I woke up to find that I had drunkenly typed this out without posting it sometime this morning. It has nothing to do with the truck, but has everything to do with the new car. Enjoy!
Tonight was going to be a good night. I was in a good mood and heading out my regular Thursday night place, The 04 Lounge, because the bartenders that work tonight demanded my presence (with the punishment of banishment if I did not show). I prepared myself to head to my drinking establishment and behold them with the glory of Goodwin.
I'm in a good mood. Fresh out of the shower, washing the last remnants of the previous night's hangover away, I ate a small dinner to alleviate the effects of the booze I would consume. I hop in my car (that I have officially owned a week) and head to the store for some smokes, as I had run low the previous night. Spirits were high. I hop out of my car and close my door and. . .
There is a scratch. On my driver's side. A mere prologue to the blemish exists on my fender, which leads into an epic scar that spans both doors on the vehicle's sinister side. I press my face close to the body, ever alert for places where the paneling was dented. None. Nobody had struck or scraped my week-old automobile with their own device of transport.
Some fucking lowlife had KEYED MY GOD DAMN CAR. INTENTIONALLY.
My stomach immediately filled with bile and blood. I swallowed down hate-vomit. Inhale, exhale, deep breaths. I went in, ordered my smokes and a liter of water, ignoring what I saw, hoping it was just my mind playing tricks on me.
I walk outside. I see the mark, tinted red from rage. My chest hurts, and I want to murder everything in my sight. My existence is nothing but a ball of hate, ready to consume those in my path.
I got over it. I have things in place to take care of minor exterior imperfections that may occur during my time with my vehicle. That I've owned for 7 days. That someone scratched with a key.
There is no way to find out who did it. No way to determine where it happened, when it happened. But the guilty party is lucky. Because if I do find out, I will thrust my hand into their chest and wear their heart as a bracelet, before I tear out their spine and shred their heart with jagged bone, as I spit acid into their eyes, and swear to murder everything they ever loved as their life slowly runs out in my hands.
I'm also playing Mass Effect 2 for the first time. It's a lot of fun. :-)
Friday, August 19, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Death of a Truck: Part 2
Took the truck home Monday. Dropped it at the mechanic. Decided to talk to my folks about upgrading my ride so that we don't have to spend every summer making it run for one more year.
After some test-drives, I was able to walk away from the truck and get this guy:
2008 Honda CRV EX-L. 18000 miles on it, 1 previous owner.
I'll miss the truck immensely. Especially the stereo. But I'll get over it.
Now I don't have to move anybody's damn couches ever again.
The truck still exists, but I signed the title over to my Dad, who's thinking about keeping it anyway (nobody will buy it).
As for what was wrong with it? The magnet inside the distributor was broken, and the spark plugs were crummy. There you go.
After some test-drives, I was able to walk away from the truck and get this guy:
2008 Honda CRV EX-L. 18000 miles on it, 1 previous owner.
I'll miss the truck immensely. Especially the stereo. But I'll get over it.
Now I don't have to move anybody's damn couches ever again.
The truck still exists, but I signed the title over to my Dad, who's thinking about keeping it anyway (nobody will buy it).
As for what was wrong with it? The magnet inside the distributor was broken, and the spark plugs were crummy. There you go.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Death of a Truck: Part One
Well, shit.
Was having a good day. Played some games, did some laundry, had a decent supper with a movie, the usual. Was gonna head out and have a few drinks and. . . my truck started acting poorly. It's had its issues for the past few months, sure. Some idling problems, a few engine shudders, tiny bit of slight overheating (I blame the weather for that one), but nothing that's to be expected from a 16 year-old vehicle that's had few major problems.
Tonight it decided to remind me that a major problem is overdue. A few miles down the highway and BOOM. Feels like someone set off a bomb near my truck. Bad, violent stutter. I'm a little confused, wondering what it was. Felt like it happened when changing gears. BOOM. Happens again about 20 seconds later. I'm able to turn around and get it home. No issues on the way home, acts normal. But I know that it's not. I know that something is going to give. I thought it had another year left in it. I'd be surprised if it lasted another week.
The plan was to drive it back to the hometown before the semester started and fix everything that was probably ailing it (spark plugs, possibly the distributor cap, maybe even the O2 sensor). Back home, we can fix all of that for cheap (we have a mechanic who owes us a billion favors). Now, I'm damn sure it won't make the trip.
