Truck Breaks and Junkyard Adventures.

So the next part of our ongoing saga of fixing the damn truck breaks sometime in my lifetime involved bleeding the breaks. Did I say bleeding the breaks? I meant failure. First off this was like the first warm day we have had in weeks. However the first warm day in weeks does not mean that all the snow had melted so my first task was shoveling snow out from around the truck in the areas we might need to lay down on.

 

Yay.

Second task involved Scott filling up the master cylinder with break fluid and having me very gently pump the breaks so we could test that break hub thing that was a right bitch to get on. So I did that and then of course it leaked like a motherfucker and I had to stop and then Scott crawled under the damn truck and poked at it and then swore a whole bunch. Because of course the lines from the master cylinder would be the ones leaking. You know the lines that get break fluid to the breaks? Those lines? Yeah they were leaking. I realize to the uninitiated this is all gibberish so here have a picture.

 

So then we pull the line off and clean it up and try to put it back on. Which went about as well as you would expect. At one point both me and Scott were under the truck, facing different directions with him holding the line and me trying to thread the bolt on. Of course this didn't work at all ever and finally he tried to rebend the line and then knocked the other top line from the master cylinder off and then we swore a whole lot. Of course at this point I suggested just using JB weld to stick the damn bolts in PERMANENTLY and Scott was all like that just might work but we both kinda knew it wasn't going to work. There was only one option.

We were going to have to pull the damn break hub thing off again.

So Scott pulled the damn stupid motherfucking break hub thing off and in the cold clammy light of a winters day we could clearly see that the top holes, the ones we had been struggling with, were completely bare of threads. It was never going to work. No matter how hard we had fought and swore and cursed and begged the cold uncaring gods of auto repair, it was never going to work. We were going to have to find another break hub thing. Which of course is a part they no longer make anymore.

Which meant we were going to a junkyard.

So we grabbed our shit and some tools and I put medicated goop in the cats eyeballs and then we got in the car and drove. The first scrapyard we stopped at had a nice neat office and was staffed by a nice blond women who had clearly never left the eighties. There was a plastic sign on the counter saying not to place auto parts on it which kind of confused me because I was never really under the impression that junkyards were all that picky about there counters but whatever the fuck. So I just held the part up where she could see it like some sort of fucked up metal peace offering and we asked about it while the damn thing peed break fluid down my arm. So then she was all like, anything that old we just scrap and gave us the name of another place we could try and then we got back in the car and I spotted the greatest thing ever on the way out.

The greatest thing ever.

 Our next stop was an auto parts store where we learned that the part that I was calling the break hub thing and Scott was calling the break distributer was actually called the break proportioner.

Annnd also they didn't have one.

The last place we stopped at was a true to life scrapyard made entirely of mud. We pulled up to a gray dim looking metal building that was your typical half garage half office. Upon entering we were greeted by a vague older looking man. You know the kind of guy who gives you the impression there is no mental activity going on behind those eyes. “You got any cans?” He asked in a wheezy voice. I glance behind me at my 1999 canless Toyota Avalon. Which was the only vehicle in the parking lot. I looked around to make sure I hadn't been sucked into Cormac McCarthy's The Road.

Scott explained that we needed a part. The guy explained we would have to go back into the office. In the office we were greeted by a dark haired women sitting behind a desk talking to a older guy who apparently had nothing better to do then sit in a scrapyard office and talk up a receptionist. In the back another older looking women was washing down tables. For some bizarre reason the whole place smelled like cookies.

“You gonna help them customers!?” Shouted the lady from the back, still washing down shit.

So we explain what we need to the two people sitting at the desk who look like we are interruptions into their flirting/drug dealing and then they tell us to go out back and look for Gary. We go out back. Out back turned out to be a wasteland of muddy cars. Many of which had been crushed and flattened into huge pancake like stacks that rose up around the borders of the wasteland like a very ineffective fence. Mud and snow mixed together under the tires of huge car moving machinery. We stopped next to a green building that smelled like pure ethanol and watched the giant car magnet thing move car frames around like they were made of tinfoil.

Finally a guy driving a huge piece of machinery pulled up beside us and yelled something out the window I couldn't hear and then Scott held up the part like it was a magic talisman and they mined something about Chevy and then he yelled some directions over the engine and we were off. What followed next was the most surreal adventure ever. One isle over I could hear the giant car magnet dropping shit while we wound our way through cars that looked like they had been flung down from on high by an giant car magnet. The first truck we checked was completely on it's side, wheels and bed long gone. Even though it had the part, the break proportioner was too rusted and shot to use.

We picked our way out of there and into the nest row over. Which is when I discovered that the “snow” was merely a thin blanket of white over a foot deep hole and I had to do that thing where you jerk forward and then grab you own shoe to keep the earth from ripping it off.

I was pretty over the junkyard by that point. Of course the next truck's break proportioner was shot too. Defeated, unwilling to try another avenue and possibly lose a shoe for good this time we trudged back to the office. Once inside we explained that we didn't find one while the lady in the back shouted more advice about customer service. We smiled and backed out the door, back past the wandering can man and got into our car, still holding the greasy useless break proportioner.

We never did fine Gary.

Marry Christmahanahkwanzika Everybody!

Well it's that time of year again. Before we know it New Years will be here. So, um, it's been a year. You saw my triumphs and my failures and my sorrows and my success and I guess I just want to say....

Merry Christmahanahkwanzika everyone.

Marry Christmahanahkwanzika.

The Vet, the Cat and Some Drool.

The next part in the ongoing saga of my cats eyeballs involved making her another vet appointment and dragging her ass to it. Of course I knew she was going to have to go back at some point but I was dragging my feet on it because I still had medication for her and I had to go to work and holy shit how is it December already I have to give gifts to people this month. Fortunately the decision to call the vet clinic got made for me when I found blood in her fur.

There I was sitting calmly at my desk working on my Christmas card, music playing out of my head phones with a cup of tea beside me. Outside snow was coming down and I was enjoying watching it from my warm chair. Emoticon jumps up, and asks to be petted. I put my hand on her head and rub her thick soft fur. A thunderous purr starts up in her chest and I run my hand down her spine. She puts her butt in my face and then I see a few streaks of blood on her butt.

Freaking out ensued.

