Cue Paul McCartney

Yesterday was bliss.

Unfortunately, this morning I woke up to the dull realization that today isn't yesterday. And what fresh hell awaits me today? We won't go into that right now. Instead, I'll keep things light and breezy. I'll spread sweetness and light. In short: I'll talk about yesterday.

Oh, the blissfully blissful bliss of having blackbird as my personal shopper! (For anyone just coming in, she went through the hassle of buying a Wii and is shipping it to me.) We talked on the phone yesterday, and the bliss continued. Even though my my kids were home, they kept their contributions down to wandering on stage from time to time to say something to me in a duck-like quack. Which was not overly intrusive, not to mention that now blackbird knows I'm not making up the part about having children. Which gives this blog an air of verisimilitude.

Also: surprise! She's hilarious. (That was irony. Of course she's hilarious.)

Also: I actually had fun volunteering at my kids' school. I was a lunch lady. It was fine. My daughter even seemed pleased to see me.

Also: I baked Oatmeal Crispies for the Girl Scout meeting, using a new recipe, which I put together amazingly fast, thanks to my KitchenAid mixer. The resulting cookies were well received.

Also: Girl Scout "Thinking Day" went well, and what is crucially important, my daughter appeared to enjoy herself.

Also: I changed my kids karate class from Wednesday to Monday. The Monday class is smaller, and the students have with a wider range of abilities. My kids did great! And there were no moms waiting with me, so I read while I waited.

Also: dinner was at McDonald's. I know. I even ate there myself. I know. But double Filet-O-Fish^TM sandwiches, people!

OK, so. Now to deal with today. The two fundraisers I'm chairing. The lack of Filet-O-Fish sandwiches (even single ones.) And the engine light on my VW Passat. Which turned on a couple of days ago. Yes, the car that was in the shop for three months. And now has to go back again.

All Things Must Passat

Look who's back.

Doesn't it look great? It even smells great. I guess when you pay $13,000 for all that body work and a new engine and everything, they throw in a free detail job. Also--I feel that I need to mention this, so as to be completely fair--a free pen.

I think the pen was to make sure I had something to use to sign the check.

But just think. I got my car back on Ash Wednesday. Just in time for me to give up driving my minivan for Lent. OK, all kidding aside, driving my minivan isn't actually on my list of Lenten Give Ups. That's just a little Penitential Season humor. Which I don't expect you pagans or Wiccans or Unitarians to understand.

So I'll explain Lent. It's the season in the church year where we commemorate the 40 days Jesus spent fasting in the wilderness. Because I am prone to nearly delirious levels of whimsy, it occurred to me that like Jesus, my Passat just spent 90 days in the wilderness (OK, body shop) and ... well, you see where that led me.

But just so you know, I don't actually think there is a connection between my car and Jesus. (Although come to think of it, my car does look kind of like an Easter egg.)

OK, back to Lent. I'm planning on some major cutting back. So far the Give Up list includes booze, sweets, and possibly pork products; I haven't made up my mind about that last one. Will it make me seem too Muslim?

I'm never exactly sure what to give up, so I usually make it up as I go along, starting at breakfast time on Ash Wednesday. Which is why I always seem to give up booze. Because by the time it's late enough in the day to have a drink, I've decided that I'm a no-good, sleazy, backsliding piece of shit. So I think "I know! I'll quit drinking for Lent!" And that makes me feel almost as virtuous as my Catholic pal. (Maybe even more virtuous. Because now that I've gotten my car back, I'm no longer obsessed with worldly goods. Unlike some people with their new bathrooms and kitchens and requests for information about stainless steel appliances, high-end hand-made tiles, and other vanities.*)

* Get it? Bathrooms? Vanities? Yes! More Penitential Season humor! So stick around. Later on, I might start handing out free pens.

After three months exactly give or take a day or two. [Updated!]

Today I'm going to pick up my car at the body shop. [Sorry! I didn't mean to lead you on. It still wasn't ready. The front left headlight was faulty.]

So I have this to say about my insurance agent: May God smite the flea-bitten daughter of a clapped out whore ...

But wait. Isn't it just like me to start ranting when you don't have any idea what has happened?

Allow me to open with a humorous math problem. My 2003 VW Passat wagon has a book value of $19,700. The repairs to the body, plus the new engine it apparently needed, cost over $13,000. Now let's factor in the repairs to the Mercedes Benz (hereafter referred to as "The One That Got Away") which came in at about $5,000. Which leaves about a thousand dollars.

So now we're at three months and over $18,000 in repairs. THREE MONTHS. My question is this: does my insurance company owe me the extra $1,000 for wear and tear on my other car, not to mention my psyche? Or should they sweeten the deal and refund the last two years of insurance payments, too? And while they're at it, throw in a big-screen television and a case of really good wine?

I think they should throw something in for Fiddledeedee, who drove me to the body shop to pick up my car. She deserves something for her trouble too, especially because, what with the faulty headlight scenario, my car was not actually ready, and I'm probably going to ask her to take me there again tomorrow.

And it's all because the guy in front of me had the same brilliant idea of moving out of the left hand lane so as to avoid getting stuck behind the car waiting to make a left hand turn. Only when he noticed that the car was a police cruiser, he stopped. Cold. And I smacked into him. At about--since I was going from a dead stop and had driven about six feet--ten miles an hour.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. When you're driving, and you see a car that apparently likes to go out on Halloween as a Sherman Tank, try to avoid hitting it. Even very slowly and softly.

The Grinch Who Stole Valentine's Day

Today I was supposed to get all dressed up in something red and festive, head up the road to get my hair and nails done, then, while looking like a crazed blood clot absolutely smashing drive downtown to rehearse with one of my singing groups,



go to a St. Valentine's Day tea party here,



and then have dinner with my husband.

I just blew it all off. In short order, I canceled the hair and nails, the rehearsal, the babysitter, the tea party, and the dinner.

In case you haven't heard, it's snowing in Chicago. And about every five minutes, I get another email from the National Weather Service advising me to stay home. And who am I to argue with the National Weather Service? Especially since my car has been in the shop since November 19th, due to some trifling misunderstanding it had with the rear end of a Mercedes Benz.

Not actually my car. Or me. You can tell because this woman is
smiling,and I have not had the chance to smile while in
close proximity to my VW in months. And months.

And frankly, I'm damned if I'm going to plow downtown in my smoking hot minivan^{tm badger} only to smash that one up, too.