This morning I woke up with cold feet.
And cold arms.
And cold legs.
And a cold back.
It had nothing to do with the wedding.
Between falling asleep and waking up, I somehow managed to kick every single blanket off my bed. Considering I keep things tucked in, that must have been quite an adventure.
I'm going to be horrid at sharing a bed.
Also known as 'Adventures in Decorating'
Let it be known that I am a stubborn individual. If I decide that I am hanging curtains, then I am hanging curtains--even if it is 10 p.m., I have no ladder, and I can't reach the top of the window.
My dad told me not to break my neck. A neck brace in wedding pictures would look pretty silly.
I am a firm believer in measure twice, cut once. That sounds like a great idea.
In my case, I take it even further, to ensure no errors.
Measure 8 times. Forget first 7 measurements. Mark on 8th try. Eyeball, and decide that doesn't look right. Measure again. Mark in same place. Convince eyeballs that you are capable of measuring between two points. Repeat.
I love my power tools, but the drill requires being held at the right angle in order to make the screw go in. This is very hard to do when one is balancing between a window ledge, a chair, and a bed about a foot away.
My screws would go in about 1/2 an inch and then stop. And usually fall out.
I called to ask if it was remotely possible that our building had metal studs. I had heard of such things, and the extreme resistance I was meeting suggested that I was not dealing with wood.
He said it was likely. Grr...
I take a nail and pound it into the wall. Definitely wood studs. Maybe I'm just incompetent.
After a few moments of frustration and a few extra holes in the wall from the drill slipping (shh...I'll fix them later), I decided to improvise a little more. With a step stool. On the chair. (This is the part where my dad told me not to break my neck. He also said I had to share my newly acquired Ben and Jerry's if I wanted 24/7 on-call decorating support.)
Pound nail into the wall. Wood studs. 4 screws in the wall, one curtain up. Next window. Repeat, while balancing on couch, window ledge, and braced in the corner.
Next window. Pound nail into wall. On third hit, I hear a lovely 'chink' and see the nail go flying back.
Metal studs/braces/something metal in the corner. Grr...
The curtain is up...with 1 screw in a wood stud, 2 screws in sheet rock, and 1 screw rejected by the metal stud. I think I'll be rehanging that one later.
I always try to be nice to real/human customer service phone people. More often than not, they're minimum wage workers who have to deal with people having issues (and half the time, they're not entirely fluent in the language we're abusing).
With that disclaimer, I will say that the same courtesy does not extend to automated phone systems. I am not above muttering at, insulting, abusing, etc. automated answering systems. It has nothing to do with the fact that I heard once if you start yelling at an automated system, they connect you with a real human. It's just more fun to take out pent-up-frustration on an inanimate object today.
I was thwarted today.
I spent an inordinate amount of time on hold, trying to get electricity set up for our new apartment. After practicing Morse code on the keypad trying to reach the correct option, I was connected with Jeremy. He sounded a lot like Microsoft Sam.
I never could tell if Jeremy was a real, live person, or a very intelligent automated computer with a slight accent. The responses were incredibly timed, mechanical, and did not appreciate my sense of humor or conversational skills...but every now and then, I wasn't sure. So I decided to behave...and a few hours later, I'm still not sure. That was either an awesome computer or a human with very poor diction and enunciation.
But I did realize how easy it would be to steal someone's identity. This person/computer never questioned me using the name "Joel" to set everything up. Muhahaha.
Now onto the internet connection.
I just got my first set of business cards.
To my great disappointment, it did not have my requested title. My boss said he would not put anything with the word 'goddess' on my business card, and demi-goddess was not an acceptable compromise. I thought I was suggesting something halfway.
I guess I can live with the title, but there was another problem.
They don't have my real name on them. They have my first name, but the last name?
It technically isn't my last name yet, so I can't use them for a month.
Boy, that's weird. You'd think with 24 days to go, I might think about adjusting.
I will never understand how retail schedules work. Just when you think they make sense, everything goes haywire.
Where I live, we haven't exactly been experiencing summer...actually, we only had our first 80 degree day last week, and we're breaking records for the most rain. I think March had better weather. This is ridiculous.
The fact that swimsuits, patio furniture, and outdoor plastic picnicware has been available since March isn't unusual.
But clearing it out in June??? Summer hasn't even started, and the swimsuits and patio furniture are on clearance. Not getting restocked. Gone. Grr.