Of course this would happen when I have to leave for work for two days for a job that can't be missed. So I freak out some more and check the litter box and find out that there is blood on the litter around some poop and then I spend some time making sure the cat is not about to drop dead and then I tell the farm sitter and then I leave for work the next morning and resist the urge to text him like fifty times asking how the cats asshole is doing.

That might have been a bit much.

So then I get home and then I make an appointment and tell the receptionist that I found blood on her butt and I was kinda freaked and oh by the way her eyeballs are turning into big fat messes again and then they give me an appointment for later that afternoon. So at the appropriate time I shove Emoticon into a carrier and put on all the layers ever cause it's like 15 degrees outside without wind chill and then we get in the car and she starts meowing. Because she was just thrilled.

Yowlingly thrilled.

Of course going to the vet always makes me super nervous because what if this trip is where she is diagnosed with super cat eyeball tumors or catdealthitis or something? So we get to the waiting room and I try not to think about all the horrible things that could be wrong and instead I watched these two pug dogs come in that were dressed in Christmas sweaters.

Pug dogs. In Christmas sweaters.

It was god damned adorable. Even if their breathing sounded like they were farting out of there short little faces. Of course while I was smiling at the pure cuteness on legs I kept hearing these ominous thuds on the door across from us. Then a vet tech came and got one of the pugs and as she was leaving I saw a long tail sticking out from under the mystery door, accompanied by the sounds of a dogs toenails scrabbling on the floor.

Then the pug comes back and they are paying to leave and the pugs are walking around and breathing like deflating balloons and then without warning the door across from me bursts open and the biggest dog I have ever seen in my entire life comes rushing out of the door straight at us and then I was all like, “Holy crap I thought that thing was a small bear” and then the owner laughed while the giant fucking dog snorfled my hand and then it effortlessly wheeled around and put two paws up on the reception desk and looked the lady behind the desk magnificently in the eye before the owner could get him down. He came crashing to the floor and then he set eyes on the pugs.

There was a moment when the two bloated sausages with legs and festive sweaters considered the small horse big ass dog before they both decided they could take each other and the barking started. I have heard dogs whose barks were said to start at their toes. This dog's bark started under the floor somewhere. Possibly he just stored it in the basement wrapped around the plumbing until he needed it.

“I'll just put him in the car and then pay.” The owner said calmly hauling his wheeling barking dog out the glass door. No one moved to stop him. Quiet came back to the waiting room and then the tech appeared and called us into a room and then I tried not to think about Catdealthitis and the vet comes in and puts dye in her eyeballs and then she shuts her third eyelid and then he tries to get her to look at him and then I try to get her to look at him and then she glares at us.

I couldn't really blame her at that point.

Then he talks us through this round of what he thinks her fucking eye ulcers are doing and then he looks at her and says that the mystery blood was probably parasites and gave her A dewormer pill which she promptly spat back onto the techs hand because Emoticon had clearly said fuck it by this point.

So after the great pill puke-a-thon he tells about this new med that he wants to put her on. He went on to say that it was not as vital as the other two but we could give it a shot to stop the discomfort and hopefully aid in the healing. The only catch here was that it might cause her to foam at the mouth.

Cue that record scratching sound.

I was all like, WTF? And he was all like, one in ten cats might have a bad reaction to it so most likely she will be fine and then he breezed out of the room and we collected our meds and paid the slightly frazzled desk lady and then we went home.

Scott started on dinner and then I gave her her first med and then was all like we might as well give this new one a shot. So I held her and told her she was an awesome kitty and put in the drops while she thought swear words at me and then I went into the kitchen to wash my hands and then Scott asked me a question and I answered it and then I poked my head back into the living room to see my cat doing her damnedest rabies impression.

There was drool coming out of that cats mouth like someone had poured a fucking bottle of bubble bath into a five jet hot tub.

I had to clean the floor twice. Twice.

Then I promised her that I wouldn't give her that one anymore and hoped that the vet would agree with me next week at our next appointment while she looked like she had just burst a pipe in her face.

Which was all the excitement I really needed for one evening, really.

The Warranty on my Cats Eyeballs Must Have Expired.

Unfortunately while Emoticon was enjoying the freedom of being a wild tiger in the jungle being on outdoor cat her eyeballs were busy going to shit again. Because I clearly haven't paid the vets office enough money yet. So I made the decision to pull her back inside and bombard her eyeballs with drops again because I love her and she loves me and when I am working she sleeps on my desk and it's the cutest thing ever in the whole world ever.

Although I might be a little biased on that one.

Anyway after a few days of putting drops in her bad eye while she tried to hide under furniture from me Scott noticed that her good eye was also looking cloudy again and then I went outside and yelled at the sky except it was too cold for that really so I just told Scott that the warranty on my cats eyeballs must have expired.

Of course all this would be going on during a ice storm when I also have to get my ass to work and make money so I have not yet been able to make a vet appointment but that is the next thing that has to happen because I don't believe in investing money outside of my cat. Apparently.

Also I don't know how it got to be December all ready but I would like to have a do over of November. And not just because I would enjoy doing Thanksgiving again but also because I had goals for November and it's gone now. The goals? Still here.

Anywho so now I am back to having an indoor cat that knocks things off my desk and gets cat hair all up in my keyboard and makes my living room extra festive by coating it in a layer of snow like white cat fur and now I am afraid to put up my Thriftmas Tree because I am kind of afraid of what she would do to it.

Also this time around I decided I wasn't crating her anymore and so far she has avoided destroying the house although I don't know what I am going to do when summer comes and she tries to bust through another window screen to sweet, sweet freedom. I suppose I will have to cross that bridge when I come to it. And hopefully it's not one of those rope bridges from Indiana Jones where everybody goes all crazy pants and then we have to cut the bridge in two and somebody gets eaten by crocodiles. Except we don't even have crocodiles here so it would have to be bears.

Metaphorical bears.

Hopefully the vet will have a good idea of where to go from here in the medication is working as a place holder but not helping long term problem I am seeing and that we won't have to cross any metaphorical bridges at the vets office because no one there deserves to get eaten by bears. Or crocodiles.

Especially not the cat.

I mean that would be pretty hard to explain to Scott. I'm sure you guys would understand if my cat got eaten by metaphorical bears.

Pretty sure.

Mostly sure.

Truck Breaks: a New and Better Caliper.

Of course Scott had to go to town first thing in the morning to get the parts for the emergency breaks because the auto parts store had only had in the new caliper we needed yesterday evening and just not putting any emergency break parts on the wheels in not going to work because I live in the fucking mountains.

