Fuckin Potholes.
Augh. Major augh. This is a long-ass post of me ranting about cars and potholes and fathers. Read if you want to, if not, it'll be under a cut so it won't bother people with long drama.
My car needs to go in the shop because I'm missing a hubcap and the rim of my tire is dented AND something (either the exhaust pipe or the muffler) is cracked/has a hole/generally broken. It HAD to have been caused by a pothole, but I'm not sure which one it was. I hit SO many this season since it was too cold for the crews to get out and fix them...and now my dad's all pissy because I can't REMEMBER which one caused the damage.
I don't remember hitting any potholes the day that the car started acting up and sounding weird and loud, but I very well might have. I drove from work (on ogden, past 75th intersection), to xsport gym (on 75th street) to my friend Tyler's house (on 87th street off of washington). When I started up the car at Tyler's, my car started sounding funny.
I have no clue what pothole did it, but now I have to comb down 75th looking for the hubcap because my parents like the cars looking effing perfect. I can't drive it because of the dented rim, and they probably won't let me drive it anywhere but to work from now until the end of the month. Augh, I hate when my dad gets all frantic like he is now. He called me AT WORK, and sprung the whole "Where did you hit the pothole? Which one was it? What date did you hit it? How big was it? Come ON, you should remember hitting a pothole big enough to dent the rim of your tire!"
Like I'm going to be able to remember that day half a week ago in perfect accuracy and remember exactly where I hit one of over a dozen HUGE potholes in a only few minutes of thinking. Of course. Because I'm fucking perfect like that. I'm just so frustrated that I can't remember and that he's mad and because my fucking memory sucks ASS. How the hell can I continue with work for the rest of today when I have this on my mind. Thanks dad.
My car needs to go in the shop because I'm missing a hubcap and the rim of my tire is dented AND something (either the exhaust pipe or the muffler) is cracked/has a hole/generally broken. It HAD to have been caused by a pothole, but I'm not sure which one it was. I hit SO many this season since it was too cold for the crews to get out and fix them...and now my dad's all pissy because I can't REMEMBER which one caused the damage.
I don't remember hitting any potholes the day that the car started acting up and sounding weird and loud, but I very well might have. I drove from work (on ogden, past 75th intersection), to xsport gym (on 75th street) to my friend Tyler's house (on 87th street off of washington). When I started up the car at Tyler's, my car started sounding funny.
I have no clue what pothole did it, but now I have to comb down 75th looking for the hubcap because my parents like the cars looking effing perfect. I can't drive it because of the dented rim, and they probably won't let me drive it anywhere but to work from now until the end of the month. Augh, I hate when my dad gets all frantic like he is now. He called me AT WORK, and sprung the whole "Where did you hit the pothole? Which one was it? What date did you hit it? How big was it? Come ON, you should remember hitting a pothole big enough to dent the rim of your tire!"
Like I'm going to be able to remember that day half a week ago in perfect accuracy and remember exactly where I hit one of over a dozen HUGE potholes in a only few minutes of thinking. Of course. Because I'm fucking perfect like that. I'm just so frustrated that I can't remember and that he's mad and because my fucking memory sucks ASS. How the hell can I continue with work for the rest of today when I have this on my mind. Thanks dad.