Dear Target, JC Penney's, Macy's, and every other place that stocks rompers.
Those are hideous. Please stop.
I am marrying into a family of nerds.
I already knew I was a nerd. That’s been an established fact for years. I may not be the best at using computers, but I think I meet the qualifications for a nerd:
1. I started with good eyes. I had to get glasses due to eye-strain.
2. Favorite past-times involve a Windows 92 version of solitaire and conquering the world (blame Sid Meier).
3. I double as the family tech support.
4. I stay up late at night reading how to modify Windows 7 to make it more fun.
5. I play with Excel. It’s fun.
That last one clued me into the fact that I was marrying into nerdom. My fiancé and I were socializing (yes, nerds can be social) with his sister and brother-in-law. I pulled out an excel spreadsheet. We got excited, analyzed the uber-formulas in it, and ooed-and-ahhed over it. And then we laughed at our nerdom and read some Dilbert.
I enjoy being detail oriented. At any given point, I can tell you how many miles to the gallon I got on my last tank of gas, as well as how many miles until I need to refuel.
28. 40.
Because I take great delight in this, I do not take great delight in my gas gauge lying to me. There have been many cold mornings where I will walk out to the 'E' light on my gauge gage...but I'm certain I can go another 20 miles before I'm actually out. (Did I tell you about that one time I made it 25 miles in a mini-van on the freeway with $3 worth of gas? This is why I now always keep spare gas money in the car.)
When my gas gauge lies to me, I tell it off. As an English minor, I tell it off creatively.
And as a Bible college student graduate, I can border on absurd.
For instance...Sunday morning. Time: 5 minutes later than it should have been. Weather: Cold and wet. Attitude: matching. Gas gauge: lying. Blurted: I rebuke thee. Work!
Surprising enough, it worked. And I haven't been fried.
and other grown-up activities.
1) I graduated from college. The ceremony was long. The diploma is pretty. I've never paid that much money for one piece of paper. And 4 years of homework...but who are we kidding? 3 years of homework, followed by 1 year of goofing off, because knowing how to goof off and still graduate is part of growing up.
2) Baccalaureate was cool. I spoke. I was a bad influence. I told college people to avoid homework. :)
3) I met with a florist to discuss weddings. Blue flowers are hard to find. No, purple will not work.
4) I work full time (or at least I'm in the office full time). Part of my job description includes social networking on facebook, youtube, and twitter. I love my job.
5) I got my ring resized from a 4.5 to a 4. Isn't growing up part of being grown-up? It's so hard to feel grown up in kid sizes and pink sparkles.
I haven't blogged in a while, but I had a very good reason.
I got engaged. But that wasn't my reason.
I knew that getting engaged was a big enough deal in my life history that I really ought to record it, somewhere, to make up for my lack of memory.
Then I got this idea that the next blog post I should write would be to announce my engagement. And I never really felt like writing that one, so I've avoided blogging.
I'm starting to get back-logged with big life events, so it's about time I blogged about my engagement.
The end.
(Pictures to follow as a cop out. Stories to come later, if so desired. Those ought to be recorded, too.)
My dog, a very typical lab, loves to go for walks. All we have to say is "Go for walkie?" in an excited tone of voice, and she'll be dancing in circles, barking, and chasing us around the house. She likes her walks--neighborhood exploration and all that.
Except that I have to bribe her to come with me.
She likes walks, but she hates running. She's gotten old. Or lazy. Or would really just rather smell the neighbor's bushes.
Either way, it makes running amusing. The first time I discovered this, it was several steps after I started running. She had planted herself firmly and was not moving. Since I still had the leash wrapped around my wrist, I planted myself firmly, too. We then had a tug-of-war for the rest of the mile. I won, but it was hardly worth it. Dragging a 60 lb. dog while trying to run...means that neither of us are running, to say the least.
The next time, I got smarter. She doesn't like running on a leash, so maybe she wants to run off leash. That worked for about a quarter mile...and then she turned around and sprinted home. Sure, leave me. Mutt. When she decides she's going home, there's no way I can catch her. Why can't she run like that when I want to run?
This time, I got smart. I bribed her. I took a large dog treat and left it in my hand as I ran. She spent the entire time chasing my hand (hehe...dumb dog), and therefore kept up with me without complaining. At the end, she got her treat, I got my run, and we were both happy.
I can't believe I have to bribe my dog.
Today (while at work), I was called a 'troublemaker.' I confess--it's true.
