Mindi's fabulous get-up
Yes. I rocked a somewhat do-rag. The original grease monkey.
Action Shot!! Proof that I can indeed "work" on my own car.
Recent events have led me to beleive that I have no luck. Zero. Zilch. If it is true that bad things happen to good people, then I am the equivolent of Mother Theresa-which apparently according to this past weeks' indignant remarks that haunt my thoughts, and escape through my gabbing vocal orifice is so far fetched it makes Hitler look like Gandhi. I digress. I do have luck. Just not with things that require gasoline or a motor to evacuate where it currently resides.
Exhibit A. Driving down to conference last October of the 2007 calendar year, I had the great honor to be driving a 1-ton speeding purple bullet down the I-15. Right between Dubois and Hamer, Idaho. Such beautiful scenery. NOT. Especially while it is snowing snowflakes somewhere between the size of a rice cake and your face. It was about 2:30 in the AM-we were hardcore Mormons that night-and everyone else was napping. I was content jamming out and driving. That is until the car stutters, and a flashing orange light appears on the dash. The cruise control that I so delicately may or may not have set 3-4 MPH above the alotted speed constraints, had voluntarily shut itself off. Pansy. I very calmy awaken my slumbering navigator, and request her services to retreive the guide book about the car from the compartment of gloves. I tell her what the indicator looked like, and told her to find out what it meant. If anyone lacks knowledge about Dodge Durangos, I will enhance your knowledge with three facts: 1. It is a tank. So keep on truckin. 2. If ever a orange lightning bolt shows up, you should probably stop at the next available town and have that taken care of. 3. If that little indicator lightning bolt is flashing however, then you had better hope to the snow capped Rockies that you programmed Hooker's (the local Tow man-I kid you not his name is Hooker) emergency Tow number into your tellie.
They just keep on comin my friends.
Exhibit B: Went to Rexburg the weekend before Memorial Day. The ride there was pleasant enough. I trucked a 24 hour day, and come sugar or high energy bever to the age I was still gonna be relatively in a decent mood when I got there. I succeeded. The way home however, was not as glamorous. My cohorts and I pulled into Missoula to get gas at this super ghetto place. Friend number 1 cheerily navigating-which to me means not playing gay songs on the iPod and passing the sugary delicates to the master and commander, i.e.-yours truly. Friends 2 & 3 chattering in the rear something about being locked in their seatbelts and the inescapable sunshine. My vehicular must have a sixth sense of stranger danger, because as soon as we pull in, the check engine light comes on. Fan-fetchin-tastic. I get on the bugle horn, and call the Mother ship, to which she tells me to check the oil. I did as was told-with a homeless posse and their dog as an audience-but to no avail. Oil level and temperature was at appropriate everything. The Mother Ship then patched me through to the Command Center (my mechanically inclined-and reclined watching 'the game'-Padre) to which I send him my distress signal about some possible bad Idaho gasoline, and get the never appreciated, "There's nothing I or you can do. Drive home and we'll take care of it when you get home." Suuuuuuper. I am minorly OCD, and a light out of the norm that I cannot turn on and off is a pretty big deal. I enjoyed a quite stressful 4-ish hour drive back to Moses Lake.
Exhibit C: Later that week, my sisters inform me that something is quite possibly ary with my muffler. I shimmy mysef under, only do severly disappoint-and managed to snag myself on the undercarriage of my car. Yes, indubitably my muffler was broken and had to my great disapproval rusted in two.
Exhibit D: The NEXT DAY, I was driving my mom's car and was late to pick up Deidra, late to pick up my sister, and late to meet a newfound friend. Just all around late. Thus making me late to lay down blankets for a coveted "good seat" at the super fab Memorial weekend lip sync. Snatched Deidra from her house, then was ALMOST (nearly 2 blocks) to where LA Gear was, when I hear-and feel-a vibration. Not good. Pull up outside, to find that I had run over a razor blade and gained a flat tire-which was ridiculously hard to get off. Pardon the language, but honestly who the hell throws a razor blade onto the highway? Lucky me, said blanket sitters were also late :)
Exhibit E: Going down to the always awesome Grand Coulee Dam Lazer Light Show, The radio stopped working, just shut off. Nothing to do with the fact that we had no cell reception. Or the fact that the "back way/shortcut/fast way" we took was total two toothed raper country.
Exhibit F: I went to get my muffler checked out, and the lady told me that I needed rear brakes BAD. I trust women mechanics. I feel like we have a non-lesbian connection because we have more emotions unlike the majority of our male counterparts. So I go home, told the Padre, and began my exile to Grease Monkey Island. Which, thanks to the Orange-scented Pumice scrub for mechanics, isn't all that bad. Got on my grubbies, my sweat rag to fend off potential retina burning and cornia blinding salty beads of sweat, and my fancy coveralls that were embroidered for "Jim Bob", and my ship had set sail.
After changing my break pads, I decided it was time for me to graduate the same way I did when I was 4, from 4 wheels to 2. I want to learn to scoot my way about town on a motorcycle. Not that I want you all to start sending me flannel and wolf shirts-I have too many. I need boots now, so if any of you have any size 8's you're throwing out, think of me before you do. But I think it would be something cool to have in my arsenal of tricks and skills. But alas, apparently my dads two wheeler would need to be idot proofed with training wheels for me to be able to learn because it's apparently "too big for me". Since when did I become fragile and un-expendable? I want to learn how to scoot on 2 not 4 wheels, so what's the point? 4 wheels are so last season not to mention nerdy. Someone sign me up for a geek fair and get me a pocket protector stat.
Cheers Big Ears!!
