How come I never showed up in the magic mirror?

Romper, bomper, stomper, boo.
Tell me, tell me, tell me do.
Magic mirror, tell me today.
Did all my friends have fun at play?

There’s some deep, gravelly voiced monster in my head repeating that rhyme over and over today. I think he’s just really fond of the lyrical romper bomper part, actually, but he won’t shut up. And as I come across new things to do or complete, he kicks into gear again, growling out another verse.

Because today was a day. I haven’t been feeling incredibly hot lately, thanks to an ovarian cyst, but it hasn’t really slowed me down much. It just left me feeling like I’d been kicked in the right half of my gut about a million times, and that kept me from wanting to do any packing. Lots of folding and bending in packing. So I avoided it.

There was the trip to the tire store, and the car inspection, which both needed done. There were several Christmas presents which needed wrapped, and thankfully I could sit and stay fairly still as I did that. I ran out of those types of chores rapidly though, and it’s down to packing or swapping out tops on the jeep.

Yeah, I’m an idiot, because I went with the top on the jeep thing. My friend Baseball, and his cousin, the Norwegian, came over to help me out. They totally rocked the place too, and made my life a whole lot easier by getting the soft top off the jeep and the hard top on.

If it had just been swapping out tops, that wouldn’t have been so bad. First we had to get it out of the garage though, which required moving large, bulky, heavy items. And about nine different sized coolers. I think my family has an unhealthy obsession with coolers, based on the sheer volume of them found in the garage. After everything was moved, then we had to get the top down from the hooks and pulleys used to hang it from the garage roof. And let me tell you, the jeep manual, which says that two adults can manage the top of the jeep? They lie. There were three of us working on this one and it’s all kinds of heavy.

The top came out of the garage, the squirrel droppings were brushed off of it, and it sat on the driveway while we figured out just how much of the soft top had to be disassembled for safety’s sake. As it turns out, all of it, though I know my big brother will call me and tell me otherwise. But I read the manual. Twice. And so did the Norwegian. We followed directions, for probably the first time ever in my life, and took the soft top off completely. Then it was time to pick the hard top up again, and get it up onto the jeep.

I must say that I looked rather stupid standing underneath the top while the guys were on the sides, but I really was lifting it, despite appearances to the contrary. And that’s about when the Romper Bomper Monster showed up in my head, as I was heave-hoeing everything around.

The Michelin Man

I’m getting ready for a road trip at the same time as a move across country. Yes, I know they’re pretty much the same thing, but at the same time, they aren’t. See, the first part of the trip is the long-planned, finally happening trip to Walt Disney World down in Florida. When I knew I was going to Iraq, I promised myself I’d go see the giant mouse when I got back, as my own personal reward for a job well done. I doubt Mickey is going to recognize me, though, as I haven’t seen him in over fifteen years.

So there’s packing for a family vacation, which is awesome, and at the same time, complicated all to hell. Because I couldn’t leave well enough alone and separate the drive to Victory Junction from the drive to Florida – No, no, I had to be a dumb ass and combine the two. In my defense though, it seemed like a good idea at the time to eliminate a few thousand miles from the driving I’d be doing. And really, I love my family, but sharing a house with them all for a week is more than enough that I don’t feel guilty at all about avoiding the road trip.

But I digress. I’m packing for vacay. And I’m packing to move. All at the same time. Confusing, eh? A week in balmy Orlando requires completely different clothing than a winter in hopping Randleman. I’ll figure it out sooner or later, I’m sure but the key word is “layering.” I’m going to layer so much I’ll look like the Michelin man, I’m sure.

Which brings me back to what I started to write about tonight. The jeep and I went out to get inspected today. Well, really, the jeep needed inspected, not me, but it’s underaged and not allowed to drive alone, so I went with it. We were at the first Mr. Sticker, but they had some sort of computer malfunction, so we regrouped and went to Discount Tire to get the tires rotated and balanced. It seems no one thought about that while I was in Iraq. I’m not complaining, just pointing out that it’s not high on anyone’s to do list when they are out of the country.

So I cruise on into the store and a really nice clerk takes my paperwork and keys after I tell him what service I need. He smiles, says it will be about 30 minutes and walks outside to get the jeep. Then he walks back into the store and says, “there’s nothing to balance.”

Say what?

Several hundred dollars later, I had four new tires on the jeep. And let me tell you, if that little jeep says I never buy her anything, she’s a liar. She got new antifreeze last week, along with windshield wipers. Brakes, oil, a belt and a thorough lube job, too. (Why does that always sound dirty?) Next year she’ll probably get a new top, and there’s a paint job in her future, too, unfortunately. That’s a spoiled rotten little jeep, I tell you.

But on the plus side, she’s pretty good to me. Even when she didn’t feel good, she still cranked up and carried me around without too much fussing. She did tell me in no uncertain terms though, that I am never allowed to buy her BF Goodrich tires again as they just ride like crap, don’t feel good on her rims, and in general, wear out about 10,000 miles before they are supposed to. She’s rather picky, my jeep.