a division of labour

I try not to have any gaping holes in my How to Life database, but there is one area in which I am particularly weak: car stuff.

I don’t know anything about the inner workings of cars. I can make car go, I can get car juice, I know how to check fluids and what to do if they’re low. Beyond that is a vast foggy grey area of I dunno, and although I am somewhat ashamed to admit it, I don’t really WANT to know. I’m not a car person. I’m okay with that. I cannot be everywhere at once, people. I’m in dire need of assistance. (rise up!)

The Minibator was long overdue for service, and Ed decided some months ago that as the car is mine, I am responsible for maintenance and upkeep. This is fair. I get it. On the other hand, this toads the wet sprocket and I am petulantly stomping my foot (which hurts because my bones are all fucked down there): I don’t WANT to be responsible for my car. I’m dumb at car. They’re going to charge me for blinker fluid and a replacement 710 cover and an emergency flux capacitor dilation.

I KNOW that I should woman the fuck up and learn about this stuff so I’m not ignorant about the health and well-being of my car. It’s pathetic and downright insulting to play into the “stupid woman doesn’t know cars” stereotype and want someone else to deal with it on my behalf: willful ignorance is hideous on everyone, no matter the topic. I am not doing myself any favours by not knowing the difference between the air filter and damper valves. Suck it up, buttercup, and earn that “self-rescuing princess” shirt.

Except .. at what age are you finally allowed to say “you know what? I don’t have enough spoons to deal with this”? When can you acknowledge your privilege and let someone else deal with it for you? I know this isn’t an option everyone has, but I do have it – is it so bad to use it?

My counterargument is thus: while I am not a car person, Ed very much is. I recognize that the Mini is mine and I should concern myself with the upkeep, but I also know that there are a thousand other things that I deal with so Ed doesn’t have to: managing the household budget, ensuring all debts are paid (Lannister style), arranging all travel (even for trips I’m not going on), deciding our weekly menu, most of the cooking, laundry, gift-giving, our social calendar, and more. Given all that I manage in our lives on a daily basis, I would like to be able to hand all vehicle maintenance off to Ed and let HIM deal with it. He speaks their language. He has a way better idea of what is an actual concern vs what just sounds super alarming to someone who doesn’t know any better, and if a particular suggested service is really an upsell tactic vs a needed procedure to keep me from careening into fluffy baby ducks if I corner too fast.

The raging feminist in me wants to take my car by the horns (cars have horns, right?) and own the fuck out of it, but the realist in me knows that I have no time for or interest in car .. stuff. In exchange for making our lives run smoothly and be captured for data mining via the cloud-enabled products sprinkled throughout our house, I ask that he be in charge of cat poop and car poop. This seems fair to me, and outside my own qualms about the “you go girl” quotient of my request, I’d be a lot happier about the overall idea of car knowing I was just a particularly adorable onlooker (and as an added bonus, it won’t take 6 months of bugging me to get the oil change scheduled already).

Rising up is good. Rising up and delegating to someone else has to at least count for partial credit, right?

In other news, five years ago today I was in the hospital discovering that my heart was a lazy fucking slacker only working at 20% capacity. I’m much better now, I think! What do get your heart for a 5-year anniversary of still working? Is it chocolate? Please say it’s chocolate.

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$9.00 per day!

i’m a respectable woman

I found my wedding ring.

It was under my laptop the whole time.

I have no idea how or why – I’ve looked there. It was the first place I looked, and the place I kept going back to check. When I take my bling off at the end of a long day of pimping, I put everything in a tray on my laptop. I swear I checked my desk a dozen times, moving my laptop and monitor and cables and the thousand other things that clutter my life. The ring wasn’t there. I moved all the furniture around my desk, spent hours on my hands and knees (shut up), used a Swiffer duster thing to poke into impossible spaces – no ring. This morning, I wasn’t even looking for it. After all, I thought it was gone forever and was planning to replace it. I was actually looking for a necklace that I wanted to wear today, and it wasn’t in the usual location by my typewriter. I wasn’t looking TOO hard; I didn’t even move the laptop – I just tilted my head and peered beneath it for a quick look (my laptop is propped up by four overturned tea lights because I am too lazy to buy a proper dock). I didn’t find the necklace – it was actually on the living room table – but I DID find my missing daisy hair clip, and .. wait, what’s that?