Of course the previous owner lived in the fucking mountains too and figured he didn't need no fancy emergency breaks. Although he installed one hell of a motherfucking sound system. I mean this sound system had speakers so big there were first sized holes cut for them into the dashboard that we could never actually fix until we just replaced the dash during the wiring harness debacle.

Cause you know, priorities.

Of course we are attached to keeping our bodies in one working unit so we drank our motivation tea grabbed the parts and headed on over to work on the breaks for what felt like the fifty millonth time. Of course the new caliper went on with no problem which only served to highlight how Wrongity Mc Wrong the other miscast caliper was and how we probably should have realized that sooner but whatever it's on now and then got out the emergency break parts.

 This thing. So fresh. So new.

Of course we have to take off one of the pads to get this damn thing on there because ha ha of course we do let's take more springs off and put them on AGAIN ha ha hah hah ha that didn't suck at all the last time and then we shove the bar in place and then we look at the illustration and then the bar again and then we are all like, wait there is a spring that goes on here. But the package didn't contain a spring. And neither did our bag of replacement springs. Because that would have made sense.

Sooo after a few moments of scratching our heads and poking things our eyes fell upon the old springs that we had taken off that were still sitting on the ground because throwing things away is for rich people. And then I was all like, why don't we use one of the old springs? They still spring right?

So then I grabbed one of the motherfucking springs and tried to shove it over the end of the emergency break bar and it totally didn't fit. Then I was all like, well it was a good idea but then Scott was all like all we have to do is bend it into an oval, then it will totally work!

 

Pictured: Totally working.

So after we squashed it with the hammer we then bent it around with the pliers until we had the shape we needed and shoved it into the truck like champions. Of course then we had to do the same thing to the other side before we could stand back and admire our new and improved drum break assembly.

Then all we had to do was put the bolts back into the caliper. Which was a motherfucking adventure because one of them was stripped now and we had to rethread the hole and by 'we' I mean 'Scott.' Of course we had a bunch of rethreading tools but the key was finding the right one that matched the fucking bolt so Scott went on a super magical treasure hunt in the shed until he found the right one and put new threads onto the old hole and then all we had to do was put the bolt back on.

This is about how that went.

Of course it went on after that. Because you know, threatening things with knifes is a key step to any auto repair job.

Integral, really.

Or at least when you do auto repair with me.

Truck Breaks and the Joy of Missing Parts.

Today it warmed up to a balmy 50 degrees. So we decided it was time to work on the truck breaks. Since you know, we had already ran all new break lines and then discovered the bleeder valves were shot and now we have to replace a whole bunch of shit that is integral to the breaks breaking. You know so the truck won't go careening over a cliff anytime soon because my state doesn't believe in guard rails.

Of course there was the obligatory gathering of tools and safety glasses and the will to do this task and then I reflected on the fact that when it warms up the snow melts and then everything gets soggy and how that was super no fun and then we got started.

The first task was to put the break pad things onto the drum breaks. Which involves putting a shit ton of springs on them. Like, a shit ton. Like all the springs. Of course this was a pain in the ass because even though half the springs were old and rusty they were deceptively strong. I found myself grabbing them with my pliers and making sounds like ERRUUUUUGGGHHHHHHGGAAAAHHHHH and HUURRRHHHHHHHGGAAAAHHHHHH and trying not to pee a little because those springs were motherfuckers.

Of course the super extra fun bit was that the break pads and the thing-that-I-don't-know-what-it-is-called wouldn't stay in place without these springs. So as I was giving myself a hernia trying to hook the springs on to various metal bits the pads and the thing would be shifting around and trying to fall off the hub like this was a super secret dance party.

For break parts.

A break dance party, if you will.

I'll stop now. Here have a picture.

So after we got that on we felt really good about ourselves and then we went and drank the tea of getting shit done and we moved over to the other side where we discovered the bag of brand new springs we should have put on the other side, including a lock for the parking break piece that we totally had not put on.

It was also about then that we realized that we were missing a part for the emergency break. Whoops, did I say missing a part? I meant we were missing all of it. The entire emergency break assembly for the drum break was just gone. On both sides. Meaning somebody at some point looked at the emergency break hardware and was like, whelp, don't need this. Of course we would only figure this out halfway through the other side because the instructions were just so clear.

So, so clear.

So once we bled and swore and wept all over side two we went back to side one to repeat the process all over again, this time with new springs and the bit that keeps the parking break piece from falling out of the hub and destroying something important like my sanity.

Since we could do no more to the drum breaks because the previous owner thought emergency breaks were optional pieces we decided to return to our old friend the drivers side caliper. Which was in retrospect a bad idea. Our previous attempts to attach the caliper had failed magnificently due to the metal plate the caliper went on being bent. So we attempted to unbend it. With anger.

Needless to say it didn't really work. What followed next was a montage of swearing and prying things and beating on the caliper with hammers. None of it worked. Finally one of us had the bright idea to compare it to the caliper that we had already installed and make sure it was the same part.

It totally wasn't the same part.

Which is incidentally where we gave up for the day.

So Scott went to town to buy auto parts and then by the time he got back it was dark because winter is an asshole like that so tomorrow we will continue on our noble quest to put that motherfucking caliper on the damn hub which I would like to accomplish sometime in my lifetime.

You know, just to set a loose goal there.

Kill me.

Rebuilding the Engine: the Triathlon.

So as you may lovingly recall, we had three days to repair the car by installing both valve cover gaskets. Which are located in the engine. Since day one and two were spent ordering parts and trying to fix the breaks on the truck the only thing we were able to do that evening was pull apart the top layer of shit under the hood, and unhook and label hoses and wires. So when the cold watery winters light crept back over my little farm on day three the clock began.

See, we had to be at work the next day. And when I say that, I mean there was no way we could miss this job. At all ever. It could not happen. But of course we can't drive the car all the way to the big city with it spewing oil all over the back half of the engine and the muffler.

So that morning we got up to be greeted by it being 30 degrees outside and snowing.

Because ha ha of course it was.

So we do our morning chores and gird our loins and I play that fine game called what's the warmest clothes I am willing to get covered in engine cleaner and motor oil and then we head outside into the arctic wasteland driveway pull the hood open and began.

