Hazards of Driving

Well, it was that time of year again...or time of my life, rather.

I packed myself up, threw it all into the Monstrosity and headed back down the Alaskan Highway-- only I changed it up and instead of spending weeks on end (or so it seemed) mucking through Canada, I didn't bother trekking across the country and instead took a sharp dive southward and kept going till I hit...Texas.

I hate Texas. And not just because I spent a year living in a dirt hole. No, I just...dislike it strongly.

I'm currently suffering from culture shock. Not all that surprising considering where I came from. I always seem to suffer from culture shock, or rather reverse culture shock. Going back to where I came always throws me for a loop. When I get somewhere odd, the culture shock never really gets me. When I went to Scotland, I adjusted easily. It was when I came back that was hard. It took months for me to feel at ease again and not constantly thinking, "That's wrong..."

When I left the Dirt Hole all those moons ago and went back to Chicagoland, it was the same thing. I was overwhelmed by the cars, people, stop signs, speed limits and where I was. I grew up in the area. It's seared into my mind's eye to the point it's easy for me to call up areas and write stories about them without needing Google Maps. And yet, I drove around with my Texas plated car and got passed on suburban streets for going too slow (also known as the speed limit) and beeped at when I actually used stop signs.

You see, I forgot how the people of Chicagoland drove. While I loved them for their predictability  I'd forgotten their lack of use of speed limits and stop signs. After living in the dirt hole where it was cause for celebration when someone went the speed limite and you got a ticket when you failed to come to a stop for three seconds, it was jarring to realize I'd get run over if I ventured out onto the interstates of Illinois.

So, I didn't. I kept to the mean suburban streets and thanked God I had Texas plates.

When I arrived in Alaska, I don't remember finding things jarring. They were strange, but in a similar way Scotland was strange once I got over the jet lag. They drove fast during bad weather and slow during good weather. Generally speaking, Anchorage drivers were predictable and I never honestly feared for my life when I drove around the city. I drove around with ease and never one felt road rage or had the urge to announce I was a FIB, don't mess with me. (This happened often in the Dirt Hole...)

I honestly can't say that during the times we visited the Chicago area during our three years in Anchorage, I feared for my life whilst in the car. I even drove a few times...I never wanted to scream, never wanted to hide or close my eyes and pray.

San Antonio....oh, how I hate you and your love affair with highways/interstates/access roads.

One thing I learned during my few visits to SA during my tenure in the Dirt Hole was this: SA drivers are not predictable.

Honestly. You never have any idea what the hell they might do at any given point. They go slow for no reason, change lanes without warning, fail to look when they merge and kind of just...scare the living crap out of me. The lanes are also extremely...narrow. And while they know how to paint lines (something no one in Anchorage has gotten the hang of for unknown reasons), sometimes they just don't paint lines and the road is SUPER WIDE and you've got no idea how many lanes a road has.

And I have only drive through SA once in my life. In a small s40. And I only drove on the interstate and never had to get off.

You can't get anywhere without using the interstates and loops and access roads here. It is confusing, annoying and frankly frightening because you never know what someone is going to do. And most people have HUGE trucks.

Granted, I've got a huge truck like vehicle, but still.

I refuse to drive. Pilot Boy keeps mocking me, as I love civilization and hate being in the middle of nowhere, and yet I'm a hermit.

A well dressed hermit who loves hangers, but still a hermit. Even more so now that we've only got one car and I refuse to drive it.

Anywhere.

I'll drive when I get to where I'm actually going, which is in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma. Till then, I'll sit around a pine for Anchorage and the mean suburban streets of Chicagoland (which are way less scary than the road system of SA).

Skating to the Dentist

I spent some three hours on Sunday on the phone with my dad. Some of it was about why he had called, some of it was about how to restyle all my shop photos and how to make them more attractive to buyers. By the end of this conversation, I decided I needed a tri-pod. Target FAILED ME, so I was like, "I'll got to REI. I know what I want is there."

So, Monday morning, I hopped in the Monstority, started him up, and backed out of the driveway. However, as I skatted on the ice, I realized there was a light still on in the dash. It looked roughly like this: (!) with a little swiggle line under it. I was like, "Huh?"

I drove around the block and pulled back into the driveway. I pulled out the manual and looked it up. I mistook it for something wrong with the breaks, as it looked a lot like the ((!)) which means breaks. There are three different symbols for the breaks. Since Pilot Boy told me to get the oil changed, I was like, "FINE! We'll go see the dealer!"

I called, made an appointment for the next day.

After I did this, I remembered I had to go pick up more plastic trays at the dentist. Now, since I still thought my breaks were shot, I decided to walk the few blocks to the dentist. I always feel like a slouth driving there, but half the time its 1) a hazard to my health to walk due to the conditions of our subdivion in the winter or 2) raining or 3) I have other errands to run after I go to the dentist. (I got to the dentist a lot here...it's like the eye doctor in the Dirt Hole, only I kinda like going to the dentist. THEY KNOW ME! The Eye Doctor in the Dirt Hole never seemed to remember me till he looked at my chart.)

