The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘car’

Not Really a Car Guy

I am taking my car in to be looked at soon and as someone who knows little to nothing about cars I have a feeling I will look like an idiot. (In the words of Mitch Hedburg: “I know a lot about cars. I can can look at a car’s headlights and tell you exactly which way it’s coming.”)

Here are a few possible conversational snippits:

Mechanic: And when’s the last time you got your tires rotated?
Me: Well … On the drive in here? I mean, every time I drive they get rotated, right?

 

Me: I am not sure why I’m here really … I mean, my car is an automatic, shouldn’t it be taking care of all this stuff by itself?

 

Mechanic: We’ve got a number of things we’d like to do: first we’re going to –
Me: Let me guess, give my car some pasta?
Mechanic: …What?
Me: I mean, why else would it need a carb-orator unless it eats a lot of carbs?! Huh? Amiright?
Mechanic: …
Me: Because it’s like a refrigerator but just for carbs.
Mechanic: Yeah …
Me: So … that’s funny …
Mechanic: … Right. We’ve got a number of things we’d like to do: first we’re going (etc, etc, stuff I don’t understand)

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Du Jour of the Week

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Wal-Mart, and My Love Life

I have a few things about me that I think are good qualities when it comes to finding/having a girlfriend. I don’t know if girls actually appreciate these things at all, but I’d like to think they do.

One of these STELLAR attributes is my window washing ability at a gas station. I’ll explain that further since you may not get that at first.

When you go to a gas station, often they’ll have those little window washers and the dirty water bucket that they sit in. Because I never wash my car, I always pick one of those little devils up to clean my front and back windows. Sure it’s a little streaky because it’s dirty water, but it’s better than it was.

Here’s what makes this special for me. I’m about six foot, three inches tall and what this means is I can reach ALL THE WAY across the windshield in one swoop. That makes the shiny, clean new windshield slightly less streaky at the end.

What girl can resist that?

Me: “Hey I’ll wash your windshield for you.”
Girl 1: “I think he likes you.”
Girl 2: “Yeah … I think so too …”
Girl 1: “Oh, you don’t like him?”
Girl 2: “Eh.”
Girl 1: “Yeah I know what you mean. He ‘jokingly’ says for his jokes it’s quantity, not quality. But the thing is, that’s not a joke. It really is quantity. He’s like a bad 80’s movie. Joke after joke. And usually very little transition.”
Girl 2: “I know! Did you hear when he said he wished he owned a pan that was in the shape of a panda? So that when someone says, ‘what’s that?’ he could say, ‘it’s a pan…duh!'”
Girl 1: “Ugh. Classic him.”
Girl 2: “Wait … did he just … did he just clean my windshield in only 5 swipes? It takes me TWICE as many!”
Girl 1: “Oh wow! He can reach all the way across! Your windshield will be sort of way cleaner!”
Girl 2: “You know … I think I do kinda like him…”

This conversation could very well happen – EXCEPT … well, two reasons.

One, I haven’t made that panda-pan joke out loud yet. I thought of it while writing this. And two, Wal-Mart!

They now have those windshield cleaners with an extra long handle! How dare they! If this catches on one of my go-to romantic charms will be lost, and that is very upsetting. Please, if you’re reading this Wal-Mart executives, consider this, and stop producing those.

Or I may have to become genuinely charming – and that sounds like a lot of work.

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Weekly Wacko

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Weekly Wacko (60)

Talk to Myself, Sing to Myself, Go Crazy All By Myself

I wrote before about my brilliant camping strategy – who needs a tent when you have a mini-van and a short body?

One morning, I’m not sure if my sister had also slept in the mini-van or not, but we were both in there. I took the middle section (fit for two people sitting – prior to the popularity of the ‘quad bucket seats’), and she took the far back (fit for three people sitting).

We woke up and saw that our dad was the only tent-sleeping person awake. He was getting the camping stove ready for a breakfast.

Since my dad was in the Army, M.R.E.’s were a staple food on our camping trips. An MRE is a “Military Readiness Meal” and it is a powerful punch of calories. High on calories, low on satisfied customers. Though I’m pretty sure I thought they were awesome (I even got some one time, thinking my then-girlfriend and I would have a picnic lunch of MRE’s … What can I say, I’m a romantic). For breakfast that day he was fixing up something different. It was a special day not for that reason though.

E$, my sister, and I noticed – who’s dad talking to? He’s definitely talking. Oh yeah, his mouth is moving and he’s jabbering like crazy.

But no one was there.

My dad, if the wheels are really turning, can’t help but mouth the words. He doesn’t say them out loud (not yet?, eh Mom?), but you can tell when he’s really thinking. I’m allowed to make fun of him for many reasons – but one of them is that I’m already starting to do this.

E$ and I had a blast sitting in the car, watching our dad talk his head off. To himself.

A special day, for a special man. ZING!

(Again, it’s only a matter of time before this is me.)

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Weekly Wacko

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