The person doing said name-calling then listed why I was such a trouble-maker.
1. I'm almost a college graduate (4 months).
2. I'm almost 21 (2 weeks and a day, plus or minus a little).
3. I have spring fever.
4. I've been stuck inside and it's sunny.
I then volunteered a 5th reason:
5. I have a boyfriend and I'm twitterpated.
He dramatically fell back into his chair and threw up his hands. Apparently the combination above pushes me from redeemable troublemaker to...well, troublemaker, I guess.
Troublemaker. A fine title. I accept.
Apparently I don't use change enough...or I don't get out enough...or I'm a broke college student who doesn't even have a nickel to her name. Take your pick.
I received $0.30 back after a Starbucks run, and since I had absolutely nothing better (read: about 40 papers on my desk and 8 open documents) to do, I analyzed my change.
We have a new design on the nickel.
I very-excitedly showed this to my co-worker. She was starting to get excited, when I saw the date.
"2006?"
She looked at it, and then she gave me the "You're kidding, right?" look.
We've had a new nickel design for 4 years, and I just notice.
2006 was also the year I started college. Coincidence? I think not!
I need to get out more, but who ever uses nickels, anyways?
It started as a great idea.
Doesn't it always?
When I bought my car, it had a rear door seal leak, which meant that the carpet in my trunk was usually wet. I finally got that fixed, and this weekend, I realized that the interior of my car was almost dry.
This weekend, the weather was nice and sunny. I was driving around with my sunroof open. My windows were open. The air was warm, and my car was drying out. I decided to leave my windows and sunroof open that afternoon to hasten the drying process. I could come back and roll up the windows once the sun left.
Except the whole remembering to roll up the windows...that didn't work out so well.
I woke up the next morning to rain. Hard rain. And a soaked car. Water was dripping in through the sunroof, the 4 open windows, and was pooling under my feet as I drove. My seat was soaked. The cupholders had puddles in them.
I'm back to the damp car stage...which is where I started. Better luck next suntime.
I'm now on first-name basis with the manager at the local Ulta.
I've only been there 3 times in the past month. It's just that she really likes me. And she links I'm cool.
It was something about me walking out with about $100 worth of hair and face stuff (most of which was not for me...) for $35 after sales and coupons. I didn't think I made that much of an impression, but we did talk for a while when she rang me up (it was about 30 minutes until closing, and I was the only one in the store).
She remembered me. I walked into the store today, and she asked me what amazing deals I was getting today. I laughed, grabbed 3 tinted moisturizers (normally $7 each) and got all 3 for $7.68.
I left, went to Old Navy, scored a killer deal (2 shirts and 1 dress for $7, would have been $40 before sales), and then remembered I forgot to get mascara at Ulta. That was the reason I went there in the first place.
I went back in. She asked what I had forgotten, and laughed when I told her what happened.
I then got 3 things of mascara, normally $4.50 each, for $3.68 total. She was impressed.
I was happy. My cosmetic budget has gotten much smaller, and I'm actually wearing make-up regularly. I win.
If you want the details (all of the Ulta promos end today), check them out on my Ulta shopping report.
If you like Old Navy, and you like saving money, then you might want to stick around.
*crickets chirp*
I know I've been talking about Old Navy a lot, but this ought to qualify as a public service announcement. Old Navy gives out coupons every week...serious coupons...like 50% and 75% off.
Oh, so you came back, did you? Good. I like you better than crickets.
You just have to find the coupons. :)
Every Thursday, at this amazing website called Old Navy Weekly, they change the picture and where the coupons are hiding. Some combination of clicking will make a coupon magically appear.
The trick after that is getting the money to appear to go with the coupon.
The best I've done are the 75% off coupons, though I haven't gotten one in a few months. You can always get a 20% or 25% off coupon, so there really isn't any reason to pay full-price for anything from Old Navy.
Not that I ever did, but that's besides the point.
If you get sick of hunting, you can cheat and go to these blogs. They'll tell you where the coupons are hiding.
Engineer a Debt-Free Life
ThriftyGirl
Enjoy yourself, and if you have to deal with a shopping addiction in the future, it's not my fault.
I don't know who decided it is national oatmeal month. I don't really eat oatmeal, so that doesn't really affect me. Oatmeal is just way too much work.
Kidding. I like oatmeal, and it's not too much work...but it isn't very conducive to happy morning routines.
