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...and then I would have a post dedicated to Wasabi Mustard, Pretzels, and Top Gear. Which might be amusing. And since Top Gear is banned from being amusing in the US (wrong type of Visa) I will stick to a strictly factual documentation of what went wrong today.
(okay, only one of you will get that, but trust me, it's hilarious... I mean, factual and informative)
On the up side, the entry will be short because my finger won't stop bleeding and is very sore.
Pretty much every February sucks at work. It's the busy stress month, and results in things like uncontrollable (but very explainable) rage against the fax machine, printer, computer, telephone... random strangers... melon balls... staplers... you name it. So that pretty much sours just about every day. But I was touchier than usual today, so everything had a much sharper edge (pun not intended).
Then I go to leave and the car won't start. Not the Mustang, which was just repaired (that would have sent me into a fit), but the 'Vette (which just scared and depressed me). Luckily I was talking to my aunt on my nifty bluetooth headset (and luckily I had the headset, or I would have hung up before I got in the car, because I can't hold the phone between my ear and shoulder and shift). She said it sounded like the car didn't think the clutch was properly depressed (and by that I mean pushed in, not mopey). I agreed. I had a Sentra that was very picky about that, and you had to ram the clutch pedal to the floor to start it. What I didn't know, however, was that it wasn't an internal mechanism, but a simple mechanical switch under the clutch that a small plate on the arm on the clutch is supposed to depress. Obviously, it wasn't. Which meant I would have to. This meant I had to put the car in neutral, keep my right foot on the brake, work my left foot way up under the clutch to reach that little switch, then start the car. Which, thankfully, worked. Interestingly enough, this has happened one other time (though that time it just eventually started in the conventional manner) and it was also leaving work, when the car was parked in the same place. This morning, then on the way home at the grocery store, leaving for the gym, and coming home from the gym... no problem. I think our parking lot at work is possessed.
Speaking of the gym, I attended my second-ever belly dancing class, and I still look like a Walrus being electrocuted. Fun times, fun times.
And the icing on the cake today (actually happened before the gym, as I was rushing to make - okay, serve, the dinner I bought at the grocery store) was slicing the end of my finger so badly with my shiny, sharp new knife that three and a half hours later if I take off the band-aid it starts right up bleeding again. Yay!
Here's to tomorrow being a better day. Cheerio!
(okay, only one of you will get that, but trust me, it's hilarious... I mean, factual and informative)
On the up side, the entry will be short because my finger won't stop bleeding and is very sore.
Pretty much every February sucks at work. It's the busy stress month, and results in things like uncontrollable (but very explainable) rage against the fax machine, printer, computer, telephone... random strangers... melon balls... staplers... you name it. So that pretty much sours just about every day. But I was touchier than usual today, so everything had a much sharper edge (pun not intended).
Then I go to leave and the car won't start. Not the Mustang, which was just repaired (that would have sent me into a fit), but the 'Vette (which just scared and depressed me). Luckily I was talking to my aunt on my nifty bluetooth headset (and luckily I had the headset, or I would have hung up before I got in the car, because I can't hold the phone between my ear and shoulder and shift). She said it sounded like the car didn't think the clutch was properly depressed (and by that I mean pushed in, not mopey). I agreed. I had a Sentra that was very picky about that, and you had to ram the clutch pedal to the floor to start it. What I didn't know, however, was that it wasn't an internal mechanism, but a simple mechanical switch under the clutch that a small plate on the arm on the clutch is supposed to depress. Obviously, it wasn't. Which meant I would have to. This meant I had to put the car in neutral, keep my right foot on the brake, work my left foot way up under the clutch to reach that little switch, then start the car. Which, thankfully, worked. Interestingly enough, this has happened one other time (though that time it just eventually started in the conventional manner) and it was also leaving work, when the car was parked in the same place. This morning, then on the way home at the grocery store, leaving for the gym, and coming home from the gym... no problem. I think our parking lot at work is possessed.
Speaking of the gym, I attended my second-ever belly dancing class, and I still look like a Walrus being electrocuted. Fun times, fun times.
And the icing on the cake today (actually happened before the gym, as I was rushing to make - okay, serve, the dinner I bought at the grocery store) was slicing the end of my finger so badly with my shiny, sharp new knife that three and a half hours later if I take off the band-aid it starts right up bleeding again. Yay!
Here's to tomorrow being a better day. Cheerio!