A Plethora of Posts
I seem to have found my blogging voice again now that the remodel is winding down, my job has somewhat returned to "normal" (whatever that might be now that my boss has returned to work after being out sick for most of two weeks) and I've consumed a fair amount of beer without eating dinner (I had a late lunch.) Don't expect anything profound to fly forth from my fingertips as I will, no doubt, continue to bore you all with tales of dog toys and such. However, a recent post over at Izzle Pfaff! and Rob's memoirs have inspired me to attempt to tell the tale of the first time I ever drove a car with a standard transmission. Rob currently has a Sisters of Mercy CD blasting out of the speaker at mind-boggling volume, but I'll give it a try anyway...

It was a crisp fall evening and I was hanging out with my usual crowd, the group of "street racers" from my high school. I didn't have a race car myself at this time, but I was close friends with several guys in the group and a bit different from the other girls there because I wasn't "the girlfriend", but rather just a friend that helped them work on their cars. I turned wrenches, adjusted valves, found the clogged fuel filter, etc. and I could hold my own in a conversation about whether Edlebrock manifolds were better than stock if you were still running a factory camshaft. I wasn't driving that night, having caught a ride with a friend, and I was about 5 beers into a six pack of Schlitz Malt Liquour tall boys when a race was called. Tradition held that at least one friend from each side had to be at the finish line to proclaim the victor because nobody wanted to trust people with their pride and money on the line (the drivers) about the actual outcome. I was buzzed, but not too buzzed to call the finish and known as an impartial judge so I was elected to ride down to the finish with a friend of the challenger. The race was run, but luck was not with us that night because DPS (the cops) showed up right after the two cars flew by. Everyone was able to scatter to the ends of the earth except us because DPS stopped right in front of the car, blocking our exit. The officer approached the car and asked what we were doing there. The driver, in a flash of brilliance, told him we were "parking" - a euphemism for making out. Great excuse since he was a guy, I was a girl and we were in a known "parking" spot. And so I played the game with the story that we were sitting there making out when all of a sudden these two cars flew by and we had NO IDEA what was going on (never mind that we were in a tricked out Camaro.) After lengthy questioning it was determined that the driver was drunk, but over 18 and parked at the time so there was nothing they could do about it. It was further determined that I was under 18, but there of my own free will and apparently not a victim of statutory rape and since I "hadn't been drinking" (cough) I could just drive the guy home and all would be forgiven. I jumped on the offer, not thinking at the time that the car had a standard transmission. I had NEVER, EVER driven a standard. Sure, I had plenty of friends with standards and had helped change a clutch or two and I understood the concept, but I'd never ACTUALLY DRIVEN one. Here's where Divine Intervention came into play. I jumped into the driver's seat, flawlessly pulled out of the ditch and drove without a single gear grind all the way back to the hang out spot, but stalled the car after crossing the driveway into safety. Divine Intervention abandoned me at that point and the owner had to park the car himself.