The first thing we had to do was install the new gasket onto the piece we had pulled out and cleaned. This actually went pretty well, to lure us into a false sense of security. We pulled the old dry rotted gasket out and put in the new one, feeling like champions. Then of course, shit got real. Getting to the first gasket was easy, it was right in the front of the engine. All we had to do was unbolt the top plate thing and boom access.

Getting to the second gasket was a motherfucking adventure.

See each gasket lives in these metal rectangles that house the valves. So it get to the gaskets we had to take the cover/lid/whateverit'scalled off. The first one was right smack in front of the engine. That second one was in the very back of the engine under a whole bunch of crap. I mean like a shit ton of crap.

So we had to take off that big metal part on top of the engine that is the part that looks like an engine. Like, if I took a bunch of random parts from the car and laid them out in the driveway and asked you to pick which one went to the engine, you would pick this thing. Of course it had like eleventy billion wires going to it and hoses and bolts that connected it to shit.

So Scott who was labeling everything ever under that hood was busy taking wires and hoses off and writing on them and I took it upon myself to remove the bolts holding this Uber Engine piece to this bracket. Which sucked all the ass ever.

First off I was doing this because I have tiny girl hands* because there was almost no room behind the Uber Engine piece where the firewall is. And of course the firewall is a literal thing that separates you from everything under the hood so if the car explodes into a flaming ball your legs don't get melted off. So needless to say I can't damage the firewall.

Also since the high for the day was 35 motherfucking degrees there was the added adventure of not dropping bolts down into the black abyss that lives under the hood. Which is super fun when your fingers are aching and getting kinda numb.

So once we got this Uber Engine piece off and taped over the holes that do magic things to make the car run that were now exposed, we could then start on getting to that gasket. Which turned into a big shit fest. Since there was still a fuck ton of shit on top of the valve cover.

Okay, have you ever seen one of those movies where the camera speeds alone a tangled path and shows you, the viewer the whole route that the protagonist needs to traverse? So like, it starts with our intrepid heroes and then the camera pulls back and then you see they still need to get past the dark and creepy forest and over the ravine and then across the iron bridge and crawl into a storm drain to get into the castle?

This was just like that, except made out of auto parts.

So we proceeded to unhook a whole bunch of shit and then we tried to unhook the wiring harness and it just laughed at us and we kept having to run back into the house to watch how to repair videos. Which was kinda helpful except all the parts we were having trouble with came off in the video without a hitch while rays of golden light fell upon the mechanic and everything was perfect. Needless to say there was a lot of swearing.

So after what seemed like forever we were finally able to pull the damn valve thing out and clean it. Which of course was super fun because getting your hands covered in cleaning fluid when it is snowing sideways and you are working in your driveway on some sawhorses you are using as a table is just the greatest thing ever.

Of course at this point it was already like 3pm and we are starting to freak out a little because the car is like, really not together at all and it will be dark in like two hours. So we put in the new gasket and then try to shove the thing back into the car and back under the damn wiring harness and then it doesn't want to go and finally we manage to shove it back in there and then we have to take a break because it's fucking cold outside. Like, I walked into an eighty degree house mobile home and it didn't feel hot enough.

So we drank tea and looked at the clock and then grimly at each other and I wanted to yell something epic and moving and give an encouraging speech like that one from Braveheart but I was too damn tired and sore and cold so I just swore softly under my breath and then started to freak out a little bit.

Going back outside was like stepping straight into a freezer made out of car parts. So we get back up there and began to put the engine back together. This was a little easier for me because I had seen it come apart so I just stuck stuff back together based on the labels. However I did learn an important lesson called “it's totally possible to take the top half of an engine apart and put it back together without having any idea what the parts do or what they are called.

It's like the worst 3D puzzle ever, basically.

A puzzle that spits coolant and oil all over you.

Anyway by this point we are starting to act like the failure fairy has shown up and blessed us both with her wand of having shit go wrong because all those things we fought and swore and bloodied our hands up to get off now have to go back on and our fingers are freezing and it's still fucking snowing.

This part is what I lovingly referred to as the death march stage.

See at some point it dawned on me, while I was frantically putting bolts back on that everything in the engine compartment is vital to the car running. I realize to someone who knows cars that stating that sounds super stupid. You know like pointing out that the sky is blue and that you can heat food using a microwave. However this simple statement takes on a whole new meaning when you are staring down at the partially dismantled engine of your car and realize that if you don't reconnect everything just right the car will not run and you will be fucked.

So as the light leached out of a gray featureless sky we reconnected hoses and wires and put plates and brackets back on and then we had to pull out a work light and head lamps and it got really really ball shittingly cold and then at last, at long last there was nothing left to connect or clean and we stared back down at a complete engine compartment.

So then Scott got in the drivers seat and turned the key and the car STARTED and ran it was a the most beautiful thing in the world and then he got out and we stood there in the cold and dark with the snowflakes coming down and watched the car running and I felt like this was it, this was the moment I was going to savor that we had done something I thought we could not do, and that our crazy plan had worked and even though I was freezing cold I was going to take this moment right now and appreciate the shit out of that engine.

That is until all that coolant started burning off.

It was a smell, is what I am saying.

But in the end we made it to work, and that's what matters.

I'm probably sure I smelled just lovely when I got there.

*This is a lie.

I Need a Teleporter: Both Vehicles are Broken Now.

So we were driving to work the other day happily unaware that shit was sneaking up on us like a tiny assassin made out of bad luck and car repair. Unfortunately we became aware of it when the check engine light came on. So Scott got out of the car at a gas station and did things under the hood that I did not understand and then he checked the oil level and it was like super dry and then he was all like fuck we have an oil leak. And I was all like that would explain the burning ass smell when we start the car. Because who drives around with there car smelling like burning mechanical ass without doing anything about it?

We do.

So in addition to the truck being up on blocks we now have a problem with the car. Which if you are counting along at home means that the only thing we now have running is the backhoe. Which is not street legal and I'm pretty sure that we can't drive that to work. Fairly sure.

Of course this whole thing got more complicated because this is my life and nothing can ever be simple. Because of our work schedules we had three days off to fix the car. Sounds like plenty of time right?

Ha ha no.

Because Day One of crazy vehicle repair time we had just got home from an overnight job and it was like, 5am. So the only thing we managed to get done was driving our tired zombie asses to the auto parts store where of course they only had parts for the truck and had to order the parts for the car. Also we made the decision to get all of the parts at once for both vehicles because I have come to accept that money isn't a thing I get to have anymore.

