Category: Vehicles

All of our machines and vehicles

Is This a Carved-In-Stone Law Or A Suggestion? There IS a Difference, You Know.

I was on my way home from the Danish Store and traffic in the right lane was crawling while everyone in the left lane was zipping so I joined the Zippers because I was getting bored.  It was from the Zipping lane that I saw what was holding up traffic.

It was a minivan followed closely by a one-ton flatbed truck with its hazard lights flashing.  It took me a second to realize exactly what the problem was but when I did see it, I was all what the hell?!

All four wheels on that minivan were wobbling in comic exaggeration.  I mean serious wobbles I could see from a quarter of a kilometer away!

via GIPHY

When I mentioned it to The Viking, he passed on a snippet of his brilliance.

“That’s because they’re fucking stupid.  They didn’t know what they were doing when they changed their tires.”

Evidently, when you change a wheel on your vehicle, you put all the lug nuts on and tighten them individually in small increments so no one lug is tightened more than the others.

Apparently, this is a rule that you should never break.  I understand this is how you are supposed to do it, but I thought it was more of a suggestion than a Carved-In-Stone Law.  And I think I should be forgiven for thinking this way in the face of all the rules that are suggestions rather than Carved-In-Stone Laws.  For instance:

    • Brushing your teeth in an up and down motion – that doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense to me. Even when I was a small child I didn’t believe it because aren’t you just pushing food bits further under your gums?  It’s obvious that brushing side to side or in a circular motion are superior methods and I’m glad the Dental Association finally saw the error of their ways.
    • Speed limits – everyone knows the speed limit, but we all know that it’s an arbitrary number someone in an office assigned decades ago based on the quality of vehicles back then. Today’s vehicles have been engineered by aliens and that old speed limit is strictly a ploy on the part of the Powers That Be to increase speeding ticket revenue.  And to bore drivers to death.
    • Cold medication – sure, there is a dosage suggestion on the package, but that’s totally dependent on how terrible I feel at that moment. I don’t start free-basing cold meds just because I have a sniffle.  By the time I have assessed the severity of my flu symptoms and grudgingly decided I need to medicate, the two-pill dosage is obviously inadequate.    I start with a double dose and work my way up until I’m rendered unconscious for the duration of the flu.  Incidentally, the suggested number of Hot Rum Toddies you ingest during your suffering is woefully insufficient as well.
    • Wine – how much wine I put in a recipe is totally subjective. They say ½ a cup, I say 2 ½ cups and I drink the rest of the bottle because I hate leftovers.
    • Laundry detergent – if a quarter of a cup is good, then a half a cup is, logically, better.
    • Hair products – see above.
    • Serving sizes – once again, suggestions. The suggested serving size of Pickled Herring is categorically TOO LARGE!  A quarter teaspoon is sufficient, thank you very much, followed by 3 servings of something to get the taste out of my mouth.  Ice Cream, on the other hand, is a different matter.  The suggested serving size of a quarter cup is laughable!*  There shouldn’t even be a suggested serving size on Ice Cream and the Monster who suggested it should be jailed.
    • Exit speeds – why so cautious? As long as I have two wheels on the pavement, I’m good.  If someone screwed up the engineering of the exit ramp, forcing drivers to slow down far more than is reasonable, the sign should just be

**

I didn’t bother asking for clarification from The Viking.  He gets all squinty around the eyes when he has to participate in this kind of conversation and it always ends with shouting and eloquent curses.

Perhaps it would be better if I just check on a case by case basis.  You know, rain showers instead of a monsoon.  I’m sure he’ll appreciate my thoughtfulness.

 

* Unless it’s Licorice Ice Cream and then the Pickled Herring size applies

** And now that I’m thinking about it, a lot of traffic signs should be just emojis.  It would certainly make driving more interesting.

Tina Turner, Hondas and Shoe Horns

I used to drive a Toyota Corolla, 5-speed, manual transmission car.  I loved her.  I called her Midge.  She was quick and nimble and had lots of power with the manual transmission.  She was comfortable and dependable and even The Viking liked driving her.

