StephanieC's Car Tips

Car Tips for Savvy Women (& Men)

(Also refer to: Top 11 Tips: Become An Awesome Winter Driver!)

- Mechanics do not find it particularly cute or endearing when you refer to car problems with the words "thingy" "light thingy" "exclamation point light thingy" or "touchy brakes". You may also discover that you feel like a tool when uttering these words/phrases. They are also thoroughly unhelpful.

- Thank the gawds for that beeping noise "thingy" that reminds your stupid arse that you have, once again, forgotten to turn off your headlights.
Note to HONDA: Please make a similar noise for leaving the trunk open for longer than, say, a day, so as to avoid missing coffee with a friend because the driver was too stupid to realize she [read: ME] left the trunk open for two days in the garage with the intention of removing a bag of dog food. (Resulting in a dead battery. OBVIOUSLY).

- Some people use a parking brake.
Note this.
When you are trying to figure out why your car will not move from it's holdless parking spot in front of the mechanic's, stop revving and think for a moment. Then check the parking brake. Put the car BACK in PARK before removing the parking brake. Drive as normal.

- Always have a set of jumper cables. Never depend on your significant other for them, especially if he/she travels, isn't home very much/avoids you/points and laughs when you leave your trunk open for 2 days.

- Be sure to call your father and ask how to connect the jumper cables/generally what to do/find out how you managed to be so mechanically and automobile inept, despite his mechanic's license and your sister's penchant for shop classes.

- Believe the "low fuel" light. That shit doesn't lie. Usually.

Confucius say: "He who does not see low fuel light will walk a long road to understanding". Okay, I totally made that shit up. OBVIOUSLY.

- Do not agree to flash your boobs for a free ride to the nearest gas station, when proposed on the side of the road. The offering party will likely snicker and drive off without you.

- Make sure your cell phone is charged. Don't rely on your car charger, especially if you've left your trunk open for days.

Look Ma, no hands... operating the car. Also? Smooooooth phone.

- Remember that a bluetooth headset is NOT hands-free if you must search for it for 15 minutes, in order to fish it out from the bottom of your purse with one hand.
(It is also not hands free if you need to unlock your cell phone with a series of numbers, navigate through a menu, select a synching option, and mess around until it is finally functional all the while driving.)
Plan ahead for crap like that, idiot. Also, be aware that many GPS units have built-in bluetooth.

That's it for now.

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How Do You Know? Trust Me, I KNOW.

So, in what can only be described as a loss of 121 minutes of my life, Feyoncé and I watched the unusually-stabby-rage-y-feeling inducing crap film called "How Do You Know" last night.

It had all of the components a few of the components  a component  some of the components to make a decent film:

• Paul Rudd
• Reese Witherspoon
• Owen Wilson

I love Reese! I love Paul! I am happy that Owen is doing much better, after his suicide attempt a few years back.

I know that you will want those 121 minutes of your life back.

But it WAS.JUST.AWFUL.  For the first 40 minutes, I kept telling Feyoncé that the line/idea/segment/part of the movie was unnecessary, ridiculous, pointless, not-at-all believable, painful to watch, or out-of-line and/or slightly demeaning in some ways to the strong character Reese plays.

My personal opinion? About the first 100 minutes of the movie were what you normally see in the "deleted scenes" special edition section of a DVD, because it was irrelevant and boring.

The last 20 minutes were bearable. Owen had a few pretty funny one liners. That was it.

*sigh*

It brought out rage close to Michael Bublé levels.

And we all know THAT can't be good for me. Or Feyoncé. Or you, dear friends.