Goodbye paycheck, may the wind be ever at your back.

Anyway we got the parts back home and then went and tried to stay awake until bedtime because that is something that adults do for some reason. At this point we decided to work on the truck breaks on Day Two because we had all those parts and it was already sitting there and then when we got the car parts we could work on it later on in the afternoon.

What this really translated to was that we spent most of the day fighting the truck breaks.

So first we got out the parts for the front breaks on the truck. Now these are disc breaks and we have done a bunch of disc break work before and were all like this should go pretty fast. Which if you are familiar with this blog means that everything went to hell in a poop basket.

To explain, the part that we had to replace is this metal shell called the break caliper that holds the break pads. So when you step on the break the caliper squeezes the pads into this round dish called the break rotor. Basically when you break the caliper gives the rotor the biggest hug ever. This also means that when you go to replace the caliper you have to shove the pads into it and then put it over the rotor like a taco. A metal filled taco.

Except one of the calipers didn't want to go on. At all. Ever. So we fought with it. We pried and swore and used the hammer. We took turns swearing at it while we beat on it with various things in the vicinity. About then Scott got fed up and we put the other side which went on perfectly just to make us think we were crazy.

It was about then that we discovered what the problem was. The thingajig the caliper bolts onto was bent. I don't just mean a little bent, like oh we could straighten this up with a hammer, no I mean like bent to shit to the point that when we gave up and went to get the car parts the guys at the AutoZone told us our best bet outside of going to a junk yard was to heat it up with a torch and bend it back. Of course this would mean that we would be weakening the metal so when the fucker breaks it is going to break right at that point and then I pointed out that I was a terribly unlucky person and the auto guys who had watched us buy parts for two cars at the same time kinda had to agree.

Of course it was like too damn late in the day when we went to the auto parts store because breaks are assholes like that. So then we got all the parts we needed for the car and drove home, and then we noticed it was getting dark. We also noticed that we had one day left to do this. So we strapped on headlamps, got out a work light and began to take the engine apart.

Did I mention we have to replace the gaskets in the engine? And that we have to take the engine apart to do it?

We had to take the engine apart.

So this involved us standing in the driveway with a work light and headlamps, labeling every wire, tube and hose on the damn thing in order to get it back together the next day. Of course it was windy as fuck too. So we get all our shit together and I ask what I can do to help and then Scott tells me to get a rag and to pull off some such hose and then I get some pliers and take the little metal thing that holds the tube on and pull it down the tube and then I grab the rubber firmly and pull and instantly a whole shit motherfucking ton of fluid comes out of there like a goddamned fire hose and I freak out and shove the whole thing back in and then I am like what do I do?

And then Scott is like, just take it off and then I pull it out again and this fucking liquid goes fucking EVERYWHERE and Scott is all like holy shit that was overfilled and then we freak out and stuff paper towels in the hole in a dim attempt to stop the deluge and then I look down into the car and everything is dripping and then Scott is all like, we'll have to clean that tomorrow and I'm like fuck this is gonna make the car smell great when we start it up again.

So then we go back to unhooking things and labeling them and I don't have any more hoses spew gunk all over me and then it gets windy as fuck because ha ha the weather hates my guts. Finally we are getting pretty tired and my knees are trying to murder me and I am limping around because leaning way over the front of the car is something they don't like to do, apparently and then finally, finally we can pull off one of things we need to replace and clean.

At this point we are joined by Tom Tom Tiger our kitty. He proceeded to demand attention. We try to explain that we are covered in black gunk from the motor we are scrubbing down and that he will have to wait. He stalks off.

So there I am busy scrubbing down the inside of this integral car thing, wondering if it is possible for my fingers to get any colder, when I hear a squeak. I look down, and in the weak beam of my shitty Wal-mart headlamp I see Tommy has caught a mouse. Which is alive. Which he lovingly gave to me.

By putting it on my foot.

We quit pretty much right after that.

So tomorrow we have to install the new gaskets and then put the freakin engine back together and then get ready for work the next day. Should be a piece of cake right?

Right?

Fuck.

Drum Brakes are Terrible. Terrible I Tell You.

A few days ago Scott decided that he wanted to get ready to bleed the breaks on the truck since we had already given our blood sweat and tears to replace the break lines. So he got ready to go out into winter while I made a few excuses to stay inside until the last possible second. Luckily for my staying inside as long as possible plan, Scott came back inside about twenty minutes later and announced that he had snapped off one of the bleeder valves and the rest of them were stuck.

Now for those of you who don't understand what all that gibberish underneath your car is, bleeder valves are these little thingamajigs that when unscrewed a little bit shoot break fluid out of them like a leaky sink. Which allows you to get the air out of the break system. Because if you don't get all the air out of the break lines you'll die.

So no pressure or anything.

So of course when you snap the fucking thing off two things happen. One break fluid oozes out and two, you get fucked. I mean like really fucked.

Not just regular fucked.

Because that thing that the bleeder valve connects too, now you have to replace that too. Because nothing is ever easy. Anyway, instead of bleeding the break, we now had to put the truck up on blocks like this is the country and pull the break assembly apart.

Oh joy of joys.

So we trooped outside and I gathered up cinder blocks and bits of boards and other shit that one needs to properly place a vehicle up on blocks in the lawn while Scott broke the tire loose and jacked the truck up. Mainly because I can't be trusted with Jacks. Things happened man. Things happened. Things.

Anyway we pull the tire off and find that the bleeder valves on an 85 Chevy are on the caliper. Which if you recall is the part I think I could replace in my sleep if I had too. Pleased we pulled the calipers off the two front tires like the caliper wizards we are. I decided not to compose a spur of the moment song about Caliper Wizards because Scott does not understand my innate musical talent* and we moved on to the back tires.

Which is when Scott told me that the rear tires have drum breaks and everything went to hell from there. This was my first time seeing drum breaks. They sucked. Like really. Like someone who loves Steampunk had decided to make some fucking breaks. So the break part, the break pad if you will sits inside this fucking circle and when you hit the breaks the pad shoves into the inside of the circle and stops the truck. Or something like that. I am not really sure. What I am sure about is that getting all those bits apart is super shitty.

Like really shitty.

So we pull the large circle thing off, and then we discover the pad bits are held on with springs. Springs that wanted to stay where they are thank you very much. So we fought the damn springs off and then tried to get the thing the bleeder valve was on removed and then we came to the conclusion that that thing was part of the axle somehow.

