So we woke up this morning feeling like we had been pummeled by invisible dream donkeys during the night. It was a very specific kind of pain, is what I am saying. So after completing our morning chores, shoveling the three inches of snow off the car, we put on all the thermals ever, girded our loins, and crawled out of the damn house to tackle that second wheel strut.
Well after having all that practice the first time* the second time seemed to be going better. Until we hit that damn
sway bar control link
Patrick Swayze bar again. After a few token attempts to remove the
bar, in which we learned the bolts were so rusted on that they had
become one with the universe, we just sawzalled the damn part off
This is not the recommended solution, we were just all out of fucks to give.
Also Scott had ordered two Patrick Swayze bars on the internet, because we are capable of learning from our mistakes and also have learned to assume the worse is going to happen. So we cut the bar off like fucking wizards, took the strut out, and shove the new strut up into the wheel well. Then we reattached the break assembly high fiveing, about how much faster this attempt is going. Then we go to take the clamp off the spring and discover that the spring has become unseated and we have to take the damn thing off again. Completely. Which we had to do TWO MORE TIMES.
Did I mention that the repair manual states that this a 30 minute job?
This was supposed to be a 30 minute job. A 30 minute job that we were into day two of. A 30 minute job that was going to run into day three because we had just taking a power saw to a crucial part of the car and weren't going to get the part until tomorrow.
So using the power of team work, and the power of heart and swearing, we got the goddamned, motherfucking bitch ass strut into the fucking wheel well and locked down. I repeated yesterdays performance a THIRD time, and shoved the bolts back into the break assembly and then we put the tire back on went inside and started drinking.
Halfway through dinner, I looked Scott full in the face and said, I want to crank the wood stove up to eighty, get naked, get drunk and watch some stupid, mindless Hollywood blockbuster on my laptop in bed for the remainder of the evening.
Which is how I ended up getting totally wasted to Thor.
And it was awesome.
Some days are so damn frustrating that getting naked and drunk is the only option left.ReplyDelete
I'll second Vanessa's assessment! Please tell me you are done with the strut things. No one needs this much crap!ReplyDelete
Sounds like the kinda job that you need to be drunk to do. Or maybe just be friends with Thor.ReplyDelete
I think I would have to be on mushrooms to do that - because the entire thing would only happen in my twisted imagination. Also; Worst. Trip. Ever.ReplyDelete