Morning: Role out of bed. Grump. Shower. Sigh. Make-up. Oops. Hair. Ow. Clock. Dang it. Keys. Lost. Breakfast. In the Car. Traffic. Evasive maneuvers. Breakfast. On the Car. Arrival. Damage Control.
Oatmeal is out.
Unless you want to talk oatmeal cookies. It can be national oatmeal cookie month. I approve of those, and they're rather morning friendly (albeit crumbly).
I have to gloat on this one.
Whenever I find good deals, I have a compulsion to share them with my friends. Most of my friends, however, probably won't share my enthusiasm over this one, so I guess it just counts as bragging. Or gloating. Or something in between. Either way, I'm excited. Ergo, I'm sharing it.
I do not like shopping for clothes for me. (Some of you might be laughing.) Shopping for clothes in my size is like hunting for unicorns, except that unicorns are considered cool (as opposed to an anomaly or mishap of nature). I can still fit into girl's sized clothing, but most girls don't have to wear dress pants to work. My options in that department are somewhat limited (and I'm sick of baby pink with sparkles).
I have sung my praise for Old Navy before, and I'm doing it again.
I've wanted a pair of white pants for some time now (it's the masochistic side of me that likes playing with stain remover). I'm also cheap. Imagine my joy when I find the cutest white pants in--get ready--0 Petite. Who carries a 0 petite?* I love this game!
And the pants are $12. And I have a % off coupon. And a $10 rewards card. So basically, I just got white dress pants for $1 (plus shipping).
I do a fair amount of driving in one day.
Fair amount = I'm thrilled when I've only driven 250 miles in one week.
Fair amount = Most of those drives happen during rush hour.
Fair amount = Most of those drives take me over at least 1, and sometimes 3, major freeways.
Fair amount = Most of those drives involve stop-and-go traffic.
Today's driving = 1 hour and counting
Special thanks for today's driving goes to
I might be back, or it might just look like I'm back. I didn't make a New Year's Resolution to blog more, so blogging might happen past January 31.
Due to some great planning on my part, I have an amusing schedule.
I have 9 credits of upper division electives/required classes. This is fun. I like this.
I have 3 credits of online classes that I don't need to graduate, but do need to stay full-time. This is mostly fun. They haven't started yet.
I also have 1 credit of Freshman level classes. As in 100 level, once a week intro classes.
It's a very fun class. I like it, and it's almost worth the early morning start time.
It is kind of weird being in a class where I know almost no one. I've been at the school for four years, and I recognize two or three faces in a class of 60.
The upside/downside of that is...they don't know I'm a senior (unless they ask if I'm a transfer or a new Freshman, and I respond (c) other).
They also don't know I'm dating someone. This is causing great amusement. Somehow I get to find the wonderfully line between discouraging over-the-top-are-you-really-flirting-friendliness and what could just be very enthusiastic puppy-dog like friendship.
Perhaps it's time to break out the costume jewelry. This was something I didn't plan for.
I have a confession:
I am a hot chocolate snob.
This might seem ironic for those of you who know my chocolate drinking habits. I like my hot chocolate thick (my boyfriend calls it sludge. I call it pudding in a cup). I like it chocolatey (not a brown crayon dipped in hot water flavor). I also like it to taste like real chocolate.
The last one is a stretch, considering my hot chocolate is usually made from a powdered mix when I'm already running late and need something to wake me up.
In the past, I would drink anything. We bought whatever Costco had, and I drank whatever we had. If I didn't like it, I wouldn't much of it (amazing how that lowers chocolate consumption--takes the fun right out of it). Eventually, I figured out how to fix hot chocolate: ignore the serving suggestion. It takes two packs (i.e. double what they suggest) to avoid the brown crayon taste.
Nestle's Rich Chocolate was my favorite. It actually tasted like chocolate (once you added enough powder).
Unfortunately, our office is out of Rich Chocolate, so I had to branch out. I tried Swiss Miss Milk Chocolate (with calcium--ooo).
I am a chocolate snob. It was gross. Icky. Nasty. Syrupy. Artificial. I could taste the fake sugar (that never quite dissolved) and the lack of cocoa.
I've been bringing my own hot chocolate to work. It helps in the Snob Department. Someday, I might even make real hot chocolate.
But then I might not be able to drink the instant stuff. That wouldn't be good.
