What I'm Supposed To Be Doing, And What I Actually Am Doing

Today is my only day off this week, and I was planning to spending it doing butchly thinks like changing my oil and growing a mullet and buying a new chain for my wallet and hanging out at the MotoMart to cruise chicks...you know, all that cool dykey stuff.

Okay..really, I'm just going to change the oil. But is there anything dykier than changing your own oil? It's not my fault, though. I hate paying someone to do something I can do.

My older brother Matthew, who can be a dick but is occasionally an insightful dick, once said to me that he doesn't want to spend so much of his time making money that he has to pay someone to live his life for him. And at the time I thought, "I'd love to have enough money to pay someone to live this lame-ass life for me."

But now I get it. I can always pick up extra shifts at the lab. I could work 60 hours a week and double my paycheck and pay someone to change my oil and sit in the yard with my girlfriend, and tell MelonKiwi that he's the most specialest-prettiest-mostest-beautifulest-cat-in-the-history-of-catdom. But I very much prefer doing it myself, getting away from lab mentality and lab conundrums. "What's a normal white cell count on a cat?" Or "How do you convert millimoles per liter of magnesium to milligrams per deciliter? " Or my favorite, "My husband had a vasectomy two years ago. Does he still need to come in for his post-operative sperm count?"

I don't know...are you pregnant?

So...the oil. It needs changed. But my arms are tired from lifting, so I'm sitting in the house with Carrie, eating homemade biscuits and jam and watching the cat sneeze. See? What's the value of that? Priceless.