Which if you are following along at home, means we are like, what are we up to now? Double fucked? Triple fucked? I'm not really sure how fucks compile. I mean this was never really covered in math class. Although it damn well should have been.

Back to the point, it was getting kinda dark because winter plus mountains plus living under a ridge equals a four thirty sunset so we gave up, pushed the tires under the truck cleaned up our tools and went to go eat meat from the crazy meat van.

Hooker Meat. **

*This is a lie. I have no musical ability whatsoever. At all. None. Zippo. Nada. Nothing. Just to clear that up.

** Probably.

I Fixed the Toilet. I am a Toilet Champion.

I was deep in the midst of cleaning the other day when I got a nasty surprise. I was doing my usual method of cleaning a shitty mobile home from the eighties which involves taking everything that had accumulated in the living room throwing away the trash and then putting whatever is left into the no mans land that is the tacked on toilet bathroom area in the bedroom that is missing the dividing wall because rednecks.

It's a system I have.

I didn't say it was a good system.

So I was back there doing shit when I happened to glance over at the toilet and realize that the entire area and plywood under it is soaking wet. Of course after just replacing the ENTIRE FUCKING FLOOR because of a leaky water heater I went into defcon panic mode three and proceeded to loose my shit all the way back into the kitchen where I grabbed Scott and made him look at it because that is just the cross husbands have to bear.

So he gets flashlights and pokes around and announces that the bolts that hold the tank onto the bowl part are leaking. So then he tells me he is going to go up to the shed and see if he has any rubber washers that would fit those and then he walks up to the black holes of insanity that our are poorly organized sheds. Then I get the bright idea that because of the older mobile home we abandoned to the wolves are using as storage we have a spare toilet.

A spare toilet with bolts on it that is.

So I tell Scott of my plan and he points out that toilet is even older then this toilet but I can take a wrench over there and see because it is not like he is making any progress here. So then I grab a head lamp and some tools and some cat eye medication because I have taken to dosing Emoticon's eyes whenever I see her and then I go over there.

Of course the cats are there and feed them and put drops in Emoticon's eyeball and then she tells me she hates me and then I go inside and see about getting that motherfucking toilet apart. I figured that this bit was going to be, like super shitty because the bolts were like 40% rust and were probably bent on becoming one with the porcelain like metallic budists. Luckily for my plan but not for my sanity the bolts weren't even motherfucking tight.

Ha ha lol. Whatever.

So I pull those fuckers off and see that the rubber seal on them is still intact and then I am all like, score. So I take them back up to the shed and clean them up and tell Scott I think this is going to work and then I pry him away from checking endless drawers and boxes and totes for rubber washers and we go back inside and try to get the old bolts off.

The operative word being “try.”

Because it turns out that the top of the bolts, the part that sits in the tank, was completely gone. Like the water had rusted it away to nothing. So then we had to pry the rubber washer bits off, or more like what was left of them. Of course it was rusted away just enough to stop me from being able to unscrew the nut but not enough to allow us to pull the washer up easily.

Which is how we ended up breaking another part of the toilet.

So in the end we managed to pull away the rubber washers and scrap the remainder of the tops off and shove the bolts down through the holes with a screw driver. So then I install the new pieces, muttering vague swear words and pleas to the god of toilets that this fucking works and then I tighten them down trying not to think about all the weird toilet tank poop water that's probably on my hands by now and then it fucking works.

Of course being paranoid I kept checking on it and wouldn't let Scott put any of the tools away till like twenty minutes later because I kept expecting to fail magnificently somehow but so far it appears to be good. Then I had to clean my hands like fifty million times while singing “I fixed the toilet” to the tune of “I shot the sheriff” while Scott offered me pie to stop me from singing.

Which was very effective, I might add.

So in conclusion, I am the Toilet Champion.

Champion of Toilets if you prefer.

I should put that on my business card.

The Crazy Meat Van Stopped at my House.

So the other day I was wandering around the house in my ripped up jeans when I heard a knock at the door. So I went to answer it and found an attractive blond guy standing on the porch. He was all like, hey I drive a meat van and I have a few deliveries in this area and thought I might be able to interest you in some meat products. And then I agreed because it's apparently not in my willpower to refuse an attractive guy when he wants to show me meat.

It's a weakness I have.

So then he is like I'll be right back and of course me and Scott follow him up the driveway because there is a crazy meat van in it and then he comes back with these huge boxes and I got in inkling that maybe this wasn't such a hot idea anymore and then he asks if we have a kitchen table and we say yes and then I started to wonder what kind of world he lived in where people wouldn't have kitchen tables and then we got inside and the house and he puts the boxes down.

Then he proceeds to open them up and lay boxes of prepackaged vacuum sealed meat on the table and talk how awesome consuming dead animals is. Of course each of the large boxes he has is filled with smaller boxes that are filled with steaks like some sort of fucked up Russian nesting doll made out of animal parts.

Of course it was about then when he is pressuring Scott into buying some stuff that I start to wonder if maybe he murdered a hooker or something because I have never really heard about a crazy meat van before and maybe it's filled with murder victims or Soylent Green or someshit. So I start asking questions about the animals before they were made into steaks as though I could catch him if these 'steaks' were really more like 'ex wife' or 'nameless drifter' but he was too clever for me.

Also he was attractive.

Then Scott starts haggling on the price of some pork and steaks and whatnot and then we decide if we really want meat from the crazy meat van and I'm all like what the hell, when life gives you a random meat van you might as well take advantage of it.

Of course he points out that they have chicken too and I point out that I own real live chickens which pretty much ends that discussion. So then he packs up what we didn't want and then I feel kinda weird because this probably means that the crazy meat van will be back at some point because we have fallen for it's tricksy wiles this time and I am probably going to get badgered by the crazy meat van every time they come up here.

Which is a sentence I never really thought I would type, really.

Of course the whole thing will probably work out in the end because they sell bacon. I don't know much about high class living, but I think having a van show up to your house with the explicit purpose of selling you bacon can't be a bad thing.

Just as long as it's not a crazy meat murder van.

Eh, I'll take my chances.

For bacon.

Emoticon is Once Again a Free Kitty.

