There's nothing quite like taking an afternoon trip to a few book stores and Tiger Direct to ogle the video cards you certainly can't afford. It's even a better afternoon when it progresses to evening and the weather is glorious - nice and soft, the kind you can roll your windows down in your car to better feel the breeze on your face.

...To better hear the horrible grinding sound coming out from under the hood of your car as you realize it no longer accepts gears 3, 4, or 5. Oh, and need I forget, reverse.

Luckily for me there was a glorious and happy little turning lane just waiting for me, my friend R and my car to coast into.

I turned on the emergency lights, hop skipped (more like ran across traffic for fear of getting squashed by the never ending oncoming vehicles) and sat down in the grass at the curb.

You know, I don't often get to see my car on the road from the outside. Especially a dozen or so feet a way. She really is a pretty car. Yup, a pretty car. That can't move. But, that's okay. I mean, plenty of art is stationary, eh? Sigh.

So, I called the beau about triple A. My fear was that the car had just dropped its transmission out of retaliation to R's presence. Clearly, nothing I had ever done or the age of my vehicle had anything to do with its mechanical failure.

Momentarily, I thought of the black cloud of doom that BryM accuses me of having. I wonder if I can figure out how to consciously control that cloud...

After twenty minutes of sitting in the grass and deciding I might as well enjoy the night joking back and forth with R (because honestly anger or frustration wasn't going to help any), K arrives with good news.

Not the transmission. Just the clutch. He manages to get her home without the tow truck. So, the weekend plans have changed again.