Jan. 12th, 2009

larthan: (Default)
I'm 21. As of Saturday. Yeah. I don't think anyone other than my housemate, his mum, and my family even knew. My good-for-nothing grandfather who was supposed to give me the rest of my money never even called to wish me a happy birthday. I think he's avoiding me.
Now it'll no longer be fun to steal wine from my housemate at fancy dinners. Ohwell. Since I don't really care to drink much anyway, I'll attempt to continue to do so, under the guise of being under 21. Noone has to know until they ask for my ID, right?

Anyway, yeah. The car actually behaved herself this weekend. I'm trying to think of a name for her, but for now she's just B.O.B. Bob. She's my beast of burden. She needs a name as wicked and slow (and loud) as she is. I'm having no luck. Well, it could be worse. I could call her Steve, and come up with some meaning for it. But I won't. She's just Bob for now. And she's definitely a she. The bitch. *peers at it*

She was acting like she was misfiring. I can't leave her parked for more than two days at a time or her battery gets drained from the (factory original!) radio-clock inside, that stays on all the time at a -very- bright level. Damn thing. Thinking of replacing it...

But she didn't misfire the three and a half hours there, the hour and a half driving around, and the three and a half / four hours back home... so I'm hoping that some bad gas (dirty or watered down) was the issue, and has resolved itself. And at least she has gas. And at least I know the battery's good, and it's just the damn clock giving me issues.


larthan: (Default)

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