problem is that I am still trying to dance the fine line between slamming the car into first, having all the weight shift to the rear and impotently spinning the front tires for a while OR starting too slowly and losing my ass. But a FUCKING CAMRY? A four-door sedan? What the fuckity fuck? I went home and moped to TB about my loss and he had the exact same reaction. Then we asked the innernets what the fuck was up with the 2008 Camry.

The four-door 2008 Toyota Camry with the bigger V6 has an automatic transmission and 270 horsepower. STOCK. The Car has 205hp stock but we guesstimate that it is about 250ish now. But can you fucking believe that shit? A CAMRY!!! TB talked to a good friend that has driven one and he says it fucking hauls off the line. I feel vindicated, however I still gave TB the pouty girl look and requested that The Car at least be equipped to kick a Camry's ass. Pu-lease!

Sidenote: I still own my super wimpy almost ten-years old Japanese four-door sedan. It is my daily driver. The Car is our summer fling and we're driving to Santa Barbara with the top down so WHEEEE!! car. Also, The Car gets similar gas mileage to the sedan, so I'm not killing the earth when I drive it around in a more sedate fashion. The only sucky part is that I am under strict orders to only fill up with super-duper gas. Do you have any idea how fucking expensive 91 octane gas in Southern California is these days?