No Rest For The Wicked. I Didn't Know My Car Was Wicked.

I really, really wanted to stay home this weekend. I got annoyed enough with My Father that, after surveying what I could do this weekend, I decided that I could stay home. The price of gas is still high, even though it's now at around $3.89 a gallon. (BTW, I swear that the assassination of Osama bin Laden is a reason it's gone down. Really. The price of gas is tied to the general morale of the American public.) There really is a point where I just can't justify driving around to places when there is stuff I can do at home. So even though I considered going all the way down to Canterbury Park to watch the Kentucky Derby -- I realized later that the park itself isn't open to live racing for another two weeks, so it made no sense to go down there when I would only be watching horse racing on TV anyway, even with this potential ticket mailed to me by Canterbury that could have given me a grand to bet on races with -- I decided to stay home and do some chores.

One of those chores was finally getting around to fixing the garage door. I finally got my ass up Saturday to affix the beams and retie all the wires I needed to do. I didn't get around to it because I didn't have the new wire I needed, but apparently Father found one and he put it in, though half-assedly.

I was hoping the wires were good and I just needed to line up the sensor beams. No, that wasn't it. After a few minutes, I realized that the next thing I needed to look at was the main motor, which is right in the middle of the ceiling in our garage. The two cars are parked right below it. And I didn't have enough room to put in a ladder to look.

So, that meant I had to move my car. And by my person rules, if I just move my car down the driveway, well, I'm cooking the oil in my engine that won't get hot enough long enough to burn off all the impurities, which means I'll allow sludge to develop, and all because I moved my car down several yards. So that meant I had to go out tonight because then I'll drive my car enough to get it hot to burn off all the bad stuff in the oil. So I made last night an evening of it; instead of watching the Celtics-Heat game and Tina Fey on Saturday Night Live at home, I hit two stripclubs and had coffee and a late-night snack.

(By the way, I didn't completely fix the garage door. Father mismatched the wires to the terminals, and then one of the casters fell off the rolling track, and then the vertical brace fell off ... bottom line, Father came in as I was out in the garage and he's going to take care of it all today. Maybe.)

Sunday was ... Sunday. We don't go out Sunday. It is Mother's Day, but I don't think Mother wanted to go anywhere. But as I was passed out to pay the sleep debt I accrued working over the week (and even though Grandmother probably thought it was Monday, otherwise why would she wake me up to do her tests at 7:30 on a fucking Sunday morning), I was woken up by Grandmother at around 11.

Father was on the landline. Apparently there's a new Chinese buffet that opened up nearby and maybe we want to go there for Mother's Day. Check it out, won't you?

Well, fuck me. I guess I shouldn't have counted on staying home for Mommy's Day, even though that's what we've done the past few years. But with this new buffet (which, by the way, looks very well appointed, but there were a few white people working there, and that's always a red flag that it might not be a good buffet [it's something my parents taught me, and to be honest, it seems right more often than not]) I have to check out, I'll have to drive some more -- again. It's not the driveway, it's close enough that my temperature gauge won't reach optimal by the time I get there, so I might as well do more shit (like walking around the mall, returning this tray, and blogging this for the day and going to yet another stripclub) to make sure my car's engine's going to be OK. And shit, I might as keep it on the driveway and use it to take the family the buffet tonight -- the one in St. Paul, the my parents prefer, the only place outside they'll go to. Only the best for Mom.

So what was supposed to be a restful day for me and my automobile turned out to be as active a one as I usually have. More gas, more money. Things get in the way, and yet nothing changes.