I didn’t have to pick it up before I knew what it was – the grooves on the bottom of the ring were unmistakable. It was my wedding band; the very one that has been missing for 3 months and that I had given up all hope of ever finding again.

What the hell.

Gremlins have been in my apartment. It’s the only explanation. I might have known – last night I found the cap to my water bottle that I’ve been missing for several months; it was under the bed. Something is playing tricks on me. I may have to zip tie all my belongings down so they stop walking away.

I’m completely stoked to have my ring back, and I may never take it off again. Once again, I am a highly respectable sophisticated married lady. I was really worried for those three months that someone might take me for a harlot, but everything is good again – I no longer fear illegitimacy! I am not a wanton slut!

*cough*

Hooray for ring finding! This has been the best Earth Day EVER!

one (replacement) ring to bind them

Okay, internet – I need some suggestions.

It’s been over three months since I lost my wedding ring, and I’m beginning to feel that it will never surface again. The house has been cleaned top to bottom numerous times and I haven’t found it – normally when I misplace things, they’re found again relatively quickly because I’m really anal retentive about it. When frantic house cleaning didn’t turn up my ring, I decided to play it cool and just go about my regular business in the hopes that it would show up. No luck, and now I have no wedding band.

Sadly, I think it’s time to replace it. Since I have to get a new ring anyway, I’m thinking about getting something different. As much as I loved my original ring, I don’t want the same kind in case it shows up one day – so I’ll use this opportunity to look at different ring styles.

This is where you guys come in. I need some suggestions or recommendations of where to look – local would be nice, but I don’t mind buying online if I find something perfect. I’m looking for interesting, affordable, and something that suits my (depressing, racist) lifestyle perfectly. Any ideas?

I probably don’t need to put this disclaimer out there, but I am nothing if not paranoid: I am not racist, and I sincerely hope I am not depressing. I’ve been called both this week, and I am not so un-self-centered that it threw me for a loop (the first obviously more than the second). True to form, both things have become a running joke between me and Josh – he will say something innocent, I will accuse him of racism, and he will tell me my blog is depressing. It is all good. But I’m not racist, okay? Using adjectives is not racist. Describing an environment is not racist. Hot Topic is not punk rock. I don’t think I’ve had a truly racist thought in my entire life, let alone on the internet for everyone to see. I just don’t have time to hate.

Except for Aquaman.

Fish men are fucking dicks.

Today is Friday, so I will leave you with a hilarious cake. I am not a Twilight fan, but this made me laugh very, very hard:

this is might be better than getting optimus prime

this is might be even better than outing optimus prime

aww, bucket

Ed came to bed last night looking all sad and cold. I distractedly asked him what was wrong – I had a wagon full of people I was trying to get to Oregon and didn’t have time to deal with his problems (I am a terrible wife).

“Everything is dead”, he moaned.

I was startled out of my squirrel hunting and looked up at him.

“What was that?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly – maybe he said that everything was cold (which it was, because our building heat is off).

“Dead! They’re all DEAD!”

Confusion. What was he talking about? Who died? And most importantly, who was this thoroughly morose motherfucker shivering beside me?

“My phone and my DS are DEAD! All my batteries died!”

Aww, bucket! I had a creamy frozen swirl of annoyance and sympathy. I am absolutely unable to understand the concept of a dead cell phone battery, even though I own an iPhone of the 2-hour shelf life variety – I am *always* charging my phone when I am not out fighting crime, so knowing that Ed is at home all damn day and not keeping his phone plugged in at all times is just insubordinate insanity to me.

The other issue – a dead DS battery – I felt much more keenly. We’re down to one DS charger, and my habitual battery abuse is in effect here too – when I’m not using my DS, it’s charging. Ed’s been more or less unable to get a jolt in edgewise, so he’s been running on Nintendo fumes for the last week or so. He got the red battery warning light last night while in the middle of collecting space contraband, and he had to stop playing Puzzle Quest to go give his DS some juice.