So in what is hopefully the last chapter in the saga of my cats eyeballs, we went in to get more meds and then the vet was all like we should do another check up on her and then I was like okay whatever it's not like I need money to live or anything. Which of course involved pouring her into a carrier and listening to her yowl super loudly in the car for half an hour.

Because love.

And then we got to the vets and the place is like super empty and then I am all like score and then we get admitted into the little room with the exam table and it takes two people to get Emoticon out of the carrier because she can turn herself from a solid into a liquid state at will. It's a talent she has.

Then Mr. Vet Guy comes in and has a look at her and puts more dye into her bad eyeball and then we have that discussion about where to go from here. Her good eye is completely wonderfully cleared up. But her bad eye is still a big fat ulcery mess. I explained that while I had not seen much improvement in the bad no good eye or the ulcer I had wanted to give her a bit more peripheral vision because it was a big hard world out there.

He points out that the ulcer thing is still picking up on the dye so he kinda doesn't want to stop treatment but he has to admit that I have been treating this thing for fucking ever and we really haven't seen that much improvement. Because whatever damage was done to it was kinda deep.

The real problem as I saw it however was that Emoticon was becoming depressed. She was not coming out of her crate anymore in the mornings and was trying to hide from me when I went to dose her. She had stopped playing with her toys, stopped running around like a crazy cat and was spending more time sleeping on the floor like a little furry rug.

So then he said that we could probably put Emoticon back outside as long as her eye didn't get any worse because she didn't appear to be in pain and we had been treating this damn thing for like the entire fucking summer and into fall and at this point and it was unlikely that we were going to have some sort of eyeball epiphany at some point where she would get super better and have rainbows shoot out of her eyes.

Well he didn't say all that, I'm paraphrasing.

So then I took Emoticon home and let her go out onto the porch where she acted completely baffled that she was outside and then she didn't show up for dinner or breakfast and I was beginning to freak out that I just blew 300 dollars she was dead or ran away or something and then she showed up for lunch and hissed at her sister and then I thought everything just might be okay. Especially because she is not misjudging jumps and flailing about in the weeds anymore. Also she gained a lot of weight being inside. Which she seemed to put directly over a layer of rock hard kitty muscle.

Her sister doesn't stand a chance, is what I am saying here.

Hell at this point I don't think I stand a chance.

Which is why I am trying to stay on her good side.

Tom Tom Tiger had better watch out.

It might be getting real on this farm.

Kitty real.

Truck Break Lines Day Two, a More Sober Account.

Luckily on day two of trying to fix the damn break lines my body seemed to be adjusting to the medication a bit better and I know longer felt high as a goddamned kite. Which was almost disappointing because in the cold harsh light of almost sobriety rerunning break lines sucked all the ass.

So to recap my former really, really drugged up on prescription drugs I have to take because my stomach is an asshole account of the first day, we ran all the break lines leading to the front tires to this hub thing that sits bolted to the bottom of the frame of the truck and we ran the two main lines from the hub thing to the reservoir that holds the break fluid. So the break fluid gets to go on a super awesome fun water ride down to the hub where it get sent out to each tire on a slightly less magical adventure. You know, in case my loose rambling drugged up previous account didn't cover any of this.

It totally didn't cover any of this.

I could go back and edit it to make more sense, but that would ruin the memories. The drug memories that is.

Anyway today's super special mission was to run the lines to the back tires. So two lines needed to follow the frame of the truck from the front hub to the back hub, and then two more lines from the back hub to the tires. Don't worry if that doesn't make any sense, because after what I went through I think the best option is that if your break lines fail you should just buy another car.

So first off we get out the lines going to the back and then we get them all set to go and then I crawl under the truck to the back hub and Scott tries to feed the line in from the front. Except there's this bit where the lines have to go around the frame and some other bullshit I don't understand. And of course since we bought pre-bent lines they have all sorts of zig zags in them all ready.

So basically it was like trying to shove a coat hanger that has been through a grain thresher through a keyhole. Except the keyhole has a ninety degree turn in it.

It was awful is what I am trying to get at here.

Of course at one point we got the whole thing hopelessly stuck to a point where we couldn't go forward or back so we put a coupler there and Scott had to deal with all the excess on his end because we are not super mechanics here and hopefully everything will work and we won't go careening over a cliff because my state doesn't believe in guard rails.

So the next step was trying to get the rear lines on from the hub to the tire parts. The problem here was that the bolts were so rusted that I had to scrape rust off to get the wrench on and then when I did get the wrench on the damn thing it didn't move at all whatsoever. Of course Scott was still struggling to attach shit to the front hub so I was on my own.

What followed was a montage of both of us laying under the truck on plywood grunting and whimpering as we fought those motherfucking ass break lines into place with our blood sweat and tears.

In the end I still has to get Scott to undo the bolts for me. Which pretty much set a president for the rest of the day while Scott did all the hard shit and I handed him tools because for whatever reason I could NOT get any of the rustastic bolts off and I couldn't get any of the new ones in.

Which pretty much destroyed any lingering glory from that wheel strut job we did last winter. Not that I am bitter or anything. Although I suppose I could just blame this attempt on the drugs.

So about this point we work our way back up to the front hub. You know the one we sweated and bleed all over the first day to attach the front lines too? Well it turns out we can't get the last line off of it. We tried everything we could think of and even debated taking a torch to it but Scott vetoed that plan because it was right next to the fuel line and Scott hates being set on fire by a seemingly unending spray of gasoline.

So after some cursing and a cup of tea, we decided we are going to have to remove that hub piece I don't really know the name of and possibly replace it.

Which would totally negate all our efforts from yesterday.

So Scott pulls it off and then takes it up to the sheds and manages to remove the stuck line and then we wrestle the damn thing in place and reconnect the lines which sucked all the ass and took like an hour of our lives.

And by 'we' I mean 'Scott.'

I mostly got him tools and then crouched right in front of him to keep the sun out of his face because by this time it was trying to set on us and finally, finally the damn thing was all together and then we decided to bleed the breaks later.

So then we threw the tools in the truck cab and went back up to the house and had dinner which I can't taste at all because this is seriously the most fucked up stomach medication in the world and I had to keep asking Scott if dinner was good and he kept telling me it was and now I have to go take a shower and maybe eat some chocolate.

You know, to see if I can taste it.

Purely in the interest of science, you understand.

Purely.

The Breaks on the Truck Died a Sad and Terrible Death.