The thing with Midge was that she was a small car.  She wasn’t intimidating; bigger vehicles and pretentious Hondas always bullied her on the roads.  And if you don’t believe me about Hondas……just start noticing the vehicles that are responsible for slowing traffic, cutting you off, failing to merge properly.  Trust me on this – 75% of the time it’s a Honda.  Mim and I have conducted numerous experiments and the evidence is overwhelming.  You’re stuck in traffic?  Chances are a Honda is to blame.

Where was I?  Oh, yeah.  Midge got bullied a lot on the roads.  So, when the occasion arose that I needed to take The Viking’s vehicle I was always just a little excited.  Because The Viking’s vehicle, Tina Turner, is a behemoth – a one-ton, dual axle, diesel Chevy truck.  She is a brute – a completely obnoxious brute and I must admit that sometimes I become a Harpy with a bad attitude when I drive her.

It’s not my fault really.  Any reasonable person with that kind of power under her seat will put the pedal to the floor when a Honda cuts her off in traffic.  Or when a slow Honda is driving in the fast lane.  Or when a Honda passes her and then slows down just to fuck with her.  It’s completely natural that given the chance to be obnoxious to that Honda she’s going to do it.

But things have changed around here.  I have a RAV 4 now with all the bells and whistles available.  I don’t get bullied on the road and I’ve become accustomed to the high level of convenience and comfort that Charlotte provides.

Yesterday, The Viking put Tina Turner in front of Charlotte in the driveway so I decided I would just take her to the store and then park her properly when I came home.

I immediately got annoyed, before I even made it into Tina Turner.  I actually had to unlock the truck by remote control!  That the hell?!  I couldn’t stuff the keys into my pocket and just touch the door handle the way I do with Charlotte.  I would have to deal with keys!  And once I made it over that hurdle, there was more to come.

Something happens to The Viking’s legs when he drives Tina Turner – they become very, very short!  I get in to drive and suddenly my knees are up in my arm pits but it’s not worth the bother to change all the settings in the seat just for a quick run to the grocery store.

Tina wouldn’t just automatically play my music from my phone either!  She wanted me to plug it in to her USB port.  Well, that’s a pain in the ass!  Charlotte has Bluetooth and she knows what I like.  Instead, I was subjected to Classic Rock Radio when I really wanted to listen to my favorite Classical music.  That is a major problem!

Also, the turning radius – it takes Tina half a city block to turn around.  I had to shuffle 3 times to get her into the parking spot and then her ass hung 4 feet further out than any other vehicle in the parking lot.

And to add insult to injury, there wasn’t a single Honda between our house, the grocery store and back home again.  So, the one thing I really enjoy about Tina Turner was useless for lack of opportunity.  That’s like meeting the real Tina Turner and she isn’t wearing sequins, jiggling her ass or singing Proud Mary.  What’s the point then?

I know what you’re thinking.  First World problems, right?  Well, I agree.  But I would argue that once you’ve grown accustomed to a new technology, it’s a bastard to suddenly go without.

My electric can opener stopped working and because I had never really liked it in the first place (it wouldn’t stop when I wanted it to stop so it always ended in a wrestling match), I just bought a good, old manual can opener.  Now, I have to stop half way through and shake feeling back into my hand before I can get the whole top off the can.  And when it comes to big cans like coffin tins, well, that is a job for The Viking.

I bought one of those long shoe horns from IKEA and after three years of faithful service, it broke, leaving only about 8 inches.  What a clusterfuck that was!  Suddenly I had to bend over and put this shitty little thing in my shoe to get it on my foot!  I have big boobs and leaning over like that can end in a catastrophic tumble.  I went directly to IKEA and bought six more long ones because short ones are so 1900s and I deserve a better shoe horn than that.

At the end of the day, technology has ruined my love of Tina Turner.  Unless there’s a Honda around somewhere – then she’s my girl.

 

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A Cow Pissed On Us!

We’re home.  We’re also still in shock that we didn’t suffer any catastrophic event while we were in Arizona.  Usually there is some sort of shittery that sends us both into a tornado of spiraling stress, curses and name-calling.  But this time The Viking wasn’t almost arrested and I didn’t get into any fist-fights (the chances of this happening are slim, admittedly, but still….).

