I don't have internet at my place right now. Sorry kids. I can't afford to get it turned on quite yet, so for the time being, you'll just have to get your fix of Snarky just once a week or so.
I did something very weird the other day. I had a Girl Day.
I went out and got my nails done with a friend of mine, then we went to the store next door and she got some jeans that make her ass look fantabulous. I'm jealous. I haven't been able to wear that size pants since I was like 16. So yeah, vanity is my motivation to diet and exercise after the baby is born. Screw better health, I want to be pretty. Then we got some lunch and hung out at her place for a bit, giggling and being dumb and talking about sex with our respective boyfriends, because sometimes the urge to gossip about such things is just OVERWHELMING. Yes. It is.
And then came the real fun. First Mate (who I was being girly with that day) agreed to teach me how to drive a stick shift, because I've been wanting to learn for a while. Every woman has to know how to handle a stick, right? Right.
I know the theory behind it, just never had a chance to practice it. So, off to a subdivision that's currently about halfway-built to practice. She put the truck in park, we switched places, and she told me this:
"Okay. Clutch all the way down. Got it? Okay. Brake all the way down. Release the e-brake. Okay. You're sitting in neutral right now. I want you to do something, just to get you used to it. I want you to kill it."
"Kill it? Isn't the aim of this exercise for me to learn to drive without killing it?"
"Yes, but you need to know what it feels like so you won't be quite so freaked out by it. Get used to that so you won't have a panic attack or whatever in the eventuality that you DO kill it. Trust me. Just pop the clutch."
"Okay..." *pops the clutch*
We lurched forward two fucking feet. Good god. And then did it about four more times. Then we started moving. Or trying to.
Heh. That shit's harder to do than people make it out to be.
The thing is... we were driving her truck, like I mentioned. Her truck, affectionately named Achilles. And with good reason.
It's a 1989 Ford F250 XLT. Big ol' bitch. And... I found out AFTER THE FACT... he's got a bitch of a clutch, too. As in most people would rather blow the thing up than attempt driving it. Very stiff.
This is the first time in my life I have NOT wanted to drive a vehicle. Usually it doesn't matter what kind of car it is, you give me the chance to drive it and I'm all over you for the keys. This thing... eek.
Next time, she says we're gonna screw around and try to find that happy middle ground with the clutch, half-on and half-off. And maybe that will make it easier.
But enough about that. Now for something I just saw on TV that made me giggle to no end.
Wow. That's great.
"It means you're gonna have to put on some pants, POPS!"
Heehee. I LOL'd.