Brakes and drama
Nov. 16th, 2006 09:50 amGlory effing hallelujah, I have brakes that work again.
opaljax came over with tools, and we did stand out in the bitter cold for far longer than one would think, and now I have nice new ceramic pads, and
opaljax has a nice bottle of polish vodka, and all is right with the world.
There's behind-the-scenes drama, though, there always is. Mom called yesterday while I was on the way to the auto parts store, and I foolishly divulged that the car was in need of repair, and that I and a friend were going to do said repairs. Mom was wary of this, but willing to allow it to pass. However, Grandma was not. Some time while Jax and I were actually working on the problem last night, Grandma called and left a plaintive message expressing that she would send me money to get my brakes fixed, and that under no circumstances should I, or any other person with a vagina, ever work on a car.
I didn't get the voicemail until this morning, so, dutifully, and also stupidly, I called her to say that the job was already done and she didn't need to worry about it. She informed me that even though it might seem like a simple job, there was no way that it actually could be simple, that I probably only thought it was simple because I couldn't understand it, and in any case I would ruin my health doing these things. She then launched into a twenty minute exhortation to the Lord God of the Israelites to make it so I would have to move back to the Family Homestead where I could be properly taken care of. Creeped me right out.
And she'll probably send me the money anyway. I have made a habit of sending donations in the amount of her gifts to organizations like Planned Parenthood, or HRC, or PFLAG, and that sort of thing. That's probably a violation of some sort of hospitality rule, but it makes me feel a lot better.
There's behind-the-scenes drama, though, there always is. Mom called yesterday while I was on the way to the auto parts store, and I foolishly divulged that the car was in need of repair, and that I and a friend were going to do said repairs. Mom was wary of this, but willing to allow it to pass. However, Grandma was not. Some time while Jax and I were actually working on the problem last night, Grandma called and left a plaintive message expressing that she would send me money to get my brakes fixed, and that under no circumstances should I, or any other person with a vagina, ever work on a car.
I didn't get the voicemail until this morning, so, dutifully, and also stupidly, I called her to say that the job was already done and she didn't need to worry about it. She informed me that even though it might seem like a simple job, there was no way that it actually could be simple, that I probably only thought it was simple because I couldn't understand it, and in any case I would ruin my health doing these things. She then launched into a twenty minute exhortation to the Lord God of the Israelites to make it so I would have to move back to the Family Homestead where I could be properly taken care of. Creeped me right out.
And she'll probably send me the money anyway. I have made a habit of sending donations in the amount of her gifts to organizations like Planned Parenthood, or HRC, or PFLAG, and that sort of thing. That's probably a violation of some sort of hospitality rule, but it makes me feel a lot better.
Re: Repeat after me...
Date: 2006-11-16 08:11 pm (UTC)Here's another thing - we always had a hard time getting fixed in KC (where local law protects "the people" from our own stupidity that we might later reget). But in Colorado, if you wanted to get tubes tied, gender changed, or just boobs to go along with your man meat for recreational purposes, there was little interference.
Re: Repeat after me...
Date: 2006-11-16 08:22 pm (UTC)