Of course, there was the pre-departure clusterfuckage, as usual.  It wouldn’t be a vacation if we didn’t hate each other for the first six hours on the road.  We’ve become infamous in the neighbourhood for our attempts to go on holiday.  We quit telling them the exact day we were leaving because they were bringing out the lawn chairs and popcorn.  There was plenty of this though…..

and a little of this….

…..behind each other’s back and continual profanity as we packed the truck but we did managed to keep the volume down.  There wasn’t a single lawn chair in sight by the time we started the truck and idled out of the alley.

Once we were speaking again, the trip became enjoyable – we both love road trips – and everything was fine until we hit Idaho.  Sigh.  Idaho.  Never go to Idaho without a super-sized jug of Wind Shield Washer Fluid because the entire state is infested with bugs whose guts are so sticky it takes a sandblaster to get them off the front of the truck.  Also, cows piss on you there.

We were following a cattle liner who wasn’t going nearly fast enough for our happiness (we are driving 2400km/1500miles and want to get the fuck going already) and while The Viking was making little darts into the other lane looking for a likely time to pass, a cow pressed its ass against the side of the trailer and let loose a frightening large amount of piss.  It seemed to never end!  It was like driving into a waterfall!  The truck driver was going fast enough to turn the piss stream into a nauseatingly thick mist which required liberal and fast windshield wiper action and desperate stabs at the fresh air intake button.

After we stopped screaming and could use our words again we were more than just a little indignant.  What kind of world do we live in when cows can just piss on you any time they want?  We’re at the top of the food chain, are we not?  That sort of thing should be illegal!  What if our windows had been down?!  Or if we were on a motorcycle?!  Or in a convertible?!!

And then I started wondering why I’ve never been cow pissed on before?  I live in cow country for Pete’s sake.  Given the number of cows/pigs/sheep that are trucked all over the continent you’d think that Cow/Pig/Sheep Pissings would be common and therefore cause enough indignation in the general population to have laws against it.

So I Googled it (Are there laws against cows pissing on vehicles?) and there isn’t.  It’s illegal to be drunk while caring for a cow in Scotland and in Australia it’s illegal to milk another guy’s cow and you can’t drive your cows through St. John’s after 8:00 (I’m assuming in the morning because driving your cows through St. John’s at night would cause fewer traffic problems, but what do I know?  I’ve been pissed on!) but no law about cows pissing on people in vehicles.

So, are Canadian cows just more polite than Idahoan cows?  Is that why I’ve never been Cow Pissed on before?  Are Idahoan cows just plain assholes?  I wouldn’t put it past them judging by Idahoan bugs!  On the other hand, maybe this particular cow was just really bitter but not indicative of all Idahoan cows as a collective group.  Or maybe the Vacation Gawd didn’t have time to prepare something truly epic, as in past years, and this was the best he could do under the circumstances.  If that’s the case ….. then touché Vacation Gawd, well played.

Having now experienced being pissed on by a cow, I can say that it’s not something I will soon forget.  I think I might even have a touch of PTSD.  And, it will change the way we rate our future vacations as well as anyone else’s future vacations.

“Geez, that was one of our worst vacations, but at least we didn’t get pissed on by a cow, right?” 

“Too bad you had such a lousy time on your holiday, but at least you weren’t pissed on by a cow, right?”

Just a quick note about the actual chemical composition of the cow piss itself:  It does take off Idahoan bug guts, so there is that.

PS:  Yes.  Being pissed on is infinitely better than being poo-ed on.

PPS:  Yes.  Cows have every right to be bitter but pissing on us doesn’t change their fate.  It just makes me want a bigger steak.  Or maybe to tip them over, if I knew how to go about it because, presumably, the cow would see me coming and would brace itself.  Unless I dressed up like a cow but then I would need someone in the back of the costume and The Viking probably wouldn’t think it was a worthwhile endeavor.

 

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An Alien Broke the Car – Friday Fictioneers

“CHERYL!!”

