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Oct. 23rd, 2003 02:30 pmLadies and gentlemen, we have achieved CADILLAC.
Oct. 23rd, 2003
I reckon I should tell the story of what went on last night, in the aquiring of said Cadillac.
Miss Robin drove me down to the boondocks, to my father's house, to pick up the car I have been crying over for eleven years. We sat in the dining room for a bit with my dad and Robin saw that not only was I NOT exagerrating the way my family is, but also downplaying it a bit. Not to mention that wee troll thatlives with him rents a room from him.
We shoot the shit for awhile, then begin to get down to business of showing me the in's and out's of the car. There are so many freaking ghetto ass tricks of getting around the car's problems, it slays me. Really. The stereo has a problem where it sometimes just dissolves into static and you can't hear anything but that. The trick to solving this? Slamming the ashtray shut, I shit you not. Miss R almost pissed herself laughing the first time she witnessed me doing this.
Just don't drive it through the car wash, okay?
After a semi-shakey drive home, we decide it's time for a joyride and then a diner excursion. We give Ophelia a call, leave a message on her machine saying where we'll be, and set off.
Now there's a trick to shutting the driver's side door, see. You have to kind of lift it up as you shut it. I've always been well aware of this. However, after I parked the car and got out, it decided not to shut. I'd close it and it would bounce back at me. WTF?
It was soon discovered that the innards of the door weren't latching around the bolt they were supposed to. We decided to check the passenger door to see how the innards moved, to get a better idea of what's going on, as it had closed perfectly when Miss R shut it.
Door is opened, innards are examined, door is closed, right?
Wrong.
Now the passenger door won't shut either.
This long ass story eventually ends with me calling my father and telling him what's going on. At eleven thirty at night. When he gets up at four thirty in the morning for work. He got out of bed, drove all the way to where we were (about thirty five minutes away), and fiddled with the mechanisms on both doors until they worked again.
My theory is that since it's cold out and the car hasn't really been touched in a while, it was just being finicky. I'm probably going to WD-40 the shit out of it fairly soon. But, for now I have been taught another TRICK into getting around this problem if it happens again.
That being said, my dad told me to not lock the car. Which is a big pile of bullshit because of all the little hoodlums who live around here. I'm not letting my baby stay unlocked and unsupervised. Fuck that.
In closing, the following description was given by Miss R in her journal about my family:
The Munsters meet The Beverly Hill Billies but the dialog is much more along the lines of ... um I don't know, a Kevin Smith movie but much raunchier.
hee!
Miss Robin drove me down to the boondocks, to my father's house, to pick up the car I have been crying over for eleven years. We sat in the dining room for a bit with my dad and Robin saw that not only was I NOT exagerrating the way my family is, but also downplaying it a bit. Not to mention that wee troll that
We shoot the shit for awhile, then begin to get down to business of showing me the in's and out's of the car. There are so many freaking ghetto ass tricks of getting around the car's problems, it slays me. Really. The stereo has a problem where it sometimes just dissolves into static and you can't hear anything but that. The trick to solving this? Slamming the ashtray shut, I shit you not. Miss R almost pissed herself laughing the first time she witnessed me doing this.
Just don't drive it through the car wash, okay?
After a semi-shakey drive home, we decide it's time for a joyride and then a diner excursion. We give Ophelia a call, leave a message on her machine saying where we'll be, and set off.
Now there's a trick to shutting the driver's side door, see. You have to kind of lift it up as you shut it. I've always been well aware of this. However, after I parked the car and got out, it decided not to shut. I'd close it and it would bounce back at me. WTF?
It was soon discovered that the innards of the door weren't latching around the bolt they were supposed to. We decided to check the passenger door to see how the innards moved, to get a better idea of what's going on, as it had closed perfectly when Miss R shut it.
Door is opened, innards are examined, door is closed, right?
Wrong.
Now the passenger door won't shut either.
This long ass story eventually ends with me calling my father and telling him what's going on. At eleven thirty at night. When he gets up at four thirty in the morning for work. He got out of bed, drove all the way to where we were (about thirty five minutes away), and fiddled with the mechanisms on both doors until they worked again.
My theory is that since it's cold out and the car hasn't really been touched in a while, it was just being finicky. I'm probably going to WD-40 the shit out of it fairly soon. But, for now I have been taught another TRICK into getting around this problem if it happens again.
That being said, my dad told me to not lock the car. Which is a big pile of bullshit because of all the little hoodlums who live around here. I'm not letting my baby stay unlocked and unsupervised. Fuck that.
In closing, the following description was given by Miss R in her journal about my family:
The Munsters meet The Beverly Hill Billies but the dialog is much more along the lines of ... um I don't know, a Kevin Smith movie but much raunchier.
hee!