It Starts... Again.

i thought i'd get through at least one day of work without having stories to tell... then i walked back in that building.

if you've been enjoying my ramblings about summer vacation, then i must apologize. this is the last week of august and it's time for me to get back to the dry-erase board. i don't have any kids yet (which is why i thought i wouldn't have any stories) but i did get to spend a marvelous day in pd *translation: professional development, ie "six hour of my life i'm never getting back"* with all the teachers in the whole district.

just to give you a little background: teachers hate pd. especially the week before school. we all sit there thinking of all the billions of things we need to get done while whatever presenter drones on and on about things we already know. thankfully, as is always the case when you shut hundreds of human beings in a room and leave them there all day, a source of entertainment presented itself before long.

on monday, entertainment presented itself in the form of one of the middle school teachers. it's not unusual for teachers to bring a little something to help them get through the day -- a book, a notepad to doodle on, some knitting. (i didn't make up the knitting part. i told my colleague aaron that i aspire to live long enough that someday i'll be so old i can bring knitting with me when i go to meetings. i just said that to make him laugh -- i'd much rather die than knit in public.) well, this middle school guy took it to the next level.

did i mention that we all hate these meetings? we do. but this guy swaggered in (late), took an aisle seat alone about five rows in front of aaron and me, and proceded to put on quite a show. first, he took his sandals off. then he slouched down in his seat and propped his bare feet up on the arm of the chair in front of him so they hung out into the aisle. next he pulled out a book -- "a salty piece of land" by intellectual giant jimmy buffet. then he popped in his ear buds and flipped on his ipod. then, oblivious to all the disapproving glares, he pulled out his cell phone and started a text message conversation with some friend of his, apparently another diligent member of the workforce.

we've just had three months of paid vacation. we get two weeks for the winter holidays and at least one day off every month. so... i think this guy's a jackass and if i was his boss i'd tan his arrogant hide. but i'm not his boss, so i don't care.

however, the two crabby old ladies behind me cared. they cared a lot and erupted into shocked and indignent whispers.

"oh, sue! look at the guy! he's got his stinky bare feet all over that chair. who IS that? do you know who that is?!"

"no, i don't. i've never seen him before. is he a TEACHER?!"

"i don't know. who IS that?!?"

"look! he's got his cell phone out too! why i never!!"

"who IS that? ask jim if he knows who that is."

"jim doesn't know either. he must be from the middle school."

"well, honestly. look at his feet all over that chair! tell jim to go talk to him! that's disgusting."

"jim! tell him he has to clean his sweaty bare feet off that chair with a moist toilette or something." (i'm not making this up! she really said "moist toilette".)

at this point, jim, who is one of the high school administrators, walks down the aisle and stands about four steps behind the guy. then he turns around and comes back with a shrug.

jim: "i don't even KNOW that guy!"

"o honestly, if that was one of the kids, you'd read him the riot act."

now another lady who's a big gun at the high school goes down the aisle and actually does whisper something inaudible to the exemplar of professional decorum. he grunts at her and puts the cell phone back in his bag.

"well, didn't she tell him to sit up!! geez, he's still laying there like he's at the beach!"

"can you believe the gall?! who IS that?!"

"he must be new."

"doesn't anybody know who that is?!"

aaron turns around and interjects that the guy is listening to an ipod too. this news is met with gasps of horror and more whispers, as they didn't notice the ipod before. we determined that old people can't actually see ipods; such gadgets are outside of their realm of reality.

eventually, the middle school administrator comes down the aisle, apparently sent from the opposite side of the auditorium. he too leans down and interrupts margaritaville with a mumbled reprimand. another grunt, but this time the fellow actually does sit up and put his shoes on... a few minutes later he walks out of the room altogether.

all this transpired over the course of about an hour, during which the two old hens behind us never stopped talking about how offended they were that this young man was being so disrespectful to the presenter. incidently, they were talking so loudly and with so much prudish passion that aaron and i couldn't hear a damn thing the presenter was saying. hmm... irony makes my toes tingle with delight.

in all fairness, i wish i was still on the beach too.