I generally have no qualms about squishing intruders that come into my room after I declare myself to be 'asleep.' This includes (but is not limited to) spiders, ants, mosquitoes, flies, other critters, and my siblings.
Last night, however, I got one that tested my desire to squish it.
Something rustled my curtains. And thumped on the wall. And continued to thump up the wall.
It was a cute little frog, trying to climb the wall (but mostly sliding down the shiny new paint).
I like frogs, and it looked so scared. I would never squish a frog.
Instead, I trapped it in a vase and took it up to my mom, who was thrilled to see a frog in her house at midnight. (Can anyone sing "I'm bringing home a baby bumble..." Never mind.)
I then released the frog, as I was quite sure it was not my Prince Charming (#1, he didn't have a crown, and #2, I have my suspicions that he's not green).
Lesson learned: If you're as cute as a little green frog (no warts), I won't squish you. No matter what time you come in.
Mornings and I are not friends. Have I mentioned this before? No matter how long (or short) I've slept, waking up does not come quickly. It takes a long shower and an hour or two before I'm coherent and functional.
This morning was no exception. I did my usual 'sleep through the alarm clock' routine, followed by the 'how did mascara get on my nose?' routine, followed by the 'breakfast on my chin' routine. I did, however, manage to make it to work on time and in some semblance of togetherness.
Like that was going to last.
I left my hot chocolate cup sitting on the desk overnight, so I had a nice sludge of dried cocoa mix on the bottom (no, I didn't eat it for breakfast). It reminded me that I wanted hot chocolate, so I decided to wash it out with hot water (fastest) from the boiling-water-of-death spout.
Oh, and I washed my hand. And my pants-leg (that takes talent). And my foot. And the floor. And the counter.
And eventually I washed the cup.
The hot chocolate mix wasn't any more cooperative. It mixed with the hot water on the counter to form a nice paste. Fortunately, the brown matched the pants I'm wearing.
I don't know why I get up before 9 a.m. Someday it's going to kill me.
I have occasionally mentioned that I am rough on sunglasses.
No, let me correct that: Others are rough on my sunglasses.
My first pair of sunglasses broke spontaneously. No blame attached (except air pressure, possibly). They were sitting quietly on my desk when one of the lenses decided to go sky diving without a parachute. It was kind of strange.
My next pair was stepped on.
The pair after that succumbed to the forces of time and scratches.
The pair after that was stolen.
The pair after that was stepped on (okay, I might occasionally leave them on the floor).
The pair after that had the nose piece fall out...sometime when I wasn't wearing them.
The pair after that was sitting innocently on my face when they were smacked with a ball. Coincidentally, I have a scar below my eye.
The pair after that had a lens pop out...while sitting on a stack of books in class. Since it was fine arts, I amused myself my trying to put it back in for the next 45 minutes.
The pair after that was stepped on.
The pair after that had a nose piece fall off...sometime.
I'd say that I have really bad luck with sunglasses, but it might have to do with how I have been buying the same pair of sunglasses (though varying on the color) for many years. It's really hard to find a pair I like. Until recently, I could justify getting the same pair, even though they kept breaking: forces of nature or others were breaking them. They were still good sunglasses.
Last week changed that. I was taking off my sunglasses after driving and one of the ear pieces snapped off. In my hand.
I'm not especially strong, nor am I rough. I do not have huge hands or a death-grip. I wasn't in a hurry, and I didn't even do anything strange. I just took them off.
I now realize it's time to branch out and find a new kind of sunglasses...if I ever buy any again. Wish me luck.
I try not to have too many blond moments, but sometimes they just happen accidentally.
For instance, take today.
I was driving home for lunch, and I realized that my mom might not be home. I decided to check my purse, just in case I had left my keys at the office.
I waited until I was at a stoplight (you know, since I was driving), and I started rooting through my purse.
It took me several moments to realize that I obviously had my keys. They were in the ignition of my running car.
That's right. My family took its sometimes-regular "camping trip" last week. Here is the week in numbers:
Combined length of vehicle and camping condo-on-wheels trailer: 53 feet
Hours spent driving: 14
Nights in trailer: 6
Campsites visited: 3
Lakes visited: 5
Frogs encountered: 10,000+ (I do not exaggerate...I'll tell you about it sometime)
Mosquitoes encountered: @$%&
Mosquito bites (that swelled up like my past bug bites): 15+
Sleepless nights because of bug bites: 5
Pages read: 1300+
Backgammon games played: 32+
Yatzee games played: 8
Marshmellows roasted: 20
Temperature at lakes: 90+
Temperature at beach: 60 and windy
Pounds of sand left in car: 3
Times the dog shook off (after swimming) on me: 7
Wrestling matches in back seat of car: 3
Pillow fights: 5
Madagascar lines quoted (primarily "Shut up, you're so annoying!" and "Nature, it's all over me! Get it off!"): 103+
Despite all of this, however, I am not sunburned. Take that, nature.
