Mohawks, Tip #37 on How to Be a Grown-Up, and Right-Brainedness

I had planned to share a very unique salad recipe today that I came across and literally yelled, "BRILLIANT!" followed by a string of "Oh my God, what didn't I think of that?!"  and "They should call that the Jules Salad!"  ((I do realize that if my house is wired by someone conducting surveillance on me, they have decided I am certifiable after all the nonsense I spew and the long discussions I have with my pets in which I may or may not conduct one-sided conversations as if I hear them replying.  That also explains why Foster Kitty, who is, well, my foster kitty, currently has a mohawk.  He lost a bet.  Yes, I know I'm weird.  But you now what?  I am never, ever bored.  So there.))

The salad sharing is unfortunately not going to happen due to a major technical difficulty... That being the complete and utter meltdown of my car's electronic system.  That sounds bad enough right?  Add in that it is a hybrid and you have a total disaster on your hands.  I was innocently driving down the freeway at about 70 mph when all of a sudden the dashboard lit up like the Vegas Strip.  It was still running fine, so I tried to brush it off as a fluke.  When I left to head back out, the lights were off and I congratulated the car on its self-healing ability.  Ten minutes later, the display lights back up, alarms were going off, the power steering went out, the ABS braking thing went haywire, and the a/c melted down.  Oh and it kept shifting itself into neutral and couldn't be brought out.  The display had a Mr. Yuck face where the computer usually is.  I will go ahead and add that this happened during the noon rush in the middle of ((arguably)) one of the busiest intersections in Phoenix.   I'll take 5 mgs of Xanax for $200, Alec.

I called the dealership and the service guy says, "That sounds bad.  Real bad."  He then insisted I not drive the car the mere four blocks to the dealership, but you can guess how that turned out.  At this point, I am, of course, envisioning a repair bill with four digits and praying the first of those digits is 1.  Well, it turns out that when Toyota sends you mail that says "Recall" that you should probably open it.  We shall call that tip #37 on how to be a grown-up.  Luckily, I lived, the repairs were all covered by the recall, and I got a rental car for free that had four miles on it.  Accordingly, I drove it all over town and through a dust storm to celebrate.

ANYWAY, long rant about stupid car problems aside, I'm hoping for a low-key weekend with some new recipes for you.  I've been on a creative tear lately: doing some web design, cooking, writing, writing, writing, working on packaging designs...  I'll be back tomorrow with what we are now going to call The Jules Salad.

*****

PS.  I got a comment on yesterday's post that someone had tried to check out the blog from their work computer and it was flagged as "inappropriate content."  I find that to be so completely hilarious that I shall have a Zima to celebrate.