The PCH, Loads of Adventure, and Overdraft Fees

it's all sandra's fault, really.

well... some of it is k.c.'s fault.

it occurred to me months ago that i needed to go to california and run around with sandra. she was by far my best girl bud in japan, and i'd been missing her and her shenanigans like crazy. all school year, i'd been promising myself that i would make good use of my summer holiday, and a trip to california sounded like the perfect way.

enter k.c. we met several months ago and have been getting on wonderfully ever since. when i started making noises about going out west, he started waxing nostalgic about the two years he'd spent living in san diego. the weather is so perfect, the people are so great, there's so much to do, etc. he would just really love to show me around san diego.

the only little problem is that san diego is a mere ten hour drive from where i was planning to go in california.

after a great deal of discussing, debating, and counting the pennies in our piggy-banks, we decided we would indeed fly to sandra's... then make an epic journey down the pacific coast. and that is what we did. we saw everything from tahoe to the governator to pandas at the zoo, not to mention the drive down the pch (pacific coast highway) -- the most glorious ten hours i've ever spent in a car. courtesy of a good contact, we even spent a night at bacara, which was clearly way out of our income bracket.

here are some photos to make you jealous...

sandra and k.c. hiking at lake tahoe. tahoe was absolutely gorgeous -- bright blue and clean, tucked way up in the mountains -- and freezing cold. we had a blast hiking around emerald bay and climbing all over rocks like these.

we stayed at sandra's for three days of eating japanese food, randomly bursting into song, and hearing sandra's childhood tales of jew camp. then we took off at four o'clock in the morning to beat the rush hour chaos between sac and s.f. it's a good thing k.c. is a morning person because i'm really not fit to drive until at least nine.

random stop along the pch -- driving down highway 1 (also known as the pacific coast highway) redefined the term "scenic drive" for me. the only thing we had determined when we left home was when we would fly back. this left everything in between a blissful blur of spontaneity, which we took full advantage of, particularly during this drive. we stopped often and very randomly whenever the notion struck us.

getting our toes wet at carmel -- we stopped at carmel because we saw a sign on the highway for the "historic mission" and thought it might yield some good photos. we never found the mission, but we did find a beach and decided that was good enough. this is the first picture of me in the pacific ocean. (my toes are the pretty ones; k.c.'s are the big man toes.)

rose gardens at hearst castle, san simeon... thank you, i thought it was a great shot too.

funny story about hearst castle: the castle's on the side of a mountain in the middle of a huge piece of land that used to be the hearst ranch. when you get to the visitors' center, they put you on a bus to ride up the mountain and on the way, you listen to a recording about the history of the place. part of this is a little blurb about hearst's menagerie, which included thirty types of exotic grazing animals that roamed free on the ranch. a few ancestors of these animals are still living wild on the property around the castle. (this is the part where i got excited.) some of them are zebras. can you imagine how frickin' cool it would be to see a zebra just hanging out in california? so i decided to spend the rest of the day keeping an eye out for the zebras...

well, if you've followed my adventures in the past, you'll know that i'm not very lucky with spotting creatures of the woodland realm. in a scenerio sadly reminiscent of my moose-tracking expedition in the adirondacks, i didn't see any zebras.

but i could feel their presence.

admiring the ocean view at bacara -- as mentioned earlier, we went to the fabulous bacara resort & spa near goletta, ca. the resort was everything they promised and so much more. the room was wonderfully luxurious, the views were breath-taking, and the staff were downright cool. the food, though shockingly over-priced, was pretty scrumptious. the spa itself, however, was a bit of a let down. not to sound like a spa slut, but i've had better.

the national cemetery at point loma -- when we arrived in san diego, k.c. was thrilled to be back on his home turf and our entire stay was high-lighted by his always comical and unpredictable "this one time..." stories. as we drove up to point loma, he told the story of the one time that he took his scooter up the same very long and steep hill at about five o'clock in the morning. the story mostly went "so i was pushing and pushing" on the uphill parts and "here i was coasting" on the downhill parts with a few interjections of things like "here's where the navy guys passed me in their jeep and told me to go home..."

we also went to the san diego zoo, which was very cool. and here i did see zebras, but it wasn't the same.

and my very own photograph of one of the most photographed spots in america. i don't really like l.a., but we stayed here in hollywood for several days and had a pretty good time, in spite of the pollution, the traffic, and the general over-population.

so now i'm home. i have no money and some overdraft fees to pay, so it's a good thing that school starts up again next week.

until next time...

