Well, Fuck A Big Fancy Bag!

Yep. Fuck that fancy bag with barbwire dildos. If this “crude” language, offends…I give zero fucks.

It’s not that I am in a vitriolic mood. It’s not that I hate anyone.

It’s just this derisive laugh of acceptance as “it could be a good thing” turns out to be one more shitty thing biting me on the ass.

Fuck. A. Big. Fancy. Bag.

So Monday it was in the seventies, I was in a tank top and shorts, bitching about boob sweat.

Today…it’s gray, rainy, and 36.

Aside from being true to the midwestern cliche of discussing the weather…


Yes. Hysterical. I went from a car I had to put a gallon of water in for a ten minute errand to one that has no heat. On what planet is this an upgrade?????

Oh and it gets even better. The dash panel? FUBAR. One minute, I have oil, check engine, and ABS showing up. I stop the car, start it again and now I have the heat gauge shooting up to the danger zone while it says “ets on” and “low trac”.

I don’t even fucking know.

This morning was a special bucket of fun. I went to take my kid to school and the car decided to do its “I’m a Grand Am piece of shit and I shall prove it by doing the exact same thing your last Not So Grand Am did.” It completely lost acceleration, on the street, with people racing around me. There I was mashing on the gas while the car made grinding noises and probably was a demonic laugh in there somewhere cos I was scared of wrecking, getting hit, blowing up the transmission…Twenty minutes it took, the car moving like a fucking Caterpilar on brick. Yeah, ya know, the big yellow construction things.

It started coming out of it on the way home. By then I was so rattled and pissed I wanted to spit ricin laced nails at my dad and R. Which is mild compared to what I’d like to do to whatever cockweasel ass clown idget yanked the stereo from the car, thus impairing EVERY damn piece of computerized equipment in the car.

I told R about it. After I calmed down. Otherwise it would have been ugly. I mean, I am running on 1000% anxiety, I have shark week and cramps, AND I am back to being all cold and non functional thanks to mother fucking nature’s weather mood swings…So yeah, I waited til I was calm and could be more diplomatic in my statement of complaint.

Which was something to the extent of, “You and my dad say the car is fine and the driver is the problem but no way should a car idle in the street while every light on the dashboard flashes and the engine does the herky jerky.”

If I had gone in while still pissed it would have involved him being strangled in his own intestines.

He said he’d work on it tonight, especially after we did an on line search and, oh, YOU ARE GONNA LOVE THIS, GUYS.

There was a manufacturer recall on this particular 1996 Grand Am by Pontiac because the ignition switch is known to catch fire.

How fucking awesome is that? Even if my mom is batshit, she wasn’t wrong. My dad has put me and my child into a fucking death trap!

At this point I am so people’d out I don’t want to go anywhere so I don’t stress not driving around. Like I have the gas for it. In  four days, this little 6 cylinder has used more gas than my 8cylinder used in a week. HELLO? Yeah, it’s the driver, all right.

Spook is spending the night at mom’s tonight. I rearranged my entire evening plan to accommodate Sir Asshole working on the car…Only wifey comes home and suddenly he can’t even be arsed to call or text to cancel. Nope, just leaves me hanging. Yet I had to run errands the other day and couldn’t be there to listen to him bitch about his shit going all wrong….


I suppose there are good things. I might toss those out at a later date.

But right now, the car thing has me freaking the fuck out. I have NO money. A check was due that never came (WHEN THE PULSE HITS AND WIPES OUT ALL ELECTRONICS, I HOPE PAYPAL BURNS DOWN TO THE GROUND!) I’ve been at that shop every single day this week running his errands to pay for his repair work on the car and haven’t even gotten gas money. The fundraiser is hopeless unless I throw a cat’s picture up there cos apparently people think cats rate higher than me having a car to go buy said cat’s flea medicine.

Which of course I will have to do soon, at $21 a cat. Plus, Juju has developed this condition where she chews off chunks of her fur and leaves the skin all red and oozy. I cover it in Desitin cos it dries it up and discourages her further gnawing but, geesh…One shouldn’t have to sell a kidney to take your cats to the vet or get them flea medicine, and yet here we are again this bloody year…Only this year I have this car thing to worry about.

And I can’t even delude myself with “it’s not perfect, it’s a work in progress.”


So…Yeah. That’s been my day. Yes, I am bitchy, foul mouthed, a little whiney, a LOT hormonal and ya know what?

I’m NOT sorry.

Anyone worth knowing to me would easily see that I am frustrated and panicky. If you don’t get that, we wouldn’t get along anyway. It’d just end with a bow tie made of your own intestines..



4 Responses to “Well, Fuck A Big Fancy Bag!”

  1. Shit fuck and dammit

  2. Kahhmaaaaahhhnnnnn everyone, let’s fix this thing, can we?! I gave my friend the $5 and waited, but today I told him to just donate it to move it along. Can everyone find $5 and a heart, and a friend with $5 and a heart? If Wikipedia and stupid crowdfunders can raise a few thousand, and before it was stopped a stupid “I wasted the rent on lottery tickets” got $800+ and said “I want to do it again,” a serious request like this should get some attention.

  3. Fuckin’ A. It would be great if they had actually researched this car before it was purchased. Someone should have at least TRIED the air/heat.

  4. I’m sorry you has such a crappy time with the car.

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