And FedEx Priority Overnight is coming.

There's a lungfish in my trunk.

She's on the road.

I'll miss you, baby. Be good, as you have always been. I'm very proud of you.

I followed the packing instructions provided by Lise Christopher, the Shedd's Animal Acquisitions Coordinator. Fluffy will arrive at her new home by 10:30am tomorrow, Chicago time. She has enough air and water for three days, Lise said -- so even if FedEx screws up, she'll be fine.

I'm still worried, of course.

I want to hit people, but it's not allowed.

I had my windshield replaced, and the asshole technician pried the windshield trim off so carefully, he gouged the edge of the hood down to bare metal. What really bothers me is that it's not worth my time to pursue this, the same way it wasn't worth my time trying to get the body shop to do a decent job.* I mean, I could complain to my insurer, learn that they can't make it up to me quickly or conveniently, call the glass company, repeat, then write the BBB and send everyone a copy, but I'd still have to fix it myself, plus I'd be down by all that time and aggravation. I'll sand the little gouges down, touch up the paint, and forget about it. There. No sense in getting all bent out of shape.

How hard is it to just put a rag between the bar and the fucking body panel, so you're not grinding metal on metal, you stupid, careless, rank motherfucker? Godfuckingdamnit, this shouldn't happen, but it happens every fucking time. Every time I need my car worked on, I should just drive up to the service bay, beat a few assholes with a steel pipe, and drive home. My car would look and run about the same, and I'd feel much better.


* I bitched until my insurer dropped them from their "recommended" list. I'm sure that shop is still fucking up other people's cars, though.

tracking number

Fluffy is FedEx US Airbill 847959839498.

***

My Samsonite stuff arrived. Getting luggage in the mail is kinda funny.