i am not having sex with my car. stop staring.

July 18, 2008 at 12:08 am | Posted in day to day | Leave a comment
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Toyota has some weird safety precautions.

Case: In my car the steering wheel locks (and the key won’t turn) as an apparent anti-theft maneuver. I have no idea what triggers the wheel to lock – only that it locks 1 in every 10 times I get into the car and I’m still not exactly clear which of the many things I end up doing is the magic act to release the thing. What seems to work is turning the wheel as far as possible left or right until the key turns.

Basically, this culminates in many scenes in which I’m stuck in a parking lot or a garage or a driveway rocking side to side over my wheel, grunting and perhaps growling interspersed with some cursing, sweating like a madwoman and in general looking like A) I am making wild cross breed love to a steering wheel  B) trying to steal my own car or C) the crazy person people go home to tell their friends about*.

As one might imagine this makes for awkward situations especially if I am spotted by someone I know, say perhaps if I’m stuck in someone’s driveway and had supposedly left 7 minutes ago. “Yeah, I thought you left??” “Oh, no. This political debate on NPR about the origins behind the term “second joint” for a chicken thigh just fascinated me and I can’t drive and listen to debates about second joints………………………………………yeaaaaahh…..my wheel is stuck.”

Me and cars. I once couldn’t get my gas tank top open (it had a key and the damn key wasn’t turning) and I had to accept the help of a passing guy that took pity on me. Dammit I am a self sufficient woman I don’t need men – except to open my jars and open my gas tanks…and unstick my wheel. But not to beat guitar hero. I totally kicked the Medium boss for Matt for the win. It took me three tries. Still. i rulz.

*Like my recent bag boy at Vons. I bought a large meat packet (it would turn out to be dinner – tacos and burgers – for the next five days yay summer leftovers) and two sweet potatoes.

Cashier (guy, late 30s): Wow, you making the family dinner? Can you stop by my house first?

Bag boy (early 20s): Do you want your produce and meat in separate bags?

Me: “Um, no that’s okay.”

Bag boy: “Oh, okay. I used to care. Some people care. My therapist told me to not worry about the small things in life so I don’t care anymore.”

Me: Oh. *nervous social laugh that is the appropriate response to all weird remarks and stories*

Me (thinking): hehe. humans are funny.


Me: *sees SAME bag boy* (thinking) wow, I’ve never seen the same person twice. I am suddenly very aware of his produce therapy nightmare. hehe. I love humanity. *goes to WellsFargo and gets a happy face on the receipt ticket*

Oh, life.

source: A Softer World (comic), http://www.asofterworld.com

update: blood test came up clean. So no medical excuse for why I have the energy of half a sloth on NyQuill most days.


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