Don't look now, there's something really kinky in your silverware drawer...

The other morning I when I was doing laundry, I found a plastic bag at the bottom of my closet containing a roll of duct tape, a turkey baster, and some rags. I was momentarily freaked out by the discovery--what kind of twisted perversity was this? Then I recognized the smell of motor oil and brake fluid emanating from the rags and realized that this was a legitimate, unperverted assortment of items that had been used when my friend helped me work on my car a few months ago. Whew. That was a bit of a scare, though: not only can I not imagine (I'm trying very hard not to, believe me) what kind of lewdness you can inflict upon another person with a turkey baster, I couldn't imagine why whoever was inflicting such lewdness upon another person with a turkey baster would leave it in my closet afterward. Creeped-out shivering commenced.

Yes, that's a chick working on a car during WW II, before the menfolk came home and she had to go back to vacuuming and making cupcakes.

I will now ruin the comedic value of this anecdote by telling you what automotive application the turkey baster actually served: refilling the cells of my battery with water. And the duct tape helped me discover that there was indeed a big tear in my air intake hose that was causing my car to lose so much power: I covered what looked like a tear in the hose with the tape and then started my car again to see if the problem was resolved. It was. I could have left it all taped up like that and saved myself quite a lot of money (dealership-only part: $93) but I knew it would wear out again at some point and I wanted to save myself the hassle. Not to mention that we were already covered in grime from working on my car all day, so it seemed like an opportune moment to change it.

I have to say that I derive a large amount of satisfaction from playing with mechanical things and getting dirty. Quite simply, I'm happiest when I'm working with my hands--one of the reasons I enjoy archaeology so much. Besides, there's something really childishly glee-inducing about covering yourself in black gunk in the process. While this is extremely belated, I do need to send out a big public thank you to Ciro for all his help that day. I couldn't have done it without him. He did all the hardest chores, like changing the spark plugs and adding water to the battery (things filled with acid scare me). I'm sure he did much more than that, but I can't remember everything we did that day. I can, however, claim responsibility for taking off the old intake hose and putting on the new one all by myself. Mostly. This may sound like a simple procedure (it should have been!), but that air hose was one convoluted and cantankerous piece of black rubber. I believe at one point both Ciro and I were wrestling with it simultaneously and practically crawling on top of the engine block trying to maneuver it into place.

Gee, isn't blogging fun, kids? Segueing from an aberrant use of kitchen utensils to home car repair in 100 words or fewer is quite an accomplishment, if I say so myself. Thank you, life, for providing such a rich and neverending stream of absurdities to fuel my literary aspirations, small as they are.

For those of you who don't quite get how the blue bottle at the top of the page ties in with today's story-- it doesn't. I couldn't find anything (at least nothing decent) to illustrate this post the way I wanted to, so I thought I would treat you to this gorgeous drawing by my dear friend Wendy. She drew that with colored pencils. Colored pencils!! Yes, she's extremely talented, and you can look at more of her stuff here. There is also a lot of really good stuff is on her blog, especially since you can see the works as they progress through all their stages. Check it out!