She looked at the clock – he’s right on time.

He was standing beside the car, hands on hips, a fleck of foam at the corner of his mouth.  “What the hell happened?!”

“Happened?”

“THE CAR!  THE MIRROR!!”  Steve jabbed violently toward the side mirror.

She had considered pleading ignorance but the broken, dangling mirror was hard to miss, or going on the offensive, blaming him, but for that to work she should be the one hollering and pointing.

She settled for, “Oh, that?  Well, it all started when I went for groceries and an alien spacecraft landed in the……”

 

 

Huge thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers and for this week’s photo prompt.
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Damn You Benjamin Franklin!

Welcome to Coffee.  You weren’t hoping I would be all bubbly and chatty, were you?  Cause I’m less bubbly and chatty and more dozy and dumb.  I’ve been this way all week long.  If my eyes roll back and my head flops to the right don’t worry, it’s not a stroke, I’ve just fallen asleep.  If clearing your throat loudly doesn’t wake me, try poking me with your spoon.  Coffee has done nothing to alleviate my exhaustion; apparently caffeine isn’t the guy for the job today. Maybe a cocktail of energy drinks with extra strong caffeine shooters will do the trick.

I have nothing to report in the way of interest this past week.  It’s all a blur.  However, yesterday I did have to muster up some form of energy because I had some errands to run/schlump.  Thank goodness for automobiles, even if I probably shouldn’t have been trusted behind the wheel.

A group of pimply-faced high school students pushed the cross-walk button but I was already too close to stop and too tired to give a shit. One of them waved his arms at me so I rolled the window down and yelled “DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME!!”

I dozed off reading the label on a can of soup in the grocery store and a guy said “You gonna buy that or what?” My eyelids creaked open and I scowled at him. “Daylight savings time. And no, I’m not going to buy that because the sodium is too high but I can’t make my arm lift it back to the shelf. Here, you do it.”  I pushed the can into his hand and shuffled along.

Later, when I was home and shouldn’t have been expected to interact with anyone besides The Viking, the doorbell rang and two young guys were smiling beatifically, badges from Vivint on their jackets. “Hi! I see you have an SAI Security System sign in your garden. That can’t be right because they don’t exist anymore.”

“So? Not many criminals keep up on corporate take-overs and share prices.”  My left eye wouldn’t open so I had to rely entirely on my right eye.

The tall one hesitated but managed to come back before I fell asleep on my feet. “Do you have an alarm system now? Are you protected by a different company?”

“Yes. And before you go any further…..Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight. Savings. Time. I’m too tired to listen to you.”

They both looked uncertain and just as my eyelid was crashing shut the tall one said. “Okay. Thank you for your time.”

Kidney Clothes called to see if I had anything to donate. I said no, I didn’t have anything to donate but the woman said “Not even an old blouse or sweater? We could really use some sweaters.”

“Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight Savings Time. I’ve lost 7 hours of sleep this week and by tomorrow it will be 8 hours of sleep. I haven’t got the energy to clean out my closet today. Call me next month.”  Yes, that was a little rude but I only had so many words in me and I used them up quickly.

“Um. Okay. Thank you for your time.”

I’ve fallen asleep twice on the toilet this week and once at my desk – The Viking caught me that time but he was more envious than cranky, especially when I offered to spoon with him if we went to bed right then. His sense of ‘work before play’ kept him from acting in his own self-interest though.

I also sucked in a cat hair when I was yawning and do you know how difficult it is to get a cat hair out of your mouth? It’s ridiculous. I suppose I should be grateful that it isn’t fly season yet but somehow I can’t muster up the effort.

I know who is to blame for this and this definitely needs to be blamed on someone! I need someone to heap curses on and a name to shout when necessary – and this week it has been very much necessary. “DAMN YOU BENJAMIN FRANKLIN!!”

Okay, to be fair, he didn’t actually invent Daylight Savings Time, he just came up with the idea. Probably when he was drunk. It took some other nefarious individuals to implement this evil, but I’m too tired to list out all the people involved.