I don't want to get a mechanic here. They're expensive and nine times out of ten, will fix the first thing they find wrong without looking for more issues. They'll rape your wallet for parts and labor and shrug in obliviousness when the problems persist. I hates them so.
Worst part is, this truck does not have a trade-in value, due to its age. I think it was worth maybe 2K when I checked the books last year, and that's when it was in "good" condition. Now that it's dying?
All we needed was to make it last one more year. I'd finish school and get a job and be able to pay for a newer vehicle as I put mine to rest. But it probably won't make it to the beginning of the semester.
It sucks. It really sucks. I'm very attached to this damn thing. I've had it since high school, and it got me out of my hometown when I was ready to move to my next stage in life. It's hauled furniture, friends, and kegs to many places in Texas. It represented my freedom: from school, life, and anything else. I didn't like being somewhere? It took me where I wanted, when I wanted. Plus, it was a blast to drive. Up until recently, it was a smooth, sturdy vehicle. I felt safe (2 tons of steel will do that). Has a good stereo, too. I spent many days driving, windows down, cigarette in hand, feeling the wind in my face while blasting classic rock. I'd never taken it on a serious road trip, though, due to it drinking fuel like it was water in the desert. As prices went up, my trips became less frequent, and as it started getting ill, I knew that it didn't have another road-trip left in it.
Hopefully, it can be fixed. Hopefully, it won't be stupidly expensive (HA!). But the Beast is dying.
Though I'm going to risk taking it to Pinballz tomorrow. I may not be able to afford a new engine, but I can afford some fucking pinball, dammit. And a tow truck.
I know it's just a truck, but it's probably the only thing I own that has helped me through the last 11 years of my life.
I'm not looking forward to the phone call to my Dad tomorrow. Or the following week. Or the following debt.
More to come as it occurs.
Was having a good day. Played some games, did some laundry, had a decent supper with a movie, the usual. Was gonna head out and have a few drinks and. . . my truck started acting poorly. It's had its issues for the past few months, sure. Some idling problems, a few engine shudders, tiny bit of slight overheating (I blame the weather for that one), but nothing that's to be expected from a 16 year-old vehicle that's had few major problems.
Tonight it decided to remind me that a major problem is overdue. A few miles down the highway and BOOM. Feels like someone set off a bomb near my truck. Bad, violent stutter. I'm a little confused, wondering what it was. Felt like it happened when changing gears. BOOM. Happens again about 20 seconds later. I'm able to turn around and get it home. No issues on the way home, acts normal. But I know that it's not. I know that something is going to give. I thought it had another year left in it. I'd be surprised if it lasted another week.
The plan was to drive it back to the hometown before the semester started and fix everything that was probably ailing it (spark plugs, possibly the distributor cap, maybe even the O2 sensor). Back home, we can fix all of that for cheap (we have a mechanic who owes us a billion favors). Now, I'm damn sure it won't make the trip.
I don't want to get a mechanic here. They're expensive and nine times out of ten, will fix the first thing they find wrong without looking for more issues. They'll rape your wallet for parts and labor and shrug in obliviousness when the problems persist. I hates them so.
Worst part is, this truck does not have a trade-in value, due to its age. I think it was worth maybe 2K when I checked the books last year, and that's when it was in "good" condition. Now that it's dying?
All we needed was to make it last one more year. I'd finish school and get a job and be able to pay for a newer vehicle as I put mine to rest. But it probably won't make it to the beginning of the semester.
It sucks. It really sucks. I'm very attached to this damn thing. I've had it since high school, and it got me out of my hometown when I was ready to move to my next stage in life. It's hauled furniture, friends, and kegs to many places in Texas. It represented my freedom: from school, life, and anything else. I didn't like being somewhere? It took me where I wanted, when I wanted. Plus, it was a blast to drive. Up until recently, it was a smooth, sturdy vehicle. I felt safe (2 tons of steel will do that). Has a good stereo, too. I spent many days driving, windows down, cigarette in hand, feeling the wind in my face while blasting classic rock. I'd never taken it on a serious road trip, though, due to it drinking fuel like it was water in the desert. As prices went up, my trips became less frequent, and as it started getting ill, I knew that it didn't have another road-trip left in it.
