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2007-01-31 - 6:56 p.m.

Miracles and Omens

Amazingly, an errand I've been putting off for 3 years took me 30 minutes to accomplish today. Yep, I finally registered my car with the state of Kentucky.

The longest part of the whole process was figuring out exactly which line I was supposed to stand in. The various county clerk offices were a series of numbered suites off a long corridor, but only a few of the doors were labeled ("Auto Renewals/Duplicates", "Boats"). After walking all the way down the hallway looking left and right ("Chariots", "Hovercrafts", "UFOs") I spotted the ladies room. Well, excellent. This is exactly where I needed to be. At some point before I left the building.

After washing up, I straightened my lint covered $14.99 black fleece jacket from Kroger (bought on a whim last month), and brushed off my gray sweat pants that go fabulously with my ratty tennis shoes. Oh, yes. A vision of lovliness indeed.

I sauntered back on down the corridor, and finally consulted the huge office directory board hanging on the wall near the entrance. I stood gawking at it with my jaw hanging open (wow! who's that striking girl?) and the damn thing may as well have been written in hieroglyphics.

Everything under the sun was listed but what I was looking for (registration for trucks, fleets and RVs, driver licensing and road tests, handicap parking tags, marriage licenses, liens, jello shots and $1 'ritas with purchase of a fajita entree).

Finally in the middle of the board I noticed the words "Out of State Titling." Hmmm. Could that be it?

I bebopped over to suite 108, fairly certain I was going to be turned away and told to go elsewhere, especially since there were hardly any people in line. I was quickly called up by the next available clerk. Please don't tell me I have to go back down the hall and stand in that long line with the other people wearing sweatpants.

To my absolute delight, I was INDEED in the right place. After handing her my paperwork, the clerk asked which license plate style I wanted and I immediately picked the one with the foal on it, and the motto "The Bluegrass State." (Oddly, the ONLY horse related style in the whole bunch). It cost about $10 more, but I wanted a CUTE one with a horsey, dammit.

But first, an inspector had to check the VIN on my car. Luckily, I'd looked at their website and known to park on the 2nd level in the annex garage where parking spots were specially set aside for that purpose. Five minutes later, the inspector and I were back inside and he finished up another section of my paperwork. He also validated my parking, which was cool county clerk beans. I paid $5 for the inspection, then I was sent to another clerk one window over and she finished up my paperwork and tallied the remaining cost ($71 -- not bad!)

As she was about to hand me my new license plate, she said "Oh, do you want another one?"

"What do you mean?" I queried. I thought maybe it was dented or something.

"Well, this one ends with 666. You probably want a different one, right?"

"Umm..." (I AM evil, and that WOULD be kinda cool, but why tempt Satan, and superstitious Christians?)

"I can get you another one...no problem."

"Uhhh, yeah sure, ok." (Whew. On the other hand, that would've been fucking neato. And easy to remember).

She came back with a plate with a boring set of end numbers that I will never commit to memory.

A few times tonight I wished I'd stuck with the first choice. Then I remembered I have a cute foal on my license, so now I'm happy I didn't. If I'd chosen the "I CARE FOR KIDS" plate (if, say, that's all they had in stock), then I should've stuck with 666.

So anyhoo, that whole errand, including drive time back and forth only took 30 minutes...then I jaunted over to the store to pick up my prescription refills, bought a few things for the road trip to Houston, grabbed some lunch at Subway, filled up my gas tank, and headed home.

As far as errands go, I'm done. But here's the kicker. As I was driving home from the county clerk's office, my "check engine" light came on. Out of the blue. FUCK.

(Is Satan angry with me?)

I thought I had all my car road trip stuff (oil changed, belts replaced, fluids topped off) taken care of last week...and now, 3 days before I'm about to drive 1000 miles, that BITCH OF A WARNING LIGHT COMES ON.

Last time that happened it had something to do with the air flow between too lean (or rich?) or something. And I know I need to get my A/C fixed (small leak), which I was going to have done in Houston, because there's a Mazda dealership near mom's house and she can follow me over there and I can leave my car there for a day or two, whatever, if need be.

So now I need to run over to AutoZone before I leave and have them do a test (which I think they'll do for free), just to pinpoint the issue. But fucky duckies, people. I thought I was DONE with errands. The next two days were supposed to be all about packing and sleeping and household loose ends.

And whatever problem is causing the check engine light to come on, it better be something minor that can WAIT till I get to Houston. Otherwise, I WILL grow fucking horns and become Damien's step-mother.

*Cue spooky music*

At times like this, it would be nice to have a man around the house. ("Honey, will you take the car in for me? Pleeeeeeease? My girlfriends are coming over to watch Bridget Jones and eat orange rolls. Yeeeesss, I'll tell them again how big and spiked your fire-hot poker is. Love ya, babe. SMOOOCH!")

But you should've seen me outside this afternoon (in da cold!) taking off my Texas plates with a Stanley adjustable wrench (mmmm -- that sounds kinky). The back end required WD-40. Ahem.

But within 10 minutes, the old plates were off and the new one (back only) was on. YAY! I did it, I did it, I did it!

I think I might polish up those old Texas plates and frame them. Because at heart, I'm a junkyard whore who loves half price TGIFriday's appetizers on special occasions, like anniversaries, honeymoons, and NASCAR/VD awareness month. Half price food = more money towards that waterbed with the oak headboard and frosted glass mirrors, babeeeee! (waving to Darryl Wayne... and his brother, Shayne Wayne, and their daddy, Dwayne Wayne...)

Now, you boys simmer down with that bickerin', lest big ol' fat slobbery prickly dick Lucifer finds out. He's only gonna be at the AutoZone for an hour, so hurry it up, or they'll be hell to pay!