So, I put on my fancy The North Face boots with little "ice picks" and took a very deep breath. I exited the house and stared at the ice rink that is my street.

It has been brilliantly sunny for weeks upon weeks and the sun here is intense. It might claim to be 20 out, but in the sun it'll be 40. So things MELT like WHOA. Kind of. A few weeks back, they "plowed" the street down to the layer of ice that fell during the ice storm that hit in....November? But, yeah, so they took away all trackton on the street and turned the street into an ice rink. One must be very talented to walk on the street. I could have used ice skates to travel from my house to the main road.

I stupidly thought once I skatted through the subdivison I'd be good to go on some cement or something, but NO. I guess when they "plow" the sidewalks along the main road, they just make more ice rinks, as the sidewalks were worst than my street. I carefully walked along, praying I would not fall down and break something.

I passed a guy RUNNING on the ice sidewalk. I was like, "HUH?"

He said good morning, so I said it as well, as I was simply impressed he was RUNNING on the ICE in TENNIS SHOES.

Later I told the lady who gave me my new plastic trays and she rolled her eyes and said, "Yeah, there are some really crazy people here. My friend goes running every morning. Outside. On snow and ice."

I walked home and passed no more runners. And I managed not to fall.

Later, I took the Monstoirty to the Dealer.

There was a huge ass carpentry nail in the tire. It was HUGE. Almost as big as the screw I ran over in the Kar.

Also, the nice guy who took care of me at the dealer actually told me I DID NOT NEED MY OIL CHANGED. I was like WTF? WHO ARE YOU AND WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN MY WHOLE LIFE?

Oil changes and I do not get along, as every time I go, no matter where I am, the guys who take care of me try to rip me off. Because I'm a girl they think I'm a moron. With the Kar, they used to tell me my oil was dirty. The first time it worked, because I honestly did not know. The second time, I knew better and they were seriously pissed off at me and would not leave me alone about my "dirty" oil. After that, when I had to get the oil changed, I made Pilot Boy drive the car in and act like it was his car. They never told him he had "dirty oil." I hated them, so I refused to get the oil changed. With my Poor Volvo, we only changed the oil twice. And the second time, it was changed when I took the car in because the TAKE CAR FOR SERVICE message had come on and it was annoying the shit out of me.

Granted, the time I took the Monstoriy in, they did not try to sell me anything extra, but this time the guy looked at me like I was insane when I told me about getting an oil change.

"YOu've got snyntheic oil right?
"Yes."
"You've only got 11,002 on this," he said.
"I know."
"Why do you want the oil changed?"
"My husband seemed to think we needed it. Its past it's three month mark."
"You've got syntheic oil. You won't get your moneys worth out of it if you change it now. You've got...at least 4,000 more miles to go."
"I figured," I replied.
"Tell your husband," he said.
I rolled my eyes. "He knows. I don't know why he wanted it changed."

I am serious. I know how the fake oil works. Pilot Boy has told me. Multiple times. He's also told me how traditional oil works, especially after they place ripped me off with the whole "dirty" oil thing the first time I took it to get changed.

Oil is always dirty, people. If its not brown, it's not doing its job.

Things that made for an interesting weekend...

1. After two days of wearing the same sweater, I discovered it was an x-small size. I stared at it for a long time when I made this discovery, as I haven't worn a x-small since I was in high school, and the sweater was not left over from high school. It made me feel skinny, so I decided it was new favorite sweater.
2. Bark. Bark. Bark. My name is Basil Bea Dog and you will listen to me endlessly bark at nothing.
3. I wore four inch heels to take the trash out. I had forgotten I had put them on when I realized it was five pm and I needed to get the trash out before I forgot. I got to the end of the driveway and though, "Oops. I should have changed my shoes." I almost twisted my knee trying to make my way through two inches of snow on the driveway.
4. It snowed quite a bit this weekend and I don't remember really seeing it snow.
5. I made apple crumble. I then ate it all the next day. I am out of raisins.
6. Suzi's had another recall. Fuel pump and cold temps make for an unhappy Suzi. I am terrified of taking Suzi to the dealer, due from her last encounter with the dealer. But at the same time, I do not want to blow up. Or have Pilot Boy blow up. That'd be bad.
7. I spent over an hour looking for a movie to stream on Netflix. I ended up going to bed because I never found one.
8. I spent all night Friday singing. Kinda like I did a lot of weekend nights my senior year of college. By myself. In my room. Only this time I had Basil Bea staring at me thinking, "God, what is wrong with you? Just go to bed all ready."
9. This weekend I ate an entire bag of Smart Popcorn. If it had been a normal sized bag, this would not be a big deal. It was a family sized bag.
10. I read three books this weekend too. One was so bad, I gave up reading it and just read the end. The other two I read all the way through. Only after I was done with them did I decide I did not like spy novels.