Hopefully, it can be fixed. Hopefully, it won't be stupidly expensive (HA!). But the Beast is dying.
Though I'm going to risk taking it to Pinballz tomorrow. I may not be able to afford a new engine, but I can afford some fucking pinball, dammit. And a tow truck.
I know it's just a truck, but it's probably the only thing I own that has helped me through the last 11 years of my life.
I'm not looking forward to the phone call to my Dad tomorrow. Or the following week. Or the following debt.
More to come as it occurs.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
A Short Sherlock Holmes Post
After an encouraged viewing of the first two episodes of the BBC's Sherlock, I realized that I had still not seen the recent movie. Netflix instant failed me, so I set out today to find it. A local used media store in my area (an establishment that receives a healthy amount of my income) would surely have it, as they usually carry many copies of popular films as they are bought and sold in very large quantities for a short time after release. This movement of goods has an added benefit. Due to supply and demand, the price is usually driven down to a price that is affordable by many. The movie had been out for a while, though. Would I be so lucky as to find it? Aye. One copy awaited me, nestled snugly in the wrong place. The organization at this location is usually impeccable, so I assume that it was handled and placed in the wrong place that very day by a potential buyer who, for some reason, decided against purchase. Their decision resulted in my victory, and I found my prize leaning nonchalantly against the film "Shoot 'Em Up" (which I also grabbed as an added bonus). I was right about the cost: $4.99 for an immaculate copy. I paid the clerk and walked out a champion. This evening, I reclined in my usual spot, put my personal computer aside, and sat down to view the film.
It was good.
~The End~
Epilogue: The BBC series is enjoyable, too
It was good.
~The End~
Epilogue: The BBC series is enjoyable, too
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Cooking with Goodwin: Chicken Tortilla Soup (Cheater's Edition)
Howdy.
Ever have one of those weeks where you let yourself fall apart? Too much partying? Finding yourself waking up when people are getting off work?
I have.
What I need is to recover. I need to defibrillate my body with vitamins, nutrition, liquids, etc. I need my Tortilla Soup.
Now, I've had people tell me that this is NOT tortilla soup in any way. I tell them that if I wanted their opinion, I wouldn't know what to do, because there is no way I would ever want to know what they ever think. Ever. Be that as it may, this is not a recipe for purists. This is a recipe for people like me who need something that takes almost no effort to make that lasts a good while and tastes delicious. If you want "authentic" soup, go to a restaurant. There are many fine places.
So here we go. Be warned, this will take a while, and it's definitely the most complicated thing I can make. But it's also one of my best recipes.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
New Layout!!! (!!!)
So I got sick of using a template picture for my blog, so I took my own. Spiffy, huh?
Nothing else has changed, just the picture. But it makes a big difference.
Here it is by itself.
FYI, the blue book is the Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide, by Douglas Adams, and some random collection of ghost stories I found at Half-Price one day.
Nothing else has changed, just the picture. But it makes a big difference.
Here it is by itself.
 |
| Fancy and kind of pretentious. Success! |
Kidneys... Why'd it have to be kidneys?
Hello internet world.
Haven't been posting as much as I like, lately. Been working on school and such. And having some AWESOME health problems. How awesome, you might ask? Well, I'll spin you a tale of my recent issues.
First off, I have a mediocre diet. I avoid fast-food for the most part, but I love my Dr Peppers with a passion. I've also known to drink a few beers every few days or so. So yeah, while I don't sit on the couch and wolf down chips and dips and liters of Mountain Dew (anymore), I could probably be doing better. I have cut back on soft drinks, though. Compared to how I used to drink them.
For the most part, my body usually aches. I never put much thought to it, just chocked it up to being in poor shape, sleeping wrong, or being hungover. When you treat your body badly, it will respond badly. So I would just ignore the sharp pains in my side and the soreness in my lower back. I'm going to be 30 in a few years, so a little pain is natural, I assumed.
That all changed about three weeks ago. Went to piss and DAMN. Pain. Not bad pain. Compared to when I sprained my wrist last year, this was nothing. But it was unexpected and, given the area, very uncomfortable. That's when I saw what happened and came to a conclusion: kidney stones.