Logically, we should just suck up the $15 and buy another adapter. I don’t want to, though – the new Nintendo DSi is coming out in 3 short weeks, and I want one. It’ll come with its own adapter, so Ed can inherit the one I’m currently hogging. See, it all makes sense – why should I spend $15 on another DS charger when in two weeks I’ll get to spend $200 on a shiny new toy I absolutely don’t need? Duh. I have this all worked out, and in my head everything is just super.

I wasn’t going to say anything until the offer letter is in his sticky hands, but since Ed spilled the beans on Facebook last night I shall do the same: he got a job. We don’t know all the details yet, but so far it’s the best possible scenario: same industry, same clients, same co-workers, same part of downtown, additional money. Things are falling into place like the world’s most perfect Tetris run, and I couldn’t be happier for him. Hooray for Ed! You are highly employable and apparently in demand! We will not have to live on ramen and government cheese just yet!

Today is a good day to dance!

if only

If I was gorgeous and he were taller and a sad gravelly song about love was being crooned in the background, our public fight on Granville at Robson could have been right out of a movie.

As it is, he is of average height and I am merely plain and our only soundtrack was the noise of a busy city failing to come to a halt at our emotions.

Whether this story has a Hollywood ending, though, remains to be seen.

I hate this shit.

speed reading for evil

Ed’s been studying like mad for his Big Insurance Exam all week, and it’s making him a little testy. I don’t blame him; not only is it one of those “for the good of your career” things, but we’ll be out $400 if he doesn’t pass the course. The exam is pretty intensive and on a great deal of material that he has to force himself to read because it’s so boring, so he’s been pretty grumpy about it all.

He’s been staying at work late each night to study because there are too many distractions at home (TV, video games, cats, naked wife), but last night he got home early. It seems one of his coworkers who is also studying for this exam is a study-talker – she learns by talking to herself. It was driving him crazy and shorting out his temper, so he left at 8 instead of staying until 10 as he planned.

When he got home he wasn’t in the best mood so naturally, we got into an argument about vampires.

I mentioned something about some articles I had seen several times that day on different websites, each listing vampires that were better than those found in Twilight. I don’t know why this was worth discussing, but I was feeling chatty (which I’m sure didn’t help things much at all). I rambled on about how stupid the whole Twilight thing was, and how I didn’t understand the adoration for a poorly written cast of characters who stand around being beautiful and not much else. There may have also been mocking. He listened to me prattle on about the books, comparing them to my much-loathed Anita Blake books (seriously, I hate that fucking series so much I could just vomit all over her black Nikes with a purple swoosh) and questioning the mental capacities of grown women claiming the Twilight books are the best things they’ve ever read.

Ed’s grumpiness, though, had had about enough.

“Have you even READ the books?”

“No, but –“

“Then how do you know they’re so bad?”

“I’ve read reviews and I know the gist –“

“If you haven’t read the books, you can’t really claim to know they’re so terrible.”

“But other people whose opinions I generally agree with on other topics have read them, and –“

“But YOU haven’t read the books, so looking down on others for bring so into them is kind of obnoxious, don’t you think?”

“Oooookay then. So, how was work today?”

I wasn’t really looking for a fight or a stern talking to, so I changed the subject.

I thought about what he said, though, and I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s right. I haven’t read the books, so my claims of the entire fad being ridiculous are pretty pointless. I’m fairly certain I know what the books contain, but until I actually pick them up and read them cover to cover, my opinion that they’re badly written and full of idiotic boring characters is not worth the space it takes up on the screen.

SO. In addition to this weekend’s plan of baking, hunting for some fabulous, and potentially photo walking, I will be getting the Twilight books and reading the entire series from cover to cover. It will not be pretty. I am sure there will be rage. But I will do it to prove to myself that the entire thing is stupid, and that watered down vampires are a waste of literary space, and that I can’t stomach vaguely threatening teenage angst and Mormon celibacy. THEN I can bitch all I want about it, and Ed can’t do squat because I will be basing my own opinions on what I read with my cold dead eyes. So there.

Revenge reading. Good times.