Monday, January 30, 2006
Blogs aren't interesting unless you bitch about something
In case you’re a person who enjoys wallowing in someone else’s self pity, here’s something for you. I figured some people are probably falling asleep with my running commentary about my boring-ass life. Well here’s something I want to bitch about.
Remember that birthday sleepover I mentioned? When I went to get ice cream I took my sweety’s car (is that spelled sweety or sweetie?? I can’t decide.) I start it up and drive four feet when I notice a light on her dashboard that I’ve never seen before. It’s an angry yellow exclamation point surrounded by a weird U shape… with, um, spikes on it, or something. I didn’t know what the hell that was! Damn esoteric little icons. I had to stop the car and go digging into the glove compartment for the manual. I managed to find it in the manual—turns out it’s the tire pressure alarm. Tire pressure alarm? How come my car doesn’t have one of those? And why can’t they just make the damn thing SAY “Check tire pressure” or “Check tires”. Hell even just the word “Tires” would’ve made more sense to me than this angry little exclamation point with the funky shape around it (which is supposed to look like a tire but looks more like some kind of S&M device… Uh, not that I’d know anything about that… um, heh.)
So I guess the tires need air? I got out and looked at the tires. All of them. They looked fine. One looked like it might be a tiny bit low. I decided to go get the ice cream anyway. The car feels fine despite the potholes everywhere. I picked up the ice cream and got back in the car. There’s the angry light again, glaring at me, screaming, “The frickin tires need air you lazy dolt!” See it’s a polite car. It could have said, “The fucking tires need air you fucking lard-ass!” But it didn’t. Still, it bothered me.
Fine, fine, I’ll take the damn thing to a gas station and check the air. I rummaged around for a tire pressure gauge. There isn’t one. Sweety, I love you with all my heart, but didn’t I give you one to put in there? It probably got thrown away with the other “useless gadgets”. Fine, I’ll just put a little bit of air into all the tires and hope they don’t blow up in my face. I know it will take a huge amount of pressure for this to happen, but I’m one of those people who are afraid to blow balloons up too much for fear of the loud noise they make when they explode.
I dig out a quarter and go to the machine. It’s 50 cents. Fifty freaking cents for air? Didn’t these things used to be free? Then they started charging a quarter for it. Now it’s doubled. Wah wah wah so I dig out another quarter and put air in all four tires, kept on pumping until the time ran out and the generator stopped. That should do it.
I got back in the car and started it up. Blink. There it is, the same yellow angry icon on the dashboard. What, did I put in too much air? WHAT?? Be specific you piece of *;$`&#@ *-!@#$^#^$ =@##+*$@!!!! (I had to resort to random character bleeps because I’m not as creative a cusser as many of you are. I learned the word “fucktard” recently and rather like it. I hope to use it someday.)
I gave up and drove back to the party with my ice cream. Hmm, I’m hungry now. Ice cream sounds good.
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Categories: • Grrrrrr...