Wednesday, May 09, 2007
the horse
Whenever I see Sarah Jessica Parker, I always find myself wondering the same thing: which one was the horse, her mother or her father?
a visit
Mr. Friendly Codes Inspector Man just paid me a visit. You many remember that my busted ass Buick Skylark earned us an orange sticker, that same orange sticker that we usually see on cars left by the side of the interstate for too long.
I'm sure a certain part of me understands that the city needs codes, needs to require a certain standard of its citizens. I wouldn't want to live next to some neighbors I've seen, porches overflowing with crap, grass allowed to grow wild, cars sitting for years on end rusting away to nothing. But such is not the case with me and my Buick POS.
The car is inoperable, and for anyone looking behind my house, it's probably something of an eyesore. But therein lies the clincher for me, that the car is in fact behind my house. It's not sitting on cement blocks in the front yard, though it is on jack stands. I'd love to be rid of it, but I'd also like to get something in return.
It bothers me that the city has the power to make blanket decisions about the property of its citizens. It makes me a little mad that they have the power to just take a car that they've decided to take. Momma and I paid real money for that car. Her grandparents helped us out some, finding the car and helping us make a down payment, so they too have some investment in it. Momma's grandfather has a fair amount of sweat and even blood donated to that car in terms of repairs and repair help. Anyone who's done auto repair work knows that the gods of auto repair often require some sacrifice of blood, though why it must always come from the knuckles is the greater mystery.
So what's to be done? I sent a message to the National Kidney Foundation's local office a week ago and have yet to hear from them. I was completely honest in my description of the car. The body is in great shape as is the interior. Most of the engine that we actually still have is in great shape as is the transmission, though neither of those parts are currently in the car. They are in the garage taking up space I'd love to use for other purposes.
But Mr. Codes Man was exceedingly friendly, even when he was reminding me that we'd discussed this problem a year ago. I was under the impression then that the car at issue was the Subaru DL that we did get rid of around that same time. It was in sad condition in terms of body and interior, but it could easily have been made to run and is now gone. That one was not behind the house and was imminently more viewable by random passersby. Apparently both cars were a problem.
So what's to be done? It's doubtful that anyone accepting cars for donation would want this heap. It would cost them more to tow it and its parts than would be worthwhile I'm afraid. It would cost a good deal to replace the broken and missing parts, probably again more than the car would then be worth. Who the hell wants a 1990 Buick Skylark?
I thought I had a lead in selling the car for parts. That lead has had to take some time to visit his ailing father in Chattanooga, and I'm not willing to bother him about this issue right now. So I have seven days to either part with the car for whatever money I can get, hopefully including the engine parts and transmission, or I can find myself, seven days from today, watching the city tow truck haul away part of my problems, leaving me with worthless auto parts, large, cumbersome and not easily removed auto parts. They would willingly take my car and leave me with a greater problem because at least the engine parts are not out in the driveway. Maybe I should just drag the transmission into the driveway next week and let the tow truck driver figure out how to get the car out around it.
I'm sure a certain part of me understands that the city needs codes, needs to require a certain standard of its citizens. I wouldn't want to live next to some neighbors I've seen, porches overflowing with crap, grass allowed to grow wild, cars sitting for years on end rusting away to nothing. But such is not the case with me and my Buick POS.
The car is inoperable, and for anyone looking behind my house, it's probably something of an eyesore. But therein lies the clincher for me, that the car is in fact behind my house. It's not sitting on cement blocks in the front yard, though it is on jack stands. I'd love to be rid of it, but I'd also like to get something in return.
It bothers me that the city has the power to make blanket decisions about the property of its citizens. It makes me a little mad that they have the power to just take a car that they've decided to take. Momma and I paid real money for that car. Her grandparents helped us out some, finding the car and helping us make a down payment, so they too have some investment in it. Momma's grandfather has a fair amount of sweat and even blood donated to that car in terms of repairs and repair help. Anyone who's done auto repair work knows that the gods of auto repair often require some sacrifice of blood, though why it must always come from the knuckles is the greater mystery.
So what's to be done? I sent a message to the National Kidney Foundation's local office a week ago and have yet to hear from them. I was completely honest in my description of the car. The body is in great shape as is the interior. Most of the engine that we actually still have is in great shape as is the transmission, though neither of those parts are currently in the car. They are in the garage taking up space I'd love to use for other purposes.
But Mr. Codes Man was exceedingly friendly, even when he was reminding me that we'd discussed this problem a year ago. I was under the impression then that the car at issue was the Subaru DL that we did get rid of around that same time. It was in sad condition in terms of body and interior, but it could easily have been made to run and is now gone. That one was not behind the house and was imminently more viewable by random passersby. Apparently both cars were a problem.
So what's to be done? It's doubtful that anyone accepting cars for donation would want this heap. It would cost them more to tow it and its parts than would be worthwhile I'm afraid. It would cost a good deal to replace the broken and missing parts, probably again more than the car would then be worth. Who the hell wants a 1990 Buick Skylark?
