Keep on Truckin’

A week after the harrowing tire-blow-out-spin-out-freak-out, I got my sweet little truck back from the shop.  The good news: the body damage can be repaired.  The bad news: because there was no official report from CHP, we need to play the “wait and see” game while the tire company investigates, and hopefully they will give us the money to make the repairs.  Luckily, the truck is fine to drive.  FINE, that is, if I weren’t terrified about driving now.


The recent incident has me a bit gunshy about driving.  I have been in  – and witnessed – way worse accidents, and this wasn’t bad AT ALL…but I don’t know.  Maybe with age comes a better sense of mortality, or maybe The Crazy is seeping in more as I get older, or maybe I’m just a big fat chicken.   Point is, each time I get behind the wheel now I feel like calling everyone I know to say goodbye “just in case” and that is NOT OK.


I ventured out for an afternoon of errands, Billy Squier’s “The Stroke” playing on the radio, windows down (if only I had a TransAm and my REO Speedwagon shirt), slight breeze in the air.  While stopped at a light, I could feel my truck rumbling and vibrating a bit.  Before I knew it, I was convinced that IT WAS GOING TO BLOW OH MY GOD HIT THE DECKS and then a couple of yahoos with their bass pumping drove past me in the turn lane.  The rumbling-vibrating ceased.  I got a hold of myself, but variations on this scene repeated themselves while I was out, and I don’t care for this new scaredy cat CKD.  She’s lame and doesn’t want to go anywhere. 


The solution to getting over myself seems to be a combination of getting back on the horse, so to speak, and taking it easy.  A chat with a friend revealed a big source of my fears, driving and non-driving related: lack of control.  Having your tire explode is out of your control, the car – for a moment – was out of my control, and that is scary.  Maybe this is a good lesson that I CAN deal with situations that are out of my control and get back on course.  Or maybe I had too much wine tonight.


One thing that has helped my confidence?  That would be helping a certain friend (coughKatiecough) who ran out of gas on her way home.  Having someone lean on me and being forced into action made me forget that I had to, you know…DRIVE A CAR.  I just got up and did it because that’s what you do for a friend, and you don’t let fear get in the way.  And because I am SUCH A GREAT FRIEND I also teased her mercilessly and took pictures:


Helpful: bringing a gas can. Not helpful: taking pictures and laughing.


Yeah, I might be slightly jumpy but I’m still an asshole.  Comforting, yes?


What’s with the Covert Ops?

If you want the password for any of my protected posts, send me an email.  I’m fine with friends and (some) family reading these things, just being a paranoid freakshow careful.

Why Old Navy is Stupid and I Hate Their Stupid Dresses and Their Stupid Faces

Hi, I’m going to pitch a fit over how dresses carried by a certain store don’t fit me just right.  Oh, if everyone had the same first world issues I do!  Life would be so simple!


I have a love-hate relationship with Old Navy.  Love the prices, sales, and fun colors.  And did I mention the prices?  Hello, trendy dress for $15!  Hate that sometimes certain pieces shrink inexplicably (I follow the care instructions, yo!) and the inconsistency in sizing (I seriously must try on every damn thing because I could be an extra small or a medium – who knows). 


Right now, the source of my ire is the way their super-cute, super-affordable, super-fun dresses look like super-ass on me. 


Old Navy, what the hell is up with all of that bunching?  An empire waist style is typically quite flattering, but you have taken floaty to a whole new level and made it downright poufy, making my hips and ass look way bigger than they are.  Now, I’m down with my hips and curves: I’m all “A” and no “T” and I am pretty good at dressing my body type.  But Old Navy, I look like a shapeless lump.  Not every person who shops there is built like Heidi Klum.  WORK WITH ME! 


Or at the very least, switch up some of the styles this season and give the flat-chested, bootylicious girls a shot at looking smokin’ this season.

Don’t Even Ask About His Plans for Christmas

While wine tasting (OK, OK, day drinking) with Dave:


Me: “So, I assume you don’t want to join us for church on Easter?”


Dave: “Nope.  Not unless I can bring some frogs.  And dry ice.  And then when I go up for communion, I can make smoke and frogs and maybe some locusts come out of my pockets.  That would be so cool!  People will be screaming ‘El Diablo!’ … Is this one my glass of wine?”


Me: “Let’s skip the frogs and we’ll just see you at brunch.”

Just Call Me “Impatient Spice”

Setting up this new site has been fun, but mostly challenging.  I am…how you say?  Ah yes, impatient as all hell and overly dramatic about everythingEverything, I say!  I have been using blogger for about a year and know the ins-and-outs, and having to do things like read instructions or take 5 seconds to figure something out has tested my will to live.  (See?  Dramatic!) 


Many thanks to Cece, dear friend and WordPress Yoda to my whiny Luke Skywalker, for helping me figure this out and offering encouragement.  You’re the best!


And so now I ask you, dear Interweb, to be patient with me as I get this site looking pretty and sassy and make it a place where you’ll be excited to read about my drunken antics and obssession with Jason Bateman.