So Benjamin Franklin will be receiving all my angst and curses. At least until I’m not a walking/schlumping zombie or a danger to the public at large when I’m behind the wheel of my car.

Daylight Savings Time never used to bother me at all, but for the last few years it’s been kicking the shit out of me.  The Viking is in the same boat.  Do we live our lives on the razor’s edge of competent functioning?  Is a single hour of sleep all that separates us from Sloths with the ability to drive?

If I had a Time Machine, I would go back to Benjamin Franklin, rip that pen right out of his hand and tell him not to even think it because some asshole in the twentieth century will think it’s a great idea and ruin humanity forever.  Or at least a week.

So, did DST kick the shit out of you too, or is it just The Viking and I?

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a nap. A seven hour nap.

Thanks to Nerd in the Brain for hosting Coffee this weekend.  Cheers.

Toilet Paper, a Swiss Army Knife and a Massacre

Saturday was Viking Days at the Danish Canadian Museum. The Viking and I were…..well, not giddy exactly….but pretty excited. We’ve never attended a Viking Massacre before.  Now that I think about it though, perhaps The Viking didn’t think this whole plan through because maybe I shouldn’t be trusted with knowledge involving massacre-ing Vikings. I’m only human, after all, and not always in a good mood. But…..too late now! It’s not like I can un-learn it.

We stuffed the Goldwing with a blanket, Swiss Army Knife, food, water, sandals, a sweater each, next of kin notification in a fire-proof box, driver’s licenses, bear spray, antacids, matches in a water proof/fire proof container, Tylenol, first aid kit, night vision goggles, extra earphones, a jerry can full of gas, a machete, compass, toilet paper, bug spray and The Viking’s contribution – an extra set of helmets (Don’t even ask because I can’t explain it).

I was in charge of what to pack while The Viking was in charge of complaining about what I wanted to pack.

I shouldn’t have to explain this every single time we want to go somewhere but apparently I do. Things happen when you leave home:

  • We could be hit by a car because the driver was texting 911 as he was having a heart attack.
  • An abnormally large insect could smash through the windshield of the bike, through the mask on his helmet and lodge itself in his left eye causing us to careen out of control, over an embankment and blow up in a fiery explosion. Admittedly, Polysporin probably wouldn’t be much help in this instance but maybe we would survive and then it would come in handy.
  • One of the Vikings could go rogue and we’d be forced to fight for our lives with our bare hands until we could steal a battle axe and then we would have to flee into the woods and maybe get lost and have to spend the night huddled together for warmth under a tree.
  • One of us could get heartburn from our picnic lunch.
  • There could be an earthquake and we might be cut off from civilization for whole minutes where my cell phone won’t work and we’ll have to make a fire to send smoke signals to the kids that we’re okay and that we will find them one day soon.
  • My earphones may stop working which would be a disaster because all I will be able to listen to is muffled wind or worse…..The Viking’s choice of music.  Shudder.
  • We could run out of gas on one of those range roads and suddenly the movie ‘Deliverance’ could happen and we’d have to slog our way through steamy swamps to escape.
  • One of us may need to pee/poo while we’re on one of those range roads and squatting in the ditch behind a shrub might become necessary and we’ll hope this doesn’t coincide with the scenario above because that would be really embarrassing.
  • We could be attacked by a bear while we are stopped for a drink so we have to stand and fight it to the death.   Or hit it with bear spray.
  • What if we’re motorcycle-jacked and have to track the culprits down and take our revenge?
  • What if your tipping maneuver going around corners does what physics says it should do and we slide and I’m spit out by centrifugal force to land in a stranger’s car? I should probably pack a box of chocolates or something to say thanks for the great catch.
  • What if we break down and have to catch a ride in the back of a truck hauling 3 pigs and a goat? I should pack a big jug of Febreez.

The possibilities for catastrophe are infinite! The Viking might swear and grouch but if something ever did happen he’d be like “You are the best woman ever! So smart! Thank Gawd I have you or I’d be fucked!  I’m so sorry for yelling at you.  Can you ever forgive me?” Or something like that.