I thought I had a lead in selling the car for parts. That lead has had to take some time to visit his ailing father in Chattanooga, and I'm not willing to bother him about this issue right now. So I have seven days to either part with the car for whatever money I can get, hopefully including the engine parts and transmission, or I can find myself, seven days from today, watching the city tow truck haul away part of my problems, leaving me with worthless auto parts, large, cumbersome and not easily removed auto parts. They would willingly take my car and leave me with a greater problem because at least the engine parts are not out in the driveway. Maybe I should just drag the transmission into the driveway next week and let the tow truck driver figure out how to get the car out around it.
eight o'clock
No, it isn't eight o'clock right now. It's actually almost ten, in the AM, and I've been up for nearly an hour. That might sound crazy to you, and it sounds a little crazy to me. I try like hell never to be up this early.
Lately, I have been trying to wake earlier. I feel I mostly just need to get in the habit. I'm of two minds about this. If I sleep too much then I awake tired, groggy and often prone to bouts of depression. I'm not sure why that is, but I've learned over time that it's true. If I awake too early, I start the day angry, almost excited about the prospect of shouting at someone. It goes away fairly quickly if I'm left alone, but that's a bit much to ask, and it's more than a bit presumptuous to expect with the boys around.
Of course, my being a bitch if I don't get the proper amount of sleep is not the point of this post. I'm a bitch in more ways than one, regardless of time awake or amount of sleep had.
I've discussed in recent posts Momma and I driving recently to Indianapolis. The night before we left we celebrated our anniversary with a fairly high priced meal followed by some high priced drinks. We also paid a number of bills on top of the three tanks of gas we used in driving to and from and around Indianapolis as well as eating out there. That's left a huge gap in our budget for which we've paid the last couple of weeks.
Some of the budget issues involved buying lesser products, and most of these were ignorable. We've been drinking Miller High Life for most of two weeks rather than indulge our usual beer snobbery. We even bought the cheap eggs when we ran out of the good kind. But the lowest blow by far came only a couple of nights ago. We needed coffee, and while we could have spent only slightly more, Momma decided to go with the Eight O'Clock brand. I could almost make up a god and curse his name that such a travesty exists. It's soooo disgusting, even to look at, the beans a uniform poo brown and also uniformly stale. This coffee was likely roasted weeks before it was packaged and then sat for another week or so in a warehouse. It almost makes me want to cry. It even smells bad.
We usually have our pick of coffees. Our local food co-op, home to overpriced items of all sorts, has a delightful assortment of coffees. The beans are, for the most part, roasted locally and are also very fresh. They still retain a lovely luster and sheen regardless of the amount of roasting. We prefer a dark roast, and the sale coffee at the co-op lately has been a perfect example of a great coffee.
Momma gets paid Friday, and the first thing I plan to do is pack a bag full of Yirgacheffe, fly home as fast as the ol' Honda will take me, throw straight to hell whatever unfortunate beans remain from the Eight O'Clock, and grind myself a good cup. Until then I will damn the crap coffee and lament our misfortune that overspending has heaped on our heads.
Lately, I have been trying to wake earlier. I feel I mostly just need to get in the habit. I'm of two minds about this. If I sleep too much then I awake tired, groggy and often prone to bouts of depression. I'm not sure why that is, but I've learned over time that it's true. If I awake too early, I start the day angry, almost excited about the prospect of shouting at someone. It goes away fairly quickly if I'm left alone, but that's a bit much to ask, and it's more than a bit presumptuous to expect with the boys around.
Of course, my being a bitch if I don't get the proper amount of sleep is not the point of this post. I'm a bitch in more ways than one, regardless of time awake or amount of sleep had.
I've discussed in recent posts Momma and I driving recently to Indianapolis. The night before we left we celebrated our anniversary with a fairly high priced meal followed by some high priced drinks. We also paid a number of bills on top of the three tanks of gas we used in driving to and from and around Indianapolis as well as eating out there. That's left a huge gap in our budget for which we've paid the last couple of weeks.
Some of the budget issues involved buying lesser products, and most of these were ignorable. We've been drinking Miller High Life for most of two weeks rather than indulge our usual beer snobbery. We even bought the cheap eggs when we ran out of the good kind. But the lowest blow by far came only a couple of nights ago. We needed coffee, and while we could have spent only slightly more, Momma decided to go with the Eight O'Clock brand. I could almost make up a god and curse his name that such a travesty exists. It's soooo disgusting, even to look at, the beans a uniform poo brown and also uniformly stale. This coffee was likely roasted weeks before it was packaged and then sat for another week or so in a warehouse. It almost makes me want to cry. It even smells bad.
We usually have our pick of coffees. Our local food co-op, home to overpriced items of all sorts, has a delightful assortment of coffees. The beans are, for the most part, roasted locally and are also very fresh. They still retain a lovely luster and sheen regardless of the amount of roasting. We prefer a dark roast, and the sale coffee at the co-op lately has been a perfect example of a great coffee.
Momma gets paid Friday, and the first thing I plan to do is pack a bag full of Yirgacheffe, fly home as fast as the ol' Honda will take me, throw straight to hell whatever unfortunate beans remain from the Eight O'Clock, and grind myself a good cup. Until then I will damn the crap coffee and lament our misfortune that overspending has heaped on our heads.
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