3rd in class!

Only second of the day...

DMS-50s rebuilt at last!

Garage day ad infinitum

total monday

if you haven't already heard me whining about it today, my sentra has developed the notorious 5th gear pop-out, on top of my longstanding power steering leak and deteriorating CV joint issues.
so, if you have connections or sources for any of the following, i might be persuaded to bake you a batch of chocolate chip cookies in exchange for information:

-an SR20DE transmission, 5 speed; mine has 114k miles on it, and less would be nice, but as long as it works, i'll think about it. preferably local, junkyard OK.

-a 2.5 RS coupe for sale, under $15k; ++ for less miles and no mods; if i have to go through a dealership, an extended warranty would be nice.

otherwise, if you are singularly incapable of helping me find any of the above, you could give me a hug, or buy me coffee, or like give me a footrub or something. that would be pretty sweet.

atrophy

last night i finally decided i was tired of the chicken-skin flubber accumulating under my arms these past 6 weeks of ergonomic ennui. rotator cuff be damned, it was time to lift some weights again.

i thought i'd take it easy, start lower than necessary to avoid re-injury, which would just prolong the state of flappity-flap. so i approached the 'bitch bench,' nestled in a corner far, far away from the grunting, lifting, sweating bulk of man heaving rusty iron in the other corner. all the weights are pink, rubber-coated, and friendly. i can imagine someone making a small fortune inscribing motivational messages on these cute little dumbbells...'lookin' good,' 'please eat dinner tonight,' 'daddy still loves you.'

moving these 10 pound pink objects - which are more like accessories than work-out equipment - i felt a sense of shame. of humility. there i am in my collegiate crew team shirt, lifting abut 1/3 of what i was doing 2 months ago. back when i still had some self-respect. i felt like the biggest pussy ever, and wished i were socially inept to just voluntarily inform bystanders of my injury, my need to get back in the game, how much it sucks to do rehab.

alas, i am a well-adjusted masochist; i endured the odd looks and smirks, and left identifying with weak pussies nationwide, having taken a step in their shoes.

and i was sore today.

desktop publishing?

dear network printer,

have you ever seen that flick, 'office space'? if you continue to insist on printing 3 copies of every 24-page gel report i send your way, i will be forced to kill you.

that is all.
-sabominator.

limerock - le mans

part deux

you know in comedy movies, where mishaps and ridiculous collusions of circumstance accumulate within a very small time frame, and the victim of these difficulties is nearly overcome to the point of self-implosion, upon which there is a cute, funny denouement and everybody leaves the theatre in a good mood, with extra popcorn?
this shit apparently does happen in real life, except for the tidal wave of relief and smiles at the end. you get stuck with the high blood pressure vein pulsing out of your head, and the involuntary rectal clamp, the teeth-grinding and the perma-frown.

yesterday i was already shifting in my driver's seat with discomfort on my way home, my mind distracted by that less-than-fresh feeling swamping my nether regions. i had 3 major problems: one of which was related to the moon and being female, and being too stupid to keep extra sanitary products in my purse; the second was related to lack of fiber in my diet, too much coffee, and lack of patience on the potty; and the third, i'm still not sure how one would contract poison-ivy-like stuff in one's entire TP-wiping zone, or what exactly it is, but it was covered with cortisone and that was wearing off. gross.

so as i wiggle like a retarded puppy in my hot, sticky, airless black car, i have going through my mind the rhetorical question oft heard from the nuns in my days at catholic school: 'do you have ants in your pants?'

now traffic comes to a stop. total dead stop, and i'm 30+ miles from home. i call smartraveler and try not to rear-end anyone while punching in route numbers. yep, thank you for calling, major brake lights all the way up 495 through chelmsford, and on to route 3 - be prepared for major delays, holiday traffic. did i mention you're fucked?

it's hot, and i'm beyond depressed, and i don't know which is failing faster - my maxi pad or me. i say to hell with my OCD-adherence to routine; i'm taking route 2 into newton (somehow) and meeting up with the gang for a night of trivioxx, determined to save this day. then my water magically opens and spills all over the seat and cd's, and my phone turns its ringer off and i'm expecting a directions-help call, and my clutch decides it's tired of this first/second/first shit for the last hour and becomes recalcitrant and stiff, and my gearbox thinks the clutch is on to something and decides to follow suit.

then i saw a pink and orange beacon of respite on the horizon, and a huge parking spot in the front just for me. tears in my eyes, i think - this is it. the moment of salvation. i'll walk in there, and someone will read from my face the hardships i've just overcome, and a stranger will hug me, someone will give me a large sum of money or a porsche, and the birds will sing again. inside, the a/c is broken, there is no bathroom, and the woman at the counter doesn't speak english and doesn't know if i am in west newton or not. one large coconut iced coffee with extra milk/no sugar later, i'm ready to hit the road again. i made it in one piece, appreciably bitchier for the entire evening, and awoke this morning feeling like it had to have all just been a nightmare.

and today, o perilous friday before a 3-day weekend, i get to do it all again.