- g

Shifting, Still

So MJ moved to LA.

I knew this was going to happen eventually. He hates *small town*... Actually, to be fair, I'm sure he hates all small towns. There just isn't enough action here. But he told me like it was supposed to be a surprise, like he was dropping a real bomb. I think he even started with your classic "We have to talk" or "I have to tell you something" or some other line like that.

"I'm moving to LA."

"O yeah? When?"

"In two weeks."

"That'll be awesome. Good change for you. Cool."

I think I hurt his feelings. He said something about how all his "other girlfriends" were mad at him because he was leaving them behind.

I'm sorry, MJ -- I didn't mean that I wouldn't miss you. I certainly prefer you to any other guy I've dated, and in this tiny town where good friends are few and far between, you are one of my absolute favorites. But you are truly miserable here. You need to go somewhere more exciting. Half of our friendship is spent on the telephone anyway, and you can still call me for free, so no worries.

Mazda Concept at the 2007 NAIAS, where MJ taught me everything I know about cars (still next to nothing, but it was a valiant effort).

In other news, Bizarro is moving to Iowa. This is a blow. A deep one. And I did tell her not to go because I would miss her too much. There were tears. This may mean I am a better girlfriend to Bizarro than I was to MJ. Oops. :(

Anyway, for our last big blow-out weekend, Bizarro and I went to my alma mater and saw a play starring my former biology lab partner, who remains the only musical theater major I've ever known who has actually been acting consistently in the four years since graduation. Of course, the best part of the evening for me was regaling our whole party over dinner with tales of our scientific endeavors, especially the time that we went on opposite diets -- me, vegetarian; him, all meat -- then came to the lab after two weeks and compared our piss. I won't bore you with the details, but inquiring minds can email me if you really want to know.

I cross-bred fruit flies with this guy and now he's soakin' up the limelight. I'm so proud.

But Bizarro is leaving Sunday and I'm kind of glad that I'll already be gone on vacation and won't be here for a big dramatic good-bye. I'll be in Sacramento at S's, thinking happy thoughts about reunion and not about more transience, more uncertainty, more people shifting in and out of my kaleidoscope life.

And I'll be there with KC, the Batmanesque hero who rescued me when I was stranded at Bill's auto shop. So that can't be all bad.

The Uterus Tax, ps

remember how bill had initially told me that all four o2 sensors on my engine needed to be repaired at $130 each? then when i was pissed off, he changed his story and said only two were bad?

well, out of curiosity, i gave paul a call today and just innocently inquired how many o2 sensors there were in a 1995 v6 mystique.

funny -- there are only two.

go to hell, bill.

The Uterus Tax

one of the things i miss most about japan is the trains. you just can't beat
the ease and reliability of japanese public transport. and honestly, who doesn't want a commute to work that involves zoning out with your ipod, texting novellas to your friends, putting on your make-up, and drinking your coffee or beer (coffee on the way in; beer on the way out) in total safety and serenity. it's an extra twenty minutes of responsibility-free lounging before you arrive at the office and hop back on the hamster wheel. not to mention the infinite joys of train games such as train surfing, shown here. incidently, this is the same day that marley, the indian/trinidadian/canadian wonder on the right, got shoved off the train. poor marley.

