More randomness
May. 22nd, 2006 03:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grrgoylSorry, jimmiesfan. I've resold my laptop (oddly, at the exact same winning bid price). Let's hope littledumplinbrandon is a little more financially secure than you are. Oh, and sorry for cancelling out your no doubt hard-won single feedback with my negative comment, but you know, it was my duty to warn people about the games you play. (It's hard not to let power such as this go to my head, reducing a person's eBay score to 0.)
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I've made my last car payment (YipYip) which frees me that much more from under the thumb of my evil inventory overlords. It also made me realize I'd better start taking care of my hard-working, well-behaved (in the sense of never giving me a moment's trouble) vehicle and maybe change the oil, etc. which hasn't been done in many, many moons. Tery warned me Grease Monkey would suggestive sell all kinds of service to me, so following her advice I refused the air filter and went instead to Checker. I started punching in my info on the little Fram computer to find out what I needed, until I got to the question "What kind of engine do you have?" I have never once in my life been asked this about any car I've ever owned and my brain froze. Deeming it probably unwise to just randomly pick a multiple choice answer, I went to the blond chick behind the counter for help instead. I explained the problem and that I wasn't sure what kind of engine I had. She started entering the specs on HER computer, until she got to "What kind of engine do you have?" and we both froze.
"What kind of engine do you have?" she asked me.
Ummmm, I thought I just explained that I don't know the answer to that. "I honestly don't know," I answered pleasantly.
"You have no idea what your engine is?" she asked again, almost incredulously. Ladies, back me up here. What kind of engines are in YOUR cars? I hate to be stereotypical, but honestly. I was reminded of the line in Shallow Grave when Ewan McGregor asks Kerry Fox what kind of car their new flatmate drives, and she lets out a sigh and says, "How should I know? I'm just a girl!" Or Tery's own mother, who will answer unhelpfully "Red."
All this flashed through my mind, but I answered instead, "I'm sorry. I'm just not that into cars."
Fortunately there happened to be another customer there who worked on Hondas all the time and told her I had a V6. He insisted that Honda only put V6's in their Civics that year, which of course begs the question why Fram seems to think otherwise. It would be ironic if I finally got my car paid off and then blew it up by using the wrong air filter. Is that even possible? I don't know. I'm just a girl.
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One way in which I'm NOT your typical female is how irrationally excited I got when I counted Total Film's latest X-Men issue featuring a limited edition adamantium cover! last night at Barnes & Noble. Of course, had the cover been real adamantium, it probably would have weighed a bit more, but still. I'm too much a sucker for such marketing brilliance. Remembering Gerry mentioning earlier how he wanted to see X3 I decided to share, but he just stared at me blankly. HE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT ADAMANTIUM WAS. Can you believe it? He barely knew that Wolvie had 3 claws, and thought they were made of, get this....Wolverantium. In all fairness, he tends to watch movies only once and has a memory almost as dodgy as mine (but probably knows exactly what's under the hood of his car). The ensuing awkwardness was thankfully interrupted by a fangirl store employee geekier than both of us who wanted to model her MI:3 t-shirt. Sheesh. Who the hell cares about THAT movie? (I decided to save myself $9 and read the X3 article on my lunch break. Between you and me? Not really worth $9.)
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Finally, because there is no real place to put this anywhere else (but it has to be said), I was watching one of my favorite movies of all time the other night, Carrington. I noticed how British homes always have nonsensical, posh-sounding names like "Tidmarsh" and "Avon-on-the-Sea" and "Puddlemere." Being now an honourary Englishperson (see previous entry), I thought it only right that our house have something similar. Taking into account our free-range ferrets and their devil-may-care attitude towards litter boxes, Tery very aptly came up with "Puddle-by-the-Door" for our abode. Which probably sounds a bit off-putting to outsiders, but never fails to crack me up, especially when we're on the couch together and she wistfully comments on "summering yet again at Puddle-by-the-Door" in a faux accent.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I've made my last car payment (YipYip) which frees me that much more from under the thumb of my evil inventory overlords. It also made me realize I'd better start taking care of my hard-working, well-behaved (in the sense of never giving me a moment's trouble) vehicle and maybe change the oil, etc. which hasn't been done in many, many moons. Tery warned me Grease Monkey would suggestive sell all kinds of service to me, so following her advice I refused the air filter and went instead to Checker. I started punching in my info on the little Fram computer to find out what I needed, until I got to the question "What kind of engine do you have?" I have never once in my life been asked this about any car I've ever owned and my brain froze. Deeming it probably unwise to just randomly pick a multiple choice answer, I went to the blond chick behind the counter for help instead. I explained the problem and that I wasn't sure what kind of engine I had. She started entering the specs on HER computer, until she got to "What kind of engine do you have?" and we both froze.
"What kind of engine do you have?" she asked me.
Ummmm, I thought I just explained that I don't know the answer to that. "I honestly don't know," I answered pleasantly.
"You have no idea what your engine is?" she asked again, almost incredulously. Ladies, back me up here. What kind of engines are in YOUR cars? I hate to be stereotypical, but honestly. I was reminded of the line in Shallow Grave when Ewan McGregor asks Kerry Fox what kind of car their new flatmate drives, and she lets out a sigh and says, "How should I know? I'm just a girl!" Or Tery's own mother, who will answer unhelpfully "Red."
All this flashed through my mind, but I answered instead, "I'm sorry. I'm just not that into cars."
Fortunately there happened to be another customer there who worked on Hondas all the time and told her I had a V6. He insisted that Honda only put V6's in their Civics that year, which of course begs the question why Fram seems to think otherwise. It would be ironic if I finally got my car paid off and then blew it up by using the wrong air filter. Is that even possible? I don't know. I'm just a girl.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
One way in which I'm NOT your typical female is how irrationally excited I got when I counted Total Film's latest X-Men issue featuring a limited edition adamantium cover! last night at Barnes & Noble. Of course, had the cover been real adamantium, it probably would have weighed a bit more, but still. I'm too much a sucker for such marketing brilliance. Remembering Gerry mentioning earlier how he wanted to see X3 I decided to share, but he just stared at me blankly. HE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT ADAMANTIUM WAS. Can you believe it? He barely knew that Wolvie had 3 claws, and thought they were made of, get this....Wolverantium. In all fairness, he tends to watch movies only once and has a memory almost as dodgy as mine (but probably knows exactly what's under the hood of his car). The ensuing awkwardness was thankfully interrupted by a fangirl store employee geekier than both of us who wanted to model her MI:3 t-shirt. Sheesh. Who the hell cares about THAT movie? (I decided to save myself $9 and read the X3 article on my lunch break. Between you and me? Not really worth $9.)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Finally, because there is no real place to put this anywhere else (but it has to be said), I was watching one of my favorite movies of all time the other night, Carrington. I noticed how British homes always have nonsensical, posh-sounding names like "Tidmarsh" and "Avon-on-the-Sea" and "Puddlemere." Being now an honourary Englishperson (see previous entry), I thought it only right that our house have something similar. Taking into account our free-range ferrets and their devil-may-care attitude towards litter boxes, Tery very aptly came up with "Puddle-by-the-Door" for our abode. Which probably sounds a bit off-putting to outsiders, but never fails to crack me up, especially when we're on the couch together and she wistfully comments on "summering yet again at Puddle-by-the-Door" in a faux accent.