Quick summary of all that is StephanieC:

• I have been feeling very shitty emotionally and physically the past few days.  
• I have been searching for literally hours and hours and hours and hours trying to find a honeymoon that fits for us, that is unique, and it is driving me crazy(ier).
• I ordered my bridesmaids' dresses.
• Some door-to-door asshole rang the door THREE times on Good Friday morning, while Feyoncé was on a work call in the basement and I was trying to get my bearings while falling out of bed.                You would think a large, unruly Great Dane STANDING UP ON THE INTERIOR OF THE DOOR would deter someone from at least the SECOND doorbell ring, but, NO.  You have no idea how much effort it takes for me to try to get him wrangled and locked away, just to tell you that I am not interested in your cookbooks/religion/fundraising sausage/overpriced chocolate bars/notice that there is a potentially-fatal gas leak and we need to leave the premises immediately . It's not worth even answering the door.  Once Feyoncé got there (while I was restraining the great beast) she asked if he had been sleeping (well you didn't really give a shit one way or the other, didja now?? HMM?)!

Don't bother to ring a second or third time. Just run.

He's sweet inside, but even I would run from a face like that looking back at me AT EYE LEVEL, if I was schlepping door-to-door.

• Icing on the cake? Feyoncé hasn't been feeling well either, so he went to lay down for a bit. And someone else came by door-to-door.  A ringin' away.  *CUE DOGS BARKING THEIR HEADS OFF*.   I struggled beside Schultz to get door-front window real estate, so my face was visible in the doorway and I waved the guy off.   That's right.   Made a *shooing* motion.   At least it worked, and he didn't have to see my pajama pants. Or smell my breath.

I'm holding out on writing any more blog stuff until I get out of this mental pissy state.
Or until Cesar Milan can come here and teach me calm assertive leadership when it comes to strangers at the door.

That last picture of Schultz is sort of helping a bit...

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Glade, Febreze & Britney = Poison To The Senses

Now, first off, I'd like to say that I am pissed that my secret boyfriend happened to produce a segment on his show making fun of air fresheners on the very same day that I was mentally compiling a post about the same thing.

I'm also pissed that his show aired twice and I only happened to see it last night (I still love you, Stephen Colbert).

The item(s) in question? Air Fresheners. I will also take it a step further and include "fabric refreshers".

Now, I have a sensitive nose. I can smell smoke from miles away, nasty perfume from quite a distance, chemical and cleaner smells make me feel ill.

That leads me to question ... who the hell willingly and intentionally sprays some combination of potentially toxic (or at the very least, probably not HEALTHY-TO-INHALE) chemicals into the air and takes a huge, lung-filling breath of that air?

You've all seen the commercials. To me, it's a better-perfumed version of spraying Windex or Fantastik cleaner, then leaning in to suck up all that is unnatural/chemical based/potentially toxic.

Those Febreze fabric refresher commercials show a mom sniffing her nocturnal-emission-aged son's sheets, showing a face of disgust, then being promptly informed she can freshen that shit up.

KID: "UUUh Mom?" *squirms in chair* "You might not want to pur your face in that..."

Would you ever consider spraying a can of chemicals and immediately inhaling? Unless you were George Carlin using whipped cream and doing "whippits"? No good can come from this.

Also? Last I checked you can wash coats, and bath mats, too. Man, this commerical AND PRODUCT pisses me right off.

Are you that fahcking lazy you need to spray down your coat? Seriously? I mean, really?

Mind you, my house always smells like dogs (and sometimes fried onions/omelletes), but I'd still rather spare myself exposure to a can full of "vanilla lavender" chemicals in a can.

And no, I don't wear perfume, either.

Febreze on anything other than an attempt to conceal the urine smell on a chaise that a puppy may or may not have peed on is just not okay.

Also? Mattresses that have that aroma that Rihanna talks about in her latest song. HA! Just kidding.

Finally, that Britney Spears and Rihanna combo is awful. Someone took pity on Britney and included her in S&M, and let's just say that Rihanna has a real right to be pissed off. The song has been butchered. Someone needs to tell Britney to unplug her goddamned nose when she sings.

Be prepared for ear bleeding:

Listen to the atrocity here.


So there ya go. Nice random post for a Wednesday.

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