Of Cars and Men

First, I'd like to point out that I had a houseguest this weekend, which was great yet stressful, but very good for my domestic cleanliness. My bedroom (yes, he was THAT kind of houseguest) went from being a disaster zone of clothes, papers, and books everywhere, with occasional spiders, and a futon stuck in the middle, to being an actual Bedroom With a Theme. I spent $120 at IKEA several weeks ago getting Boudoir Themed Things, but it worked. Woo!

Not that he wouldn't have *ahem ahem* if we had slept on dirty sheets covered with dog hair in the middle of a paper forest, but it's a Pride thing, you know? Besides, although he IS a code monkey, he lives in La-La Land and is the kind of guy who Noticed When I Changed My Shoes. From one pair of black boots to another. That is the kind of guy who cannot be overestimated.

And yes, besides being in The Boudoir, we also went to a bunch of museums and a Sonics Game in which we got awesome tickets in the most outrageous circumstances, but more on that later.

Moving on: those in the know know that I have been driving a silver 1995 Toyota Tercel lately (for the last TWO MONTHS) while I wait for my beautiful, gorgeous Jeep Unlimited to be fixed. Granted, The Autobody Place is letting me rent it for a very low price, which is awesome of them and certainly not something I plan to complain about. And the time it has taken to fix my Jeep is mainly ship time for parts, as I of course got the Special Jeep, for which apparently no parts can be found. And The Autobody Place has been very communicative about everything.

HOWEVER. There comes a limit. Sunday morning I get in the car and turn the key in the ignition. The car starts up and immediately begins shaking like it's a stick shift and I'm trying to start the car without the clutch in, but of course it's not a stick shift. I depress the accelerator. The car smoothes out just fine. I take my foot off the gas. Earthquake in a tin can.

Humph. I turn off the car and walk into the house, shocked, thinking, how am I going to get to church and drive Houseguest to the plane? I find Roommate (already up, of course) and give him a brief description of what's happening. He guesses it's probably the transmission, which I had already assumed from the way it shook, and, here's the key, offers me his really hot truck to drive to church. Yes, AFTER I've had Houseguest wrapped around me like a tarpaulin all weekend. Roommate really is a fantastic guy.

I draw a crowd by climbing in his really hot truck (note to self: next time you drive a car four feet off the ground, don't wear a tight, form-fitting, knee-length skirt and boots) and motor off to church in high style, while Houseguest stays home in his PJs and fixes my computer. Mom and I have a heart-to-heart in the parking lot about guys and cars. We agree that if my car doesn't respond to the addition of automatic transmission fluid, we'll reconnoiter and think about moving cars around. She also reminds me that although Houseguest and I seem to be physically incompatible (hey, the weekend was the First Time), he's also smart and funny and cute and at ease around hard-to-impress adults and to try again. She turns out to be entirely right.

I stop by Shucks auto supply and buy transmission fluid. I have no idea what kind I need, so I ask the nice guy with gauged ears (and absolutely NO interest in me) what kind I need. He recommends a kind. I get it home. Houseguest and I peer under the hood of the Tercel. He goes back inside to work on the computer, leaving The Gearhead (me) alone to work her magic. After some poking around, I find the automatic transmission fluid dipstick, which seems to be well coated in fluid, but also has a few black chunks on it. Not a good sign. Also, the place to pour in the fluid is way down in the car and about .25 inches in diameter, and the dipstick calls for a different kind of fluid than I bought. Also I'm low on oil. Yeah.

Houseguest and I walk to Shakabrah for food, which I desperately need, and then back to Shucks. We buy a different kind of ATF, and some oil, and a funnel. We walk back to my house. I pour in the ATF and the oil, say a prayer, and start up the car again. Earthquake in a tin can. I let the car run for five minutes, occasionally laying on the gas and easing it up again. I put it in drive and pull a few feet forward with the intention of driving around the block. Houseguest and I look at each other, as much as we can actually make eye contact with the entire car shaking. We agree that the car shouldn't even be taken around the block. I pull back to my original spot and turn it off. So much for that.

The autobody place said this morning that they'd tow it to their place, turn it around in a day, and get it back to me. Uh-huh. Sure. Sounds great, gentlemen. Where's my Jeep?