Fat Bottom GirlsJune 29, 2009 at 9:52 PM | Posted in Journal | 1 Comment
She’s too stupid and ridiculous to pay her bills, much less have any money to pay for a repairman. She’s too lazy to get a second job, and she really needs one. I dunno–maybe I shouldn’t be too hard on her about the job thing. Not because she doesn’t deserve it, but because what goes around comes around. I just heard from my ex, and she got laid off at her day job. She still has a second job, but her hours have been cut back there as well. Times is tough, Times is tough.
I let it go for a long time, and when I talked to my cousin Joe, I found out that instead of bugging me, she’s been bugging him. She thinks he has all kinds of free time. Just because he’s not working a steady job–but he still has alot on his plate. He has his five kids to take care of, and he is always trying to line up some side work either for himself or his friends. He’s a busy guy.
I finally called the AC guys that I know, a local company here in town. In fact, they were the ones who installed the new furnace/AC unit in the first place, in either 05 or 06. Matt is a nice guy. He’s older than me, in his early fifties, but he’s in much better shape. Thin and wiry, with good teeth and a sunny disposition. I could really learn to hate him.
As it turns out, it was a good idea. He will cover the parts as under warranty, so we just have to pay labor. And by "we", of course, I mean me. But I told my sister I would take care of this. Of course, he has to order a part, so it won’t be in until about Tues or Wed. Saturday is (was) the hottest day of the year so far.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, our washing machine was having a spot of trouble. I guess it’s a matter of perspective–it’s not like it wouldn’t fill up with water or anything like that. It’s just that it wouldn’t STOP filling up with water. Every load became an oversize load. So, in a larger sense, the washing machine became a socialist. Fucking hippie. I was going to get to it, I had promised to get to it–
Saturday morning I got up about 6 am. I’m starting to get used to it, and starting to like this. I wake up and go get some coffee from quick trip, and maybe a breakfast sammich also. I like the…quiet. Everyone is still sleeping. Not just in the house, but out in the world. Traffic is light, and right now it’s pleasantly cool out on this summer day that promises to get over 100 degrees.
Thusly satisfying my need for routine, I return. I hang out in the garage. My garage. The big…my club house. I open the big door, announcing to the world that court is in session, and I am holding court. I turn on the radio, and get to making myself busy. I was expecting visitors today, and the garage was still a mess. I was making progress, but until then it didn’t appear obvious.
The truck was in front, on the left. That part was clean and done. The rest was a disaster. I worked on the right front, which was mostly trash anyway. I swept and gathered trash, and also all the trash cans, and filled them and lined them up in a neat row. Additionally, I moved some boxes and so forth to the storage I built over the door. I moved a metal shelf over by my tools, and used it to store all of the power tools, corded and cordless. I also put other stuff on it, like tools that are in cases. When I dig up more, I’ll have a place to put them. That part is close to done now.
Detroit was on to me, however, about the washing machine. I said I was going to get to it, and I will–but I wanted to do this stuff out in the garage and the yard first, before it got hot. Now here it was close to eleven, and its hot, and it’s time. For guests.
Mike from Domino’s and his dad Tom come by. They have the van that we are considering buying, and Tom is going to take a look at Fred for me. The van is not bad for an older vehicle. Detroit checks it out, she likes it. Plus Mike is making us a deal on it from his dealership.
Tom listened to Fred, then hooked up the computer tester. Verdict? Whether it’s good news or bad news, the engine is not trashed. Fred just needs a serious tune up. Plugs, wires, and lots of sensors. EGR, O2, things like that. Of course, I also need to spray some primer on the roof before the rust makes a hole in it. There’s a crack in the windshield, too. Of course, I’ve been driving on the spare for almost two years. And the front suspension is a bit off. I mean, it’s fine considering it’s missing some pieces.
Other than that–
After they leave, I resume the washing machine project. Detroit and her mom have threatened to buy one if I can’t fix it. Threaten *me*, will ya? It was the water fill switch (I think). I removed the whole board, which has the switch attached. We went for a ride to a local appliance store that has, in addition to new appliances, used ones, and also provides parts and service.
They have parts. But not the one I need. Might take a week or two to get it. With that, I turn to look at Detroit and Bonnie, who are already looking at used machines. Great, but what am I going to do with the old one? They bought one. It was a little over two hundred, which is not bad considering all of the new ones we looked at started at 400 and went up from there.
At home, I have Mike and Alex help take it off the truck and down the steps, and haul the old one out to the garage where I guess I will fix it and then sell it. I hooked the new one up, and it works fine.
I didna realize when I selected the title for this that it would be that relevant, ie: talking about my sister and my ex and calling it Fat Bottom Girls. Really I just meant it because of the song that follows it–Bicycle Race ("I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike. I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I like–")
While we were test-driving the van, we drove past a yard sale. I saw a bike. When we left to go buy the washing machine, we drove past it again. The bike was still there. I bought it. Twenty bucks. I’ve been wanting a bike to tool around the neighborhood on.
The seat needs work and the rubber doesn’t look that great and for no reason whatsoever a tire blew on it. The story of my life.