(see the addendum to The Anti-Climax for an explanation of why american trains don't cut the mustard.)

well, dorothy, we're not in japan anymore. here in the u.s. of a, if you have places to go, you need a car to get there. americans love cars. almost as much as we love guns. nothing gets us off more than having a gun in the back seat of our car. it's the american way.

enter my car. she's a mercury mystique -- notice how we love cars so much, they get to be called "she" instead of "it" -- a 1995, which is far from new, but her only previous owner was a little old lady who drove her to the grocery store and to church and nowhere else. when i got her, she had a staggering 30,000 miles on her. unbelievable. and o so beautiful. an added bonus: mystiques normally come with a little four-banger engine, but mine has a v6. this means that i will kick your ass in a drag race any day of the week. try me.

however, at the end of the day, a twelve year-old car is still a twelve year-old car, so we obviously have a few maintenance issues. right before i left for new york (literally the day before), one of these issues chose to rear its ugly head. it happened like this...

because i'm a delinquent cat parent, i often drop him off at my mother's when i decide to skip town in search of adventure or when i'm running from my creditors and crack dealers. on this particular occasion, i just get him settled in for another stay at "grandma's" and am about to pull out when the coolant light on the dash comes on. ok, no biggie. i stop the car, pop the hood, and sure enough, my coolant's a little low. i bee-bop into the garage and grab a bottle, top it off, and think i'm set to go. o no, no, no. as i start her back up, my mother comes running down the driveway after me.

"wait! i know why your coolant was low!"

"other than because there wasn't enough coolant in the tank?"

"don't get smart with me. it's leaking. it's dripping all over the driveway."

"well, i'm supposed to be in *insert name of other, slightly cooler town* in half an hour for dinner with *insert name of hot guy*, so... i don't care."

"well... you could take some coolant with you and top it off again later, but if the hose goes... especially since you're driving all the way to *other town*... you should really have somebody look at it before you take it on the highway, honey."

somehow by adding "honey" to the end of things, she always sounds so reasonable. so since she's my mom, i do what she says and i head over to an auto shop. the two auto shops we use are actually kitty-corner from each other on the same intersection. i randomly chose one. for our purposes, we shall call it "bill's".

bill checks out the car while i wait. a good twenty minutes later, he returns with bad news -- it's not a leaky hose; it's the water pump, which circulates the coolant through the engine. this is a biggie. if i had gotten on the highway, i would have basically toasted my engine and had to thumb my way home. thanks, mom.

but the news gets worse. a mystique is a smallish car and it turns out that the location of the water pump is somewhat problematic. bill tells me they'll actually have to take the engine out of the car in order to reach the pump, a job which will take four to five hours. i'm already late for dinner. did i mention it was dinner with a guy? and that he's hot?

bill insists that the car's in really bad shape and i shouldn't even drive it home. well, so much for dinner. i call my mom to get a ride home. one ringie dingie... two ringie dingies... no answer. hmm, i muse... how curious. i try her cell. same story. then i remember she had said something about mowing the lawn... dammit! it'll be at least an hour before she gets a message. so i'm going to be at bill's reading last january's "better homes and gardens" for a while. i call my dinner date to cancel and explain the situation, hoping he believes me and doesn't think i just bailed.

"*long explanation of my current conundrum*... so i guess i'm not going to make it up for dinner. i'm really sorry."

"where are you now?"

"at the auto shop."

"is someone coming to get you."

"no, not yet. i left a message for my mom, but i think she's mowing the lawn."

"what's she doing mowing the lawn? that's a man's job!"

"*laughter* i know! tell that to my dad!"

"well, stay put. i'm on my way."

the tone with which he says this conjures vague childhood memories of batman on the red phone with the commissioner and inside i swoon a little bit. on the outside, i protest -- it's too far and he really shouldn't go to all the trouble... but he's already walking out the door and before he hangs up i can hear his car starting.

so dinner was saved, but i had to abandon my car at bill's while i was in the adirondacks. when i picked it up a week and a half later, his $500 estimate had lept to $650. yikes methinks as i write a check. that's gonna leave a mark. just to make my day a little better, he stops me on my way out and explains that they also found a problem with the o2 sensors. (o2 means oxygen, he explains, as if i didn't pass fifth grade science.) there are four of them -- three are completely shot and the fourth is going, so they all need to be replaced. he estimates $90 per part and $120 in labour, which will be another $500 by the time you add tax and such. brilliant. i sigh and set up an appointment to bring it back in.

