Yarn Piggie: Swingin' and Sniffin' and Horfin'

Yesterday was an adventure, pure and simple. It was one of those days when everything around you sparks and flickers with unseen energy, while forces work hard behind the scenes to make you notice life. Some forces don't bother to pull the curtain.

On the way back from lunch with my work compadres, we were behind a firetruck in traffic. It was moving kind of oddly. Kind of swaying and dipping too low in the back end. Soon we noticed there were little sparks coming from beneath the undercarriage. Ruh roh. Suddenly there were LOTS OF SPARKS coming from beneath, and it looked like they were dragging a metal garbage can. They pulled over and as the firemen piled out of their disable vehicle, we saw that the GAS TANK STRAPS HAD BROKEN AND THE GAS TANK WAS DRAGGING. Holy mother of hell!

As this post can attest, we did make it back in one piece, sans explosions.

After work I went to West Bend to meet my friend Deb for dinner at 5:30. I arrived 20 minutes early (do the math - 5:10), so I went to Valvoline to get an oil change. The poor little red bus was 1,200 miles over when it should have had a change and it was chuggin' and clackin'. I got right in. Then the little grease monkey dude showed me that my air filter was looking like a smoker's lung, and when he pulled out the in-cabin filter, I thought there were mice on it but no, just huge grey hairy dust balls. Oh, and your tranny fluid is brown, would you like us to flush it for you? Criminy. Poor little red bus was limping pretty badly. Let's not mention that it also needs new brakes and possibly new rotors right now as well.

Little grease monkey dude discovers they're out of hose clamps, so he has to sprint over to Auto Zone. Then he doesn't put it on correctly or something and has me turn on the bus and it sprays tranny fluid to the sky. Beautiful brown tranny fluid! Whoopsie. Please turn your car off, ma'am.

Cut to the chase; antics of grease monkey dude get me to the restaurant at 6:15. 45 minutes late. Deb, for perhaps the first time in her adult life (ducking) was not only on time, but 5 minutes early. She had also organized her bag and taken out all books, knitting, etc, so she had nothing to do but watch TV screens and people for entertainment while looking stood-up. We had a lovely dinner (AVOID AT ALL COSTS the fish sandwich at BW3's - bad frozen fishy taste) and then I suggested we go to the batting cages at Blue Dog.

After paying our bill and almost forgetting my take out box, we go to Blue Dog, a few minutes drive away. Walking into Blue Dog, a vile, ripe, tangy, gut-wrenching smell assaults us. "Oh my god, what is that smell?" I ask the guy at the desk, horrified beyond tact. I scan the dim interior, looking for something dead, or being eaten by maggots, perhaps. He shrugs.

The girl who walked in with us who apparently was coming in for her shift start says, "Yeah, what is that?"

He shrugs again. "I d'no."

I choke enough words out to communicate that I want to purchase some batting cage tokens and hand him the money. "Is that vomit? It has to be vomit. Holy mother that's foul." I admit, I was a bit lightheaded and not very much in control of my words. My mouth was watering uncontrollably and I couldn't stop swallowing. I keep thinking, my god, it's like I'm the one who horfed in here. I suddenly hear Deb behind me, and realize she's been snorting and trying not to die laughing this whole time. We grab two bats and stagger out the back door, sucking in fresh air and laughing until we cry at the oddity of the situation.

Check out some action shots!