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Attack of the frost giants.

So, what is it today? A response to inauguration and my happiest new thought--one thousand, four hundred fifty-eight days until Bush leaves the White House, and counting...? Nope.

Who won the football conference championship games? Nope.

The sad realization that Bruce Boxleitner’s occasion brilliance on Babylon 5 were the exceptions, not a real indication of his talent (if you’ve any doubt, watch Young Blades on PAX)? Nope.

The Supreme Court saying the random use of drug sniffing dogs at random traffic stops is legal? Disturbing, but no.

It’s cars. Again. Thursday we got the bail money together to get the Mazda out of garage jail. Saturday, trying to get home in the killer snowstorm, it decided it wanted to go back. For the SAME THING. Grrrrrrrrrrr. My poor mate froze trying to make phone calls. The snow was coming down with ferocity, the temp was in the single digits, there was a wind--the first house he found someone in was about ¾ of a mile away from where we’d been able to pull over. The woman (3 cats, 1 dog) wouldn’t let him in the house to use the phone. She made him stand on the unenclosed porch. He could barely hold his fingers steady by the time he punched in (futilely it turns out) the number for the fourth friend who might be able to come and get us. [Honestly people, stay home!] By the time he got back to the unheated car he was shaking so hard the car was vibrating. We were lucky enough to draw a tow truck operator who decided to take us home, even though triple A wouldn’t pay for it.

You know, I get the whole “Stranger danger thing—but she had a DOG! Hello! It was dangerously cold. Criminy.

I swear, if the garage tries to bill us for this repair (since it’s exactly the same problem, which means they DIDN’T fix it), the local papers will get deluged!

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