As I was cleaning my car, I felt something poke my leg. Since I was standing right next to our deck, I figured it was a runaway stick, or a long piece of untamed grass, or something equally non-threatening.
A few hours later, I noticed a mosquito-sized bump on my leg. And on my ankle. Since I have a sweet-tooth and mosquitoes appreciate it, I didn't think anything of it.
That night, I woke up because the bites itched so horribly. I am a fan of sleep, so I ignored it and hoped it would go away. It was not the first time I woke up from mosquito bites, so I didn't think anything of it. After 40 minutes of not sleeping, however, I took drastic action.
I turned on a fan.
I then fell back to sleep and didn't think anything of it.
The next day, I decided to peek at the bites that had been bugging me...and they weren't mosquito bites.
Maybe they were, but it would have been from a Goliath-sized mosquito. My bites were about 2 inches in diameter and purple.
Most people would have freaked at this point, or at least been concerned, but I didn't think anything of it. After all, I have a love-hate relationship with bugs. I hate them, they loved me. I vowed I would kill any bug within arm's reach and got out of bed.
The bites were still insanely itchy, so I took drastic action. I took dissolvable Benadryl strips (like Listerine, except drugs mixed in with the mints), stuck them on my leg, and went about daily life.
That night, I put hydro-cortisone cream next to my bed. If I needed it in the middle of the night, I would be ready.
I needed it. I didn't, however, feel the need to turn on a light as I tried to smear it all over my hand finger sheets knee leg and ankle, because the light might wake me up. I then vowed to kill any bug I saw and went back to sleep.
The next morning, I did the benadryl strips again, but I was wearing a skirt to church--which meant I did not want big ugly blue strips on my leg...so I left them there and covered them with band-aids. It worked, right up until I had to take them off...the band-aids and the strips decided they were quite comfortable where they were, so we had a war...and the bug-bites won. The act of scraping off band-aid and benadryl made them itch.
At this point, I was ready to make bugs an endangered species.
That night, I went 'nuclear' on the bug bites. I put on benadry cream, followed that with cortisone cream, and then put about half an inch (thick) of benaryl cream on my band-aid and stuck it on the bug bites.
They were still purple the next morning, but they didn't itch.
Now, a week later, the purple has mostly faded, and they are not the size of my knee-cap...but they still look ugly. I wonder what it was...of course, even if I found one, I would have mutilated and killed it before I ever figured out what it was.
Today, the world is out to get me. I am sure of it. Someone has hatched a conspiracy and coordinated the forces of nature (and other people) in an effort to get me.
Being the super-secret super-hero that I am, however, I have dodged all of their efforts.
First, it was the falling towel hook. I saw what it was up to...it was trying to eat one of my toes. Sensing its nefarious scheme, I moved my toes to a safe area and contained the towel hook. The threat has been neutralized.
After that, it was my dresser drawer. My knee was not so fortunate, but the drawer was slammed pushed back to where it belongs.
Next, it was my breakfast. It didn't go for the 'choking' method, or even the 'burning the tongue' method. It didn't even go for the ever-popular 'spill' option. No, it went for the 'nuclear explosion.'
I was sucking on my go-gurt (yes, I like those) as I got ready, ignoring the negative nutritional value, and schluuur-pop! it exploded on my face and on the floor--but when you have the lightning-quick reflexes of a super-secret super-hero fully expecting the go-gurt to do something, it makes it really easy to avoid getting any on your clean shirt and skirt. The go-gurt may have won the battle on my face, but I won the war (and the dog cleaned up the mess on the floor).
Next, I got in my car...and realized that my temporary title and insurance card were sitting on the table inside. Considering how my morning was progressing, I went back in and got them. That was uneventful.
