Caffeine-addled ramblings, rants, and random thoughts about my life in pursuit of utter awesomeness and general kickassery.


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Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Inspected by No. 37

I needed to get my truck inspected, as any respectable, conscientious citizen would. Also I got a ticket the last time I went out of town on business.

In all fairness, I was guilty as sin. The new girl at the office and I went to lunch, and on the way back to the board meeting, I saw the lights. Those pretty red and blue flashing lights, surrounding the 15,000,000-lumen strobe headlights that all police cars seem to have now, (used between rave gigs). I obediently pulled into a parking lot, so the officer can write me my ticket without being hit by all the uninsured, unlicensed drivers speeding by on their cell phones, reaching in the back seat to smack their hookers for letting the pit bull spill cocaine all over their machine guns.

Not that I'm bitter.

It was never an issue on passing inspection. I take pretty good care of it, as much as I depend on it for work. Plus I still owe a metric assload of money on it.

So I took off to the local corporate soulless mega-chain lube center, insurance, impatience and $28.34 in tow. The wait was only about 30 min, so I went to lunch, came back ready to drive off without avoiding cops any more. A toothless mechanic with a limp (I'm not making that up) got out and said, as professionally as he could, "There's a problem."

Here in Texas we have mandatory emissions testing as part of the inspection. In the past, they would stick a probe up your tailpipe (yeah, I giggled too). A veritable automotive colonoscopy. My truck failed the emissions test but not because of the actual emissions. It failed because my truck couldn't tell them that it passed. Read that again. Apparently any vehicle made after 1997 can only pass emissions testing if they can hook their iPhone into it and have a productive IM session. But in this case, my truck was using Yahoo! Messenger, where the shop was on a commodore 64. In other words, it was giving their scanner the blue screen of death. But were not allowed to do the auto anal probing. Let's review...

Legally, I'm not allowed to operate a car in Texas unless a mechanic licensed by Texas tells the state that it's safe. However, the mechanic can't tell the state it's safe unless the car tells the mechanic itself it is safe.

Makes perfect sense.

They apparently didn't have the expertise to diagnose the issue, so they sent me in the direction of a couple of different repair shops. I did exactly what any sane person would do, namely pull over and call my ringer, T from work, the perennial "car guy."

"They said my OBD (On-Board Display) might have a short."
"What?"
"According to them, the connector probably need to be replaced."
"That doesn't happen. They're blowing smoke up your ass."
"Thanks."

On his advice, I took it to an Auto Zone, and had them use their scanner. Sure enough, it wasn't connecting. The guy there suggested it might just be a blown fuse. Pliers in hand, we started pulling fuses. And found it. At 15A, to be exact. We replaced it, and sure enough, the scanner and my truck were soon chatting like old cellmates.

And what was the fuse for, you ask?

The cigarette lighter.

I shit you not.

It's the equivalent of having laryngitis due to an ingrown toenail.

With the onboard computer now talking like a meth-addled auctioneer, I run back to the Lubes"Я"Us. And guess what?

Failed again.

Apparently, when we replaced the fuse, it essentially cleared the RAM of the OBD. So they told me to come back after I drive it for about 150 miles, when the computer can reset its settings.

And I need to get my inspection done by Friday.

Got a lot of driving to do.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Santa Clauz in the Hizzy!

My phone rings yesterday afternoon. Normally I don't answer if I don't recognize the number, but it was from a local number and I was already looking for an excuse to stop talking with a coworker.

*[insert random annoying ringtone here]*
Me: "Hello?"
They: "Santa?"
Me: "Excuse me?"
They: "Yes. Is this Santa?"
Me: "Not that I'm aware of. Can I help you with something?"
They: "I'm sorry. You were listed as a reference for Robert XXXXXX at this number."
Me: "Nope. Sorry, don't know him. But I can tell you he's been a very naughty boy."
They: "Ok, I'll list the number as 'invalid. Have a nice day."
Me: "Merry Christmas."

I stared at the phone for a bit.

The things that amazed me about this call:

  1. that someone actually listed Santa as a reference
  2. that a company would still call to check on it
  3. that Santa lives in Central Texas
  4. that they actually found me
I mean, what gave it away?

Ho.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

MIA

I've been asked so much these past few months where I've been, what's going on in B's universe, why haven't I been writing, etc.

Answers in short:
-Been here
-A lot
-I have been. sorta.

To clarify that last one... yes, I do mean blog posts. and journal entries. and and and.

But I haven't published. Currently I have 27 drafts going. So here's what goes on in my world...

I have a I know it'd be a great post, so I start on it. I'm trucking along before I lose steam at some point, or get distracted, or get busy. Regardless, the draft will be 90% done, and I can never get back into it enough to just whip it out and move on. So then, I'll have another story, an idea, a theorem, random ramblings. Same thing will happen. Then I'll have another one, which I'll actually finish, but it necessitates knowing something from a prior post (sitting in a draft), So I can't publish until I finish that one... So that's whay I have 27 drafts and no posts for the last few months.

My plan for vaca was that I woulds finish all the posts and publish them at once, so everyone can catch up. Obviously that didn't happen.

So instead of people being lost for a few days, I end up not posting at all.

Really, this is how my mind works.

I'll still try to whip those out, but in the meantime I'll be here NOT procrastinating.

December 3rd

Although it kills me, Lil, I'm going to take your advice.

Kinda.


It's ChaCha's birthday today, and it's been tearing me up trying to not acknowledge it. It's the first time since we've met that I've been persona non grata for it.

I had a few ideas on doing something nice, between making her something, sending her a quick text, or like what I did last year (donate toys to Toys For Tots in her name) but I think I'll let it go. It's a shame, really. I Loved all the messages and good wishes sent to me on my day.

So instead, what I WILL do is bundle up all the good wishes, happy birthdays, happy thoughts, Love and affection, and set it adrift on the wind.

I hope they find their way to you.

Happy birthday.