So awhile ago we were getting firewood and we had unloaded the last load and then I went into the house to take the dog out and then Scott got back into the truck to put it into the upper driveway and then the breaks died and then he had to use a fence post and the woodpile to keep the truck from rolling into the ditch and then he had to ease it onto the lower driveway without sending it over the bank and into the creek.

Which was fun.

And then we had to go to work and then there was more work and then Scott ordered more break lines on the internet and then we flash forward to today to where we happened to be home for like a whole 48 hours and it wasn't snowing outside.

So after doing my morning chores and taking all the pills I need to take now because my stomach is a dick we went out to install the new break lines. So we drug everything we needed all the way down from our sheds to the end of the other driveway and then we got ready and we took the break lines out of the box and then we slid plywood under the truck so we didn't have to lay on the freezing cold gravel and then we girded our respective loins and then I realized that I was starting to feel a little weird. Because new medication and all. “It's okay” I said to myself, “this is like the third day on these fuckers, I'll feel a little weird and then I'll be fine.”

In retrospect, that was the stupidest thing I have ever thought.

But I'm blaming it on the drugs.

So Scott took the old lines off and I handed him tools and listened to him invent new swear words because the bottom of a 85 Chevy from the mountains is like 80% rust and then he sent me up to the shed to get some wrenches. Which of course meant I had to cross one field and our yard and then walk all the way up to the shed. To counter the fuzzy feeling of the meds I just chanted what he wanted me to get so I would not forget and then I got to the shed and opened the drawer of box wrenches and then I just stared at it for awhile trying to figure out what the words I was saying meant and that's when I realized I was high as balls.

As balls here people.

Balls.

So then I get back with the tools and Scott is all like where is the 17mm wrench and I was all like, um, ah I couldn't find one. And then he was kinda irritated because he had to walk all the way back to the shed but I didn't care because I was chemically unable to give a fuck.

Anyway at this point I usually give a run down of what we are doing but this time I can't do that because I had no idea what was going on. My whole day was a series of disconnected things that happened. And all of them sucked ass.

First off we had brought the pre-bent break lines because we assumed it would be easier to install them. Unfortunately all that did was make it incredibly hard to get the fucking metal tubes through all the other shit in the truck. They kept catching on things like the frame and the whatsadoozit and then we couldn't get the threaded ends to line up with the hub thing that they went to and then they wouldn't thread on because nothing can ever be easy.

So we would take turns laying under the truck trying to get them to thread on and they were all like, ha ha ha no. And then we would switch places and try all sorts of arcane things to bend and shove the break lines into alighting with the break thingamajig until finally I gave up and got out from under the truck and Scott asked me to get something and then I found I could only walk to the left for about five steps and then I almost ended up in the garden.

Because muscle relaxers.

So then Scott pulled some magic trick and got the damn things to thread and then we gave up for the day and then I was thinking about spending my evening sitting in a prescription drug haze and then Scott reveals that all we got done were the front breaks and we hadn't even touched on the back breaks yet and then I thought about doing this all again tomorrow and then I supposed I should have felt depressed but then I didn't really feel anything other then the fact I was loopy as fuck.

And of course this would have been the night we were supposed to go to dinner at grandmas and then I had to pretend that I was totally super not stoned out of my fucking mind even though my pupils were the size of dinner plates.

Which was like, dinner challenge level 5000.

Luckily I think I pulled it off.

Maybe.

Mostly. Sortof. Pretty sure.

Oh god sweet Jesus take me now.

Ahem. I'm fine.

Or well I will be when I take the next dose, that's for damn sure.

My Stomach Hates me and a Trip to the Doctor.

So a few days ago my stomach decided it had had enough of this digesting food shit and that it was super pissed at me for demanding that it do something with the food that I eat. Which is for me, sadly normal. Because my stomach is a dick. Which meant I had to go back to the doctor. Since I am one of those people who won't go to the doctor until I feel like death is coming for me in the night, Scott had to hound me until I made the appointment and then I didn't want to go because I had had like four hours of sleep the night before because of work and it was snowing.

I like to experience winter from inside the house.

So I went back to the doctor and we talked about the fact that my stomach is like an narcoleptic serial killer that can only remember to kill me when it's awake and then we talked about the fact that you know, having untreated depression and anxiety problems might be at the root of all this and then she gave me a bunch of prescriptions.

Because pills.

So I get home and flip through all the sheets they give you when you start new medications because I enjoy scaring the the crap out of myself and then I see that one of the pills is twice a day before meals and then I take one and it turns out it's an intestinal antispasmodic which is a fancy way of saying it's a goddamned muscle relaxer. Then we had dinner and then I took a shower and put meds in the cats eyeballs and then I went and sat down at the computer and that's when I realized I was high as fuck.

I mean stop the presses high as fuck.

Like I couldn't read words on my computer high.

Then I started to kinda freak out a little because my arms had no weight and I felt like my torso was sinking through the floor and then I was all like shit man this ain't good. So then I wandered around the house while Scott assured me that this was all totally normal and that I shouldn't worry and that it would get better the longer I was on this med and then I was like I am never taking this again because oh my god my fingers are all weird now. Also I kept rubbing my left arm but not my right arm because I don't even know anymore.

So after a bit the weirdest feelings passed and I kinda felt alright and it seemed to be doing what it was supposed to be doing and then I realized that I felt great and I also did not give a fuck. I am not sure why muscle relaxer has this effect on me but it does. And that effect was that I was all out of fucks to give times a thousand.

Like the house could have caught on fire and collapsed around me and I would have stood amid the burning wreckage giving it the finger with both hands kind of not giving a fuck.

Of course I felt great. I felt fantastic. My stomach felt great and I felt a great lassitude and captions of cat pictures on the internet were suddenly the funniest thing ever. Then I went to bed and it was so soft and comfortable like I was laying on a big cloud that smelled like dog and then I shut my eyes and when I woke up and felt like I was wrapped in fuzz and I can't remember a damn thing for more then 20 seconds and I haven't even taken anymore of it and it's taken me two tries to write this blog entry.

Because prescription drugs are the best drugs.

Today however I decided to take the next drug she put me on and now I am dizzy and lightheaded and feel weird again and typing is like magic because words are appearing on the screen as I think them because fingers are the best and hand eye coordination is the best and have you ever thought about how weird that is?

Like how typing is all... neat?

I mean like have you?

Like really?

This is all like, whoa.

I need to stop typing now.