Last night my car started making the strangest noise. I have worked around cars for a long time and never have I heard something like this. It sounded like there was a big-a cricket living in the vents. I'm talking huge. I don't imagine that I am going to hear it again, but if I do, I can only imagine trying to explain it to the mechanic.
Mechanic: "So, what seems to be the problem?"
Me: "It sounds like there is a cricket living in my car."
Mechanic: "Hmm... Is it a big cricket?"
Me: "Yes."
Mechanic: "Possibly a mutated cricket?"
Me: (Exasperated) "Possibly. Can you fix it?"
Mechanic: "It'll cost you $750, plus the can of Raid."
So I guess what that means is that I need to get my tax return if I am going to be able to pay the mechanic. Which is precisely what I dreamed about last night. After a rousing game of water hockey (imagine water polo with hockey sticks that are mostly used to hit people), I decided to do my taxes. What the crap! I dream about doing my taxes. So much for being a with-it kind of guy. Although I guess I gave that up when I moved to Provo.
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Addendum:
It probably never was cool to be a with-it kind of guy.
I had a dream the other night that my fiancee stood me up on our wedding day because he didn't get the tax return he was expecting. Apparently I have the same aptitude for picking lovetards in my dreams as I do in real life.
Hmm... don't know what to say to that one...
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