So, loaded up and dressed in my best facsimile of Biker Gear, we headed out. We met Mim and Darb part way, who then proceeded to make The Viking and I feel stupid by pointing out that Mim has a GPS on her phone and doesn’t need the 18 pages of directions we printed at home. Fuck.

We had to take one gravel road which is never fun on a motorcycle and it’s even less fun when you are following a vehicle. By the time we hit pavement again we looked like those sand creatures from Star Wars. Why didn’t I think to bring our Shark Vacuum?! I should have known we might need to vacuum ourselves off!  Instead, we had to spend 5 minutes smacking the shit out of each other to get most of the dust out of our clothes.

The weather was beautiful at the Museum and crowds were already gathering for the big Massacre. We found a great vantage point on a grassy knoll and sat down to wait for blood and gore.

Soon, a big guy decked out in chainmail, helmet, shield and sword strode into the impromptu arena and started declaring himself the best warrior ever. And then another guy came out and declared the first guy was ‘Full of Shit’ and a fight ensued where the second guy died and the ‘full of shit’ guy proved he actually wasn’t ‘full of shit’. A woman came out and declared that she was a Shield Maiden and would kick his warrior ass but instead, promptly died. Booooooo! Boooooo!!

Another 4 guys came out trying to prove the first guy was ‘full of shit’ but they all died too which left no one for him to kill.  The crowd shouted ‘MEAD’! and all the dead people came back to life so the first guy could kill them all over again. By then he was just being a bully.

The violence ended when an army of children arrived, armed with short pool noodles and massacred every Viking on the field. The crowd shouted ‘MEADE’! again and all the dead people came back to life so they could be massacred all over again. The death and violence was awesome and it was great to see all the kids dressed up for massacre-ing with their little helmets and shields. Good wholesome fun! I wish my parents had taken me massacre-ing when I was young. I would probably be a much better Viking now.

There were some very good artisans set up and we enjoyed browsing. The Viking bought me a beautiful set of amber ear rings (I hope we don’t get robbed on our way back to the bike because I left the machete in the side bag) and we found out where we can buy free-range pigs. That in itself was worth the admission fee.

The trip home was uneventful except for the Iced Maple Cappuccino we stopped for in Olds, which turned out not to be an event but delicious anyway. So we didn’t need the machete for sure. Or the night vision goggles and the water proof matches.

I’m sure that the next time we want to go somewhere The Viking will cite this one trip as evidence that we don’t need such things as Machetes or Night Vision Goggles. But he’s not in charge of what we pack. I am. He’s only in charge of The Complaints Department and the Putting It All In The Vehicle Department.

Because that’s what he’s good at.

 

Bruised Boobs, Neon Socks and Herman Munster Shoes

I stuck earphones in my ears and then encased my head in foam, rubber and hard plastic yesterday. It was so tight that every little bit of fat, muscle and skin on my head was pushed up toward my eyes and nose and made me look like a Shar Pei.  Yup, we went for a ride on the old motorcycle.  I pushed as much of my face as possible back into the helmet so I could at least see, but cheeks being cheeks, they weren’t overly cooperative.

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Someone Is Out To Get Me!

The Viking discovered my car had a flat tire this morning.  This is odd because I haven’t gone anywhere in the last 24 hours that one might expect a tire hazard, like a construction site.  And it isn’t even a nail or a screw that any one could pick up anywhere – it’s a very large staple except it’s width is about 4 times as thick as a regular construction staple.

The Viking showed me the staple still stuck in the tire and I immediately suspected that SOMEONE IS OUT TO GET ME!

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Pods of Zen

I bought a new vehicle (Charlotte) last year and I have to say that I am totally in love with it. When I slide into that driver’s seat and push the start button there is a moment of magicalness that makes me smile.  The heated seat comes on to toast my behind and adjusts itself perfectly.  The computer loads my music right where I left off the last time I was in the car.  When I put it in reverse the camera comes on in the dash.  “Beep! Beep!  Be careful. There is something behind you and we wouldn’t want to dent my bumper, now would we?”  No we wouldn’t!

Charlotte is a pod of zen, designed just for me.

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