Trucks, Gigolos, Prayers

I was defeated in my attempt to repair my Truck of Malfunction.

The latest in TOM issues are fivefold: no windshield wiper fluid, broken passenger side wiper, weird oil problems, broken left turn signal cover, and expired registrations. The fluid and the wiper were fixed without issue, as was the oil problem after 7 frustrating minutes when I realized that you should unscrew things to the left. The registration stuff is getting done on Saturday when I have daylight hours to work with. My main issue was with the turn signal cover. I got the replacement part without issue, have had it for ages, actually, but can find no way to get it attached to my TOM.

Yesterday I could practically taste victory, as I had managed to locate and remove every screw that held it in place, removed the bulb and could actually feel the broken piece begin to move. However, I believe it is physically impossible to remove it entirely, because the light fixture is permanently attached to the wires that go to the battery. Short of ripping the plastic housing off the wires, I see no way for success.

That doesn't mean that I didn't spend 65 minutes trying in the middle of my parking lot trying anyway, looking more and more hysterical with every passing second. I HATE working on cars. I feel utterly ridiculous, trying to look like I know what I'm doing, yet perfectly aware that every passing person can tell that I am in fact a completely incompetent, extremely pale homosexual in a poorly fitting muscle T-shirt poking ineffectually at the innards of a car with a screwdriver.

Anyways, I've decided to just screw it all and let the mechanic give it a try before he does the safety inspection. Of course he will replace the entire thing in exactly 13 seconds and make me look incredibly foolish, but after my Car Drama Hour (a play in one act) performance yesterday, my pride is ready to take that hit.

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My boss is in complete terror of the hurricane barreling down on Texas. She is in full End-Times-are-nigh freak out mode, complete with frantic stockpiling of batteries, bottled water, and gasoline. But I admire her resourcefulness, particularly when all the gas stations in the area started shutting down and she managed to fill her own car up and get me and my TOM to the location and topped off by the sheer force of her personality.

While this fill up was going on, the attendant (of course it was a full service gas station. We are high class in Highland Park) asked me if she was my girlfriend. Now, not to hate on my boss, who is awesome in her own insane way, but I am literally half her age. There are many ways to take a question like that: A) I look really old, B) She looks really young, C) the attendant is blind, or D) I look like one of those young, shiny, kept men that you see.

I decided to go with a mixture of B & C, along with a bit the secret answer E) that the attendant was sort of flirting with me. Because A & D are just too depressing to even consider.

In any case, I've got a full tank of gas, 50 tea light candles, and a bag of Oreos with which to wait any storm out. I think I'm prepared.

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Latest projections on the storm have it making landfall directly over Orange. I can get hold of no one down there by phone. Are you kidding me with that "Due to that hurricane in that area, your call cannot be completed" shit? I am reduced to blindly hoping everyone is safe down there. I feel remarkably afraid. Seriously y'all, be safe.

And I swear to God, Brint, if you try to go stand out by a window during this storm, I will punch you in the face myself.