I finally figured out what's wrong with my life.

My truck doesn't have a name.

The bluishorange one's car is named betty. Granola's car is lovingly dubbed The Rocket Ship, even though it lacks a spoiler, or any other rocket-ship-like qualities that I know of. There has recently been a great deal of vehicular moniker discussion in the comment section of Allison's blog-within-a-blog (which will prompt the first use of profanity in the 'wrangler to date, cause THE SMALL is fuckin' cool, baby). I have a friend who's car is named Jezebel. He used to say, "I love the bitch!" which prompted an immediate, "So does everyone else". Not a very funny running joke, but it ran nonetheless. Dallas' car was also named Betty (that girl gets around). Shaun claims that "no one can name your car for you" but I think that is not entirely true.

Your car names itself.

This makes sense if you think of it in a somewhat Native American sort of way. Cars are named for their behavior, their personality, their looks, something about them. That is why all cars don't have names. Cars EARN names. We use whatever vernacular we see fit, thankfully, because who would want a car called Pulls to the Left, or Big Chief Leaking Oil. This is why my current truck Has No Name ( the capital letters shall be explained, Gentle Reader). It is the bane of my existance. It runs great, flawless, never breaks down. It looks ok, not too ugly, all black, stepside bed. Gas mileage is great, helps me move things when I need to. For some reason, however, people can't resist vandalizing it and stealing things from it. I have great taste in music, but you'd never know it to look at my CD collection. This is because all my good music gets stolen out of my truck, and I am left with the same 20 crappy CD's I bought in high school. I have replaced the passenger side window twice and the driver side window 3 times! I have lost 2 stereos! My insurance company has set my deductible at just under the amount needed to get this all fixed. Last time it was vandalized, some lovely person ripped both my side mirrors off, and threw one of them through the passenger side window. They didn't even steal anything! My car has been violated more times than Alfred E. Newman would be in Ryker's Island. If I even think about my truck being damaged, it happens. The last time, I knew as I was leaving work that it had been vandalized, I could just FEEL it. Thus, I drive That Which Shall Not Be Named. Seriously.

It's very disappointing, because my previous truck had a great name. The Hell Bitch, named after a horse from one of my favorite books. That truck had personality, and as far as I know, has never died. My stepfather gave it away to someone I truly distaste, who took it rudely without so much as a thank you. (My stepfather also gave me That Which Shall Not Be Named as a college graduation present, and I am extremely thankful.)

Still, I miss the Hell Bitch.

please don't break into my truck. please.

Well, the theme for posting today seems to be COLD. Sarah is freezing to death apparently. Kevin is pretty cold, but getting by. I think I am the only person who is glad that it is, at last, time to get the jackets out of the closet, pull on the gloves, and NOT SWEAT LIKE A DOG FOR A LITTLE WHILE! I am not a member of the Polar Bear club or anything, but I enjoy winter when I can stay warm. Bundling up by the fire, wearing sweaters all the time, buying a new pair of gloves. It's great fun, people, get in the spirit. Just imagine how much X-mas would suck if it were warm. Santa would have a coronary in that red velvet suit with all that blubber. That's WHY he's fat. Brothers' gotta stay toasty.

Plus, anyone who rode in my BLACK truck in 110 degree Austin summer with no AC this year has been waiting for cold just as longingly as I have.

On the drive back to Austin, I took a class on how to wear your hat. Look out world.

Well, the great day of being appreciative for stuff has past. Lots of people got together with family, including myself. S O Teric had a great day and made the traditional list of things to be thankful for, as did the bluishorange one (she's more orange than blue, but whatever), and the dink gave us some great lyrics about family. K-Dog and Rye Bread did a great and noble thing, for which I am supremely proud of both of them. What I did for Turkey day seems a little selfish by comparison, but I have to say I can't remember a better one in a while. Yes, I went to Big D to have lunch with my old man, but mostly, this year for Thanksgiving, I was ALONE.

And it was wonderful.

Work lately has been beating the crap out of me. In fairness, I asked for it (SMACK! "Thank you sir, may I have another?" SMACK!). I busted my butt, earned, asked for and was given a bit of authority and responsibility that others don't have, and I am loving the oppurtunity. It's nice to be recognized for your efforts. It's nice to feel like a part of something bigger than yourself. It's nice that work has finally gone from putting a roof over my head and food on my plate to putting toys in my toy box. The week before Thanksgiving, Austin hosts the National Emergency Medical Services convention, and paramedics and firefighters descend on us for three days and party like rockstars. In light of recent events, this year they deserved it more than ever. I met a few New York firefighters who have actually been at Ground Zero, and was moved in ways I hadn't expected to be. I worked harder in those three days than I have in a long long time, and it was worth it.

So on Thanksgiving, after dinner and the traditional nap on the couch, I went back to my mom's house, even though she and her better half weren't there, but off visiting other family in the Cajun state. And I was alone all evening. I sat with my feet on my stepdad's shiatsu foot massager for three hours. I watched a great old movie. I took a bath. I had a long phone conversation with someone important. I rested, and was thankful just to be quiet and still. It was one of the best Thanskgivings ever.

For several days, I had no idea what time or even what the date was. I knew it was Monday, that's about it. Joe stole my watch. Really REALLY weird how addicted to technology I am. Say what you want about the world, or American society, or our generation or whatever. I NEED my watch. I don't have a day job, I get up when I feel like it, I walk to my own beat. We all know about my issues with authority. Yet, I have the anal need to be on time for things, even things that don't matter all that much. If I get to a film too late to see the previews, I won't even pay to see it. How weird am I? Thankfully I got my watch back, but those three days were awful. Are there support groups for people like me? Crisis hotlines? Self-help courses, medication? I am so glad these posts are time-stamped.....

OK OK OK OK OK OK!!!!!
I can't pick a winner, it's just gonna have to be a tie. The winners of the Chinese sprinter haiku contest are:

in our olympics,
i was a chinese sprinter
running after love.

six cups of coffee--
i was a chinese sprinter
in line for toilet.

Thankfully, David wrote them both. Good job. Send me the proper info, and your prize is in the mail.