Honda desu.

I'm usually good about having my oil changed regularly, but I've been a little overdue. My oil light has been flickering on, which has never happened before, so I brought the car in to my buddies at Value Service.

"You live around the corner, right?" the first mechanic asked me.

"No, I'm in Rogers Park now, but you have a good memory!" I said. I love the guys there; most are Vietnamese, which means not only are they pretty cute, I never have to adjust my car seat when I get my car back.

I explained that I just needed an oil change, and he offered to do it right away if I wanted to wait. Sure; great.

I sat in the waiting area, a small, dirty area with only Vietnamese publications to read. Looking around, I wondered what I could barter for in exchange for cleaning and painting the space.

The mechanic popped his head in. "Can I show you something?"

Oh no. This is never a good phrase. Just as, "We need to talk" is clear code for "I'm about to dump you," "Can I show you something?" is Mechanic Speak for, "brace yourself, and get out the credit card."

He walked me under my car, which was on the lift. (I never get used to this; having a few tons of metal suspended over my head will always freak me out.)

"You have a bad oil leak." He pointed. Yes, I did.

"So what do you need to do?"

"I need to fix the leak here, but when you do this, you also need to change the timing belt and water pump."

The cynical among you might think he was giving me a line, but I have never had these guys ever try to highball me. In fact, they have jumped and worked on my car for free at times.

Dac, the head mechanic, had told me at my last change that the mileage on my car suggested I change the timing belt, but money being tight, I'd waited. Now it looked like the decision had been made for me.

"How much will it cost?"

"Oh you'll have to ask Dac; I don't know about the cost part," he said.

Again, not good.

I waited for Dac, who came over and repeated what I'd heard. The cost? "About $500."

He saw the look on my face, and explained the breakdown, trying to calm me.

"No, no, I understand, and it's not that I don't think it's a fair price, it's just that I haven't worked in six months, and well, this wasn't something I'd planned on."

They suggested I could wait a bit and keep pouring oil into the engine, but aside from the environmental ramifications, I knew I'd just worry all the time.

"Do it," I said.

I got my babysitting money last night, transferred money from savings, and managed to cover the repair without using the credit card. Yesterday, as I went home on the train, having left the car for the repairs, I stood on the platform, looking out at the blue sky, the clouds, the sun. I felt really content. Things happen. It's life. And it's all OK.

Funny how "Freud" is very close to the German for "happy."

The other night I was talking to a friend, who mentioned her friend Jane. I mentioned the Bare Naked Ladies song of that name, which I love, and, with it stuck in my head, put on the CD, which I hadn't listened to in a long time. A long, long-ago boyfriend had introduced me to the band. My relationship with him had been drama-laden, had started with me euphoric with love, and left me feeling pretty shitty by the time I walked away.

Perhaps the music is why I dreamt of this BF, whom I rarely think of and never dream of. In the dream, we were having dinner. I don't recall the details, only that as he kept talking, it was clear he was trying to be mean, and I just got more and more angry, to the point where I became so enraged that I woke up.

I know this has something to do with a recent visit back home, and dynamics with my family. Do we ever get used to being ignored when all we want to do is connect?

Cripes, my subconscious is tiresome and trite.

I'm In Here.

Ok, so it's been awhile since I've blogged; truth be told, there's not much to blog about, except for my adventures in babysitting, which are only interesting to me.

I did just spend a week in Boston, and will catch up on that, but right now I'm just wiped. I also started a horticulture class, which, aside from a strong indication that a premium is not placed on literacy, seems OK.

A government web site designed to help job seekers tells me that in my state (Illinois), under the best scenario I have a 12% chance of finding a job. Given that so far the percentage has been zero, I'll take the twelve.

It's official.

While I'd been pretty certain that Harry is deaf, the other day I vacuumed around him on the couch and he didn't so much as twitch.

Deaf as a doorknob.

Mucus Mates

So the girl I sit for has the same cold I do (why the boy doesn't have it I have no idea). We're at the same phase, coughing constantly and violently, our chests rattling, our faces red, our noses running as we gasp for air, choking on our own sputum.

It goes like this: she begins to cough, a wet rattling roar, her face crimson, her nose streaming, choking for air. This elicits a sympathetic response in me, and I begin to do the same thing. 30 seconds later, as we finally stop and manage to breathe, she catches my eye, and we both laugh.

The boy feels left out and fakes a dry cough.

WHY?

Why is it that the "Assistant Manager" at the bagel shop doesn't have the good sense to get off his personal freaking phone call when a customer is standing right in front of him? Why can't the rep from the laundry company put together a correct proper proposal even after endless agreements to the points that were stipulated? Why can't FEMA send the damn Letter of Map Amendment they've assured me for three months is forthcoming? Why can't the City of Chicago Department of Buildings produce a building plan? Why can't people answer their email with the information they know you need and they can easily provide?

Why does all this happen, and yet I STILL DON'T HAVE A JOB?!?!?!?

So much depends on a word...

Today I was having a wax session with my usual gal, Iwona, who is Polish. Iwona's English is excellent, but she is still learning the nuances. Today we were discussing the economy, and Iwona told me about a friend who'd lost her job.

"Laid OFF, I said. "OFF."