gearbox love

so while i'm tickled that 5th gear is working fine, something's chewing one of my rotors to bits in a noisy fashion. new rotors/pads on the way from carbotech; in the meantime, i'm rocking the focus again.
ah well. can't have everything.

-fin-

DONE.

old gearbox is back in the car, and i have all 5 gears working. power steering is still pissing all over the place, but that's about to become the dealership's problem. small potatoes!

the rogue tranny's return has been worked out and i'll never have to see it again.

*enormous thanks* to chris and andrea, again, for gladly allowing a bunch of filthy-person traffic through their garage and house for 2 weekends, and for sheltering steve all week long.

and to iggdawg, for busting his ass both weekends. and to james, for coming by after a long day of work to lend a hand. and to rabbitnutz, for risking the life of the GTI just to come help.

and to kz, for his support, awesome tools, incredible gearbox know-how, and making me believe this was possible.

friday night fever

yeah that's my output shaft :)

the wrong trousers

yeah so about that whole tranny swap thing.

after ~20 hours of work this weekend, we were wrapping up last night and having a hard time getting the driver's side axle to seat into the transmission. genius macdaddy (why we pay him to supervise) suggested pulling it out and checking for something physically blocking the shaft.

there was kind of a whole bunch of metal blocking it. since i got sold the wrong transmission, with the wrong differential in it. what i paid for is not what i was shipped. so the car's still on jackstands and i'm shelling out another $350+ for a 5th gear rebuild kit for my old tranny, and hoping that getting a refund for this tranny of dubious origin involves less drama than i anticipate.

my blog is beginning to remind me of e$'s, with all this car trouble. speaking of which, considering how the margaritas felt last night, i think some gin and tonic might be in order this week.

special thanks to kz for being so helpful and comforting, macdaddy for his managerial insight and company, iggdawg for his willingness to work his ass off in vain at my request, and most especially chris and andrea for the continued use of their garage. as much as this sucks and my soul is as battered as my knuckles, i don't know how i would handle this without such friends.

End of tranny day 1

so she's out, and the only casualty so far is an endlink.
power steering and re-assembly tomorrow. time for sleep.

In case of emergency...

after glancing at the email imbroglio below, perhaps you can understand why some wise soul placed a shot of tequila and some clear eyes atop the fire alarm in the ladies' bathroom...

self-afflicted retardation

sometimes i think back to all the retarded things i've done. not bad things, just really, really retarded. things that, if i have to watch when they replay my life for me when i die, i may just have to pretend i'm about to faint from the need to pee just to get out of it. it's bad enough to replay them in my head and sometimes when i'm not sufficiently stressed about other things going on in present day, i remind myself of all the retarded moments with a sour taste in my mouth and the pinched face of chagrin, like i popped a lemon warhead while simultaneously pouring isopropanol on a paper cut.

yes, like the time i cut off that guy in the parking lot at work and leaned on my horn, only to have him come ask me for directions, after which i cried for being so insensitive. and when my best friend and i lip-synched to garbage's "queer" in 9th grade. on viedotape. and you can clearly see one point in our air guitar where one of her long nails got me in the eye and disrupted my headbanging. thankfully that VHS tape has been destroyed... by me. and when we made our neighborhood band when i was 10, and i sang into my stereo and recorded a really bad ballad i wrote. and it's about a girl, cause all i listened to was pearl jam back in the day, and i didn't know girls could sing about guys; i was just trying to fit in with my mix tape. but i'm sure it made me sound like a big lesbo.

and then the flannel days of high school where i thought airwair and moshing made me cool. and all the times i wore skirts with combat boots when i was, oh, about 300 pounds. and before i actually learned to rephrase the thoughts before they come out of my mouth, all the people i said really dorky things to. and i didn't learn that till i was bout 17, so that's a lot of people. but what will i think about when i'm 40, stuff i do now? like watch the oc, and read harry potter with a silent fervor? how i pair sports bras with thin-strap tank tops? how i can't seem to wear anything but jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers or i feel like i have wardrobe-induced menopause? maybe. perhaps i'll still be doing those things with my own silent disdain for them, loving the dichotomy of being both repulsed by, and yet embracing, my inner dork.

anybody want a mix tape?