The other drivers on the road, however, were determined to make me need them. First, it was the school bus driver 'practicing' his route and waiting for all the imaginary kids. Then it was the lady digging through her purse at the stop-light (emphasis on stop). Then it was the older lady who didn't want to go more than 10 mph around the two-lane corner...or stay in her lane. Then it was the guy who couldn't decide if he wanted my lane or his lane at the intersection. Then it was the motorcycle who wanted to zoom-zoom around all the cars. Then it was the taxi driver who couldn't decide if he was going twice the speed-limit or half of the speed-limit.
I arrived in the work parking lot without any new dings on my car (it came with a few), and I assumed my adventures were over.
Silly me. It's only 9 a.m.
Certain air fresheners advertise themselves as 'odor removers'. I am not normally a fan of air fresheners (they give me headaches, and just smell unnatural), but I had to go to work and didn't have time to clean my car for a few days.
I took my little brother shopping with me to grab an air freshener. The 'odor removing' ones were almost sold out, so I assumed they worked. I had two choices left: cucumber melon and pina colada.
The cucumber melon was pretty good...but I didn't think it was strong enough to hide dog scent. My brother picked it up and immediately informed me I should get it 'because it smells like watermelon bubble gum.' That helped me decide.
The pina colada one was fairly strong, and it didn't smell half-bad. My brother told me that 'it smells like girly shampoo.' Between shampoo and bubble gum, I'll take shampoo.
I opened the pina colada and left it in the car overnight, hoping it would work its magic.
My dad opened the car door the following morning and cringed. "It doesn't smell like dog anymore. It smells like dog puke."
I threw out the air freshener, got real carpet cleaner, spent the next three days scrubbing and vacuuming, and got the worst bug bites of my life.
After four days, my car is clean and the air is fresh. Unfortunately, my bug bites are still the size of quarters (and a lovely shade of purple).
The mechanics of a car are the important part. If a car doesn't run, then who really cares how pretty the car looks?
That being said, my car took that to the extreme. The previous owner lived in a very urban part of town, and so she took the bus or walked everywhere. The car sat under several large maple trees, collecting sap, pollen, leaves, 'spinners', and bird poop.
Oh, and a window was smashed. And the paint was chipped from when she dinged a cement post in a parking lot.
Cosmetic repairs: $200
Not too bad.
The interior was in pretty good shape...no tears in the carpet, no tears in the seat, no major stains, no smoke smells...
Except for the dog.
I never actually saw the dog, but I spent the next three days cleaning up after it.
The white dog left a carpet of hair on the back seats and in the trunk. The scent of the dog...Pepe le Pew has nothing on it.
When we first saw the car, it had been sitting in 90+ degree sunshine for three days...windows shut, scent percolating nicely. I could barely stomach the car. When we came back a few days later, she had driven the car and left the windows open. The scent was tolerable, but still pungent.
Since I have a dog, I figured dog scent couldn't be too hard to get out of a car. After all, none of our cars smell that strongly of dog.
We vacuumed the car multiple times, duct-taped and lint-rolled all the hair, and used multiple carpet cleaners. And air fresheners.
Oh, the air fresheners...
I haven't given much detail on the car I bought, mostly because I've been busy playing with it. And cleaning it. And fixing (the exterior of) it.
The mechanics of the car are amazing. It's a 2000 with less than 80K miles on it. The one previous owner babied the car to no end (and took it to the dealer for every bit of maintenance, for whatever that is worth). She gave me about 100 different receipts for it, along with service recommendations, original manuals and pamphlets, and any other piece of paper related to the car.
It wasn't exactly spotless on the inside (more on that later), and it had a broken window (from a smash-and-grab), and it was missing a stereo (guess what they grabbed). Still, with a few $$ worth of cosmetic repairs, I now have a great car. And I got a great deal on it.
(This picture really isn't very flattering. My car doesn't have that big of a nose.)
My dad told me that I had to come up with a name for my car. I personally think that naming a car is silly ('car' has always been a suitable title for me, even if the vehicle is a truck), but everyone else seemed fairly attached to the act of 'naming' my car.
I told my dad today that I have named it "Buzz Bucket."
It was not a moment of passive-aggressive behavior. Rather, I think it is a perfect name for a car.
Rav4's are notoriously underpowered. I say the hamster inside the wheel is too small. In Twig-Terms, that means the car 'buzzes' when I accelerate, zip around Tri-Met, or generally just go fast.
Since the dog was already nicknamed Fuzz Bucket, Buzz Bucket seemed like a great name for the car. In fact, it's a name I can use with great enjoyment.
Buzz Bucket it is. I have named my car--and the name is sticking.