Why am I sure of this? Well, there are the symptoms of course. Frequent bathroom visits, pain in my lower back and sides, and... oh yeah, TINY ROCKS in my urine. Figured that last one would be something to look into.
The first week, I just ignored it, because I felt better afterwards, so I assumed I passed them all. Then almost a week later, another attack. I decided to not fall for it again and went to a doctor. Of course, like a faulty lamp that acts perfectly at the repair shop, there was no evidence of stones (I hadn't thought of saving them at the time). Urine was clean, blood-work came back fine, and I even got to have an ultrasound. It, too, was negative. The final test was something called a UVI, and I have not gotten this test yet. I had an idea that might help me skip the test (because tests cost money, and I don't have much). During the next attack, I had the foresight to save them. Don't ask how I got them, it's not worth it. So, happily and armed with evidence, I bring in my bag of rocks for my doctor to look at. That poor receptionist's face when I told her that the nurse just said to drop them off at her desk. She was able to find out who had called me in to drop off the bag, though, and I was able to give it to her directly.
That was last week. And, of course, I went the whole week without any problems. Until today, that is. Another attack. They haven't called me back. I think they're expecting me to get the test. With regret, I think I must go in sometime soon, though I don't have the time. I may just schedule it for Wednesday and get it over with.
Oh, and don't worry. The pain has been very mild. Not zero, but mild. The rocks are very tiny, nothing like the horror stories that you may hear about passing rocks the size of M&M's. The only thing is, there's a lot of them, so it's not fun. Now I get to play Russian Roulette every time I have to go. With a shotgun.
Well, that's about it for this post. I'll be back with more news as it happens.
Haven't been posting as much as I like, lately. Been working on school and such. And having some AWESOME health problems. How awesome, you might ask? Well, I'll spin you a tale of my recent issues.
First off, I have a mediocre diet. I avoid fast-food for the most part, but I love my Dr Peppers with a passion. I've also known to drink a few beers every few days or so. So yeah, while I don't sit on the couch and wolf down chips and dips and liters of Mountain Dew (anymore), I could probably be doing better. I have cut back on soft drinks, though. Compared to how I used to drink them.
For the most part, my body usually aches. I never put much thought to it, just chocked it up to being in poor shape, sleeping wrong, or being hungover. When you treat your body badly, it will respond badly. So I would just ignore the sharp pains in my side and the soreness in my lower back. I'm going to be 30 in a few years, so a little pain is natural, I assumed.
That all changed about three weeks ago. Went to piss and DAMN. Pain. Not bad pain. Compared to when I sprained my wrist last year, this was nothing. But it was unexpected and, given the area, very uncomfortable. That's when I saw what happened and came to a conclusion: kidney stones.
Why am I sure of this? Well, there are the symptoms of course. Frequent bathroom visits, pain in my lower back and sides, and... oh yeah, TINY ROCKS in my urine. Figured that last one would be something to look into.
The first week, I just ignored it, because I felt better afterwards, so I assumed I passed them all. Then almost a week later, another attack. I decided to not fall for it again and went to a doctor. Of course, like a faulty lamp that acts perfectly at the repair shop, there was no evidence of stones (I hadn't thought of saving them at the time). Urine was clean, blood-work came back fine, and I even got to have an ultrasound. It, too, was negative. The final test was something called a UVI, and I have not gotten this test yet. I had an idea that might help me skip the test (because tests cost money, and I don't have much). During the next attack, I had the foresight to save them. Don't ask how I got them, it's not worth it. So, happily and armed with evidence, I bring in my bag of rocks for my doctor to look at. That poor receptionist's face when I told her that the nurse just said to drop them off at her desk. She was able to find out who had called me in to drop off the bag, though, and I was able to give it to her directly.
That was last week. And, of course, I went the whole week without any problems. Until today, that is. Another attack. They haven't called me back. I think they're expecting me to get the test. With regret, I think I must go in sometime soon, though I don't have the time. I may just schedule it for Wednesday and get it over with.
Oh, and don't worry. The pain has been very mild. Not zero, but mild. The rocks are very tiny, nothing like the horror stories that you may hear about passing rocks the size of M&M's. The only thing is, there's a lot of them, so it's not fun. Now I get to play Russian Roulette every time I have to go. With a shotgun.
Well, that's about it for this post. I'll be back with more news as it happens.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)