My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

The electrician ran a dedicated line to the garage. Not sure if he forgot the sipper of Hennesy or left it for me.

The scrap yard pays you with a receipt which you take to this ATM. The bar code is scanned and you get your cash.

Painting my truck at ten thiry pm. The wind is blowing so hard the projector is swaying. I’ve clamped it down, shimmer the ladder’s feet and set heavy jugs of antifreeze on the lower rungs. Still it moves. This hilltop living is hard.

Wind at 11 mph, temp at 54 degrees. So says the weather human. Mist in the air. Ladder blew over once. This is summer in California. I’m wearing a sweater, coat and hat.

Here in the back of the truck is some garbage. The yellow things are removable cones used to demarcate the lanes leading up to the toll house on the Golden Gate Bridge. Depending on which rush hour, one direction is widened. A person sits as a passenger in a special truck and leans out inserting these by hand at about 7 mph.

The girlfriend got me down to the yoga studio from one of those online coupons. We got a months worth of it and all she did was click yes. That’s how I ended up indoor skydiving, hot air ballooning and going on a whale watch in great white territory this month. Damn computers.

Women aren’t as afraid of things as you might think. High speed drunk driving yes, and throwing rocks at each other too, but in general they ain’t afraid to go do something new. Me, I’d rather go to a buddies place and throw rocks at each other than take my socks off in front of a bunch of women at the Yoga place.

This is an unrelated topic, but I’ll mention it now in case I don’t later get to explore it. At least you can mull it over:

There aren’t any stupid questions, but some questions make you look stupid.

Here’s another big problem. When you use the phrase “..my balls off.” Like, I’m sweating my balls off, I’m freezing my balls off, or I’m tripping my balls off. Those are the only three common phrases I can think of where you use your balls as a meter. But after yoga class, I was relaxing my balls off.

Blue curb for handicap, yellow meter for 30 minute truck loading equals agile crippled truckers working fast.

Convertible smartcar.

Did some work with my old Honduran friend Noah. His Dad collects bottles, his brother does cardboard. Noah tells me a lot of those guys sell drugs to the homeless people because they are out there on the streets late. Sometimes they work a deal where they buy the homeless guy’s shopping cart full of cans and take it off the price of the drugs.

Just thinking about Mr. Modern, my high school guidance counselor. It was pronounced “moe-dern” and he corrected people many times and never gave up.

He also gave boring advice, like, “you should go to college.”

He should have told me about being a jack man, the guy on a traveling pit crew that oprates the jack so tires can be switched out. Those guys tour the country partying and wearing cool jumpsuits.

Or what about being a mover? Me and some pals did a move the other day. It can be fun. The couple were just married and moving in together. Combining households, which seems old fashioned. Shouldn’t they have been living together for a few years already?
Anyway, Tristan’s working with us and he usually operates a zip line in downtown San Francisco. Why didnt Mr. Modern -that’s moe-dern – explain to me I could lease a parking lot and set up a zip line ride over SF?

Tristan’s not making a lot, but his boss is.
“I look at what homeless people a drinking to find the best value. I’m only one Steel Reserve away from the streets myself.”

He went on to explain when he worked at 6 Flags, he had to take a drug test. The company that processed the drug test also sold a product online that was fake urine that got you through a drug test.

“You need to wear tight underwear and keep the pouch close to your body between your asshole and balls. That way it comes out the right temperature.”

There’s another career no one explored with me. Fake urine!

Well, on Sunday they say the dollar is going to sink. I’ll be at the flea market, hopefully I’ll buy a pistol and some ammo for Monday morning when the world turns upside down.

Who hasn’t been here? Up against the wall, waiting forever for nothing to happen. Mom and Dad are gonna be pissed.

Take a moment tonite and think about your favorite car. The one you wish you could have afforded to keep running forever but things were falling apart and the boss wanted you there on time most mornings and it wasn’t happening.

For me she was the bearded lady, a 1983 Ford F250. My first diesel. Two tone brown and creme in color. An older woman, full of experience and mystery.

Locke, Rusty Sunshine’s pal, had taken over replacing split hoses, worn seals and fluid in the radiator about a year ago.

Apparently the back roads to La Honda are dangerous, a headlight to headlight collision took her from us in an instant. Not totaled, Locke hasn’t had a valid drivers license for years so it got towed.

She was auctioned to cover storage fees, so keep your eyes open. There’s hope someone will see the magic and keep her rolling. If not, her memory lives on here.