i take the receipt home to file it with other work we've had done on the car and i am astounded to find another receipt from the auto shop across the street -- paul's -- for the exact same job early last fall. my parents have had this car for a while now, and less than a year ago, they replaced that same water pump. this raises a wide variety of disturbing epiphanies. first and foremost, the water pump paul installed was under warranty, and thus if i had taken it back to him, he would have replaced it for free. $650 thrown to the wind. but it gets better.

the overall job at paul's cost only $400, a whopping 40% less than bill's version of the same repair. confuseb and a bit irritated, i start looking at the fine print. $110 for paul's water pump; $160 for bill's. $15 for a belt at paul's; $30 at bill's. $15 for fresh coolant at paul's; $25 at bill's. 2.8 hours of labour at paul's vs 4.5 at bill's. for the same bloody job! that's $180 for paul's labour and $280 for bill's. then my favourite -- as i'm looking at the charges on bill's bill, i notice something kind of funny: less than $250 in parts plus less than $300 in labour plus $15 in taxes magically equals more than $650 total. you don't have to take non-euclidian geometries to figure out that that's bullshit, and i f*cking aced non-euclidian geometries.

i'm flying into an apoplectic rage about now. i leap back into my g-mobile and all six cylinders buzz me over to bill's to read him the riot act. i try to be polite to the receptionist 'cuz none of this is her fault, but she can probably see the plumes of donald duckesque red smoke billowing from my ears.

bill is, of course, shocked and appalled at the mathematical "error" and slyly attempts to blame it on the receptionist who has conveniently left the room. almost instantly, he pulls the difference of $100 out of his wallet in cold, hard cash and thrusts it at me, all the while blubbering about how his accountant would have caught that mistake. she surely would have called me in a day or two.

then let me ask you this, bill: shouldn't you give me my refund in the form of a check so that you have some written record to show your accountant when she comes asking?

"o no," he's floundering big time now, "not necessary. i just prefer cash 'cuz it's faster."

yeah, that's the same thing my crack dealer says.

next i set my two receipts on the counter side-by-side and demand an explanation of the pricing difference. why is your water pump worth $160 when paul charged me $110 for the same part? and the belt? the coolant? the labour??

blah blah blah, bill tries valiantly to explain something about the quality of the parts and warranties and such.

this is hard to swallow since i was just on the phone with paul who assured me the pump and belt both have lifetime warranties. the pump, in fact, is the newest model they can get their hands on, absolutely 100% satisfaction guarenteed. through the whole ordeal, paul's a total star and even though i took my problem to the guy across the street, he's willing to refund me the cost of the defective part. he is in no way obligated to do this. he's just nice.

bill's voice is starting to remind me of charlie brown's mom and i know that the 100 bucks in my pocket is the only useful thing i'm going to get out of him, so i start to collect my papers and walk out. in the last death throes of our customer service relationship, he changes strategies and offers me some "good" news -- it turns out he was wrong about those o2 sensors. only one of them is really bad and a second one going, so i'll just have to have two of them replaced instead of all four.

i almost laugh aloud because he has got to be a cokehead if he thinks he's ever touching my car again.

i've heard other women complain about the uterus tax that you pay when you take your car to a shop yourself, instead of having your husband/boyfriend/father take it in for you. i always thought it was sort of an urban legend. well, somebody call "myth busters." of course, some of the additional fees on bill's water pump job were probably related to the fact that i was going out of town and not just the fact that i don't have a penis, but in total they amounted to $250 worth of bullshit charges, not including the upcoming $500+ o2 sensor replacement.

unfortunately for bill, i'm ballsy enough that i pulled right out of his parking lot and into paul's where i had him run a scope on my car. you'll be relieved to know, dear reader, that my o2 sensors are just fine.