Nose-breakers...

So, several weeks ago I managed to spill a very small amount - one could call it infinitesimal if one was inclined to – in the boot/trunk of my car when transporting mower fuel home in a small can.  The next morning when I got it the car all I could smell was petrol. I made a stop and quickly bought some pink air fresheners called  ‘Fresh as a Daisy’. They made the car smell so sickly sweet it was like Mary Poppins had vomited fairy floss/cotton candy in there. I decided to rectify this by buying a vanilla thing that hung from the rear vision mirror. Vanilla is good - natural – except for this one. If competed so badly with the smell of Mary Poppins I was gagging. That’s when I went for ‘Tropical Breeze’ air fresheners. To me, living in the actual tropics, it were akin in smell to rotten pineapples fermenting in the sun. It were a nosebreaker. I solved that problem by spilling coffee in the car. The whole car reeks of it, along with wafts of everything else. Good news is I can’t smell the petrol any more. I did have someone get in my car and I said what do you smell? They said your perfume. See? There is a very good reason to wear too perfume. People are so overcome by that it obliterates anything else.

Not sure what I’m going to try next...

Strip For Me and a bunch of other books are out now...click on the cover to have a look see.

It’s farked…

So, I was driving back from my lunch break to work. I turned a corner and I heard crunch, bang, grind and something that sounded like I was dragging another car underneath my car….that, or an elephant on roller skates had somehow tried to limbo under the car and got stuck. I pulled over and got out of Verity, my car. I looked at her. She said nothing. I understood this because as a woman the extent of my knowledge of car troubles is no petrol and placing the keys into the hands of a mechanic to do whatever they do to fix stuff. Behind me a beaten up old car pulled up and two feral looking gentlemen came towards me. Greeeaaaat…just what I needed. The boys from Deliverance. But they had seen what happened and went to the front of the car and indicated I lift the hood as they reckoned the engine was ‘fucked’. At this time, a good friend passed by in his car and he stopped as well. I popped the hood after searching for the lever thingy - I forget where that is. Well, who uses it? The hood came up and the first two men said ‘she’s fucked the engine.’ She – being me. They peered further inside and said ‘she’s put a rod through the block’ and confirmed their first conclusion ‘it’s fucked.’ My friend agreed and said ‘she’s put a rod through the block.’ I pointed out to all three of them that I did no such thing and stop saying that. They didn’t. Apparently it’s bad to put rods into blocks – which I assume is the engine block. Fine. But it’s not my fault.

Anyway long story short, the car got towed under warranty and I have a loaner until they fix poor Verity, which means removing the engine and replacing it I believe. Apparently what happened to me is a one in a million thing. Naturally. I can’t win the lotto but I can have the rod through the block thing happen. Lucky. But I did get something out of this experience. When someone says a car is ‘fucked’ it generally is. And men speak a different mechanic language to women and I shouldn’t be offended by the ‘she did this or that.’ That’s just the way men are. And knights in shining armour can also appear in battered old cars and look like swamp rats. As for friends who stop in your time of need? Priceless. Thank you big time.

Help...

So, I got stuck in a flash flood yesterday and Verity, my car, died on me. Later many, many people would tell me it never floods in that part of the city. It does. It did. Been there. Done that. Have a cranky car to prove it. Anyway, I got me and the car out of the flood water by phoning a friend when my half arsed girl efforts to start the car failed. My friend turned up and told me what to do. It worked.

You know, sometimes you can’t do everything yourself. Yeah, I know. Freaking amazing concept but it’s true. I’m not good at asking for help but I did and it wasn’t hard as I thought it would be.

Thank you friend.

Need help? Ask. We would willingly rush to the aid of another yet when it’s our turn? We’re dumb about raising our hand.

Another huge lesson learned.

I have been unfaithful…

…I have looked at another with lust in my eyes and I’m going to do more than just look today. I’m going to caress, wriggle my arse against the object of my desire and think seriously about making it my own.

There is one problem. How do I tell Patrick, my car, I’m looking at replacing him? He probably suspects already. He’s smart - filthy but smart…just how I like my men.

So, I ran into the lawnmower…

…I knew that was going to happen eventually. I have a small garage in my temporary rental digs. It’s meant to house just Patrick, my car. But there’s also a heavy-as-all-get-out-1920’s opal inlaid wardrobe, a freezer, two old metal trucks, a bed head to match the wardrobe, a wheelbarrow, 4 boxes of crap and the lawnmower. I maneuver the stoic Patrick in there every day. Usually, once Patrick is settled in, I open the door of the car then climb over the lawnmower to get out of the garage. Except yesterday when Patrick insisted (it wasn’t me) on running into the lawnmower. Interestingly enough neither Patrick or the mower has a scratch. The moral of the story? Well, maybe it’s about the crap we collect or the way we store it. Possiby it’s about paying attention or perhaps it just to watch out for lawnmowers…there everywhere.

Amarinda Jones
Penn Halligan
www.amarindajones.com
www.amarindajones.blogspot.com
Be daring...read an Amarinda book