"Ask anyone. Ask your dad. He'll know."

Monday started off a little different for me this week than normal. For one, I got up way too early. Part of this is the bad dreams I was having (and the on-and-off again sleep so common when I have even a drop of liquor in my system) and the other part is from the million things flying through my head.

Before I go too much further, talking about stomach surgery and sharks at karaoke do not make for pleasant dreams. I had this odd dream where I was about 13-years old and being chased around by a man who wanted to stab me with a pair of scissors. I was trying to solve the attack on one of my other friends and luckily I seemed to have super human strength in the dream and was able to foil his evil plans and solve the crime, Scooby-Doo style. Then I had a dream about sharks (but it was not underwater). Blame Steve and Liz.

I decided to just get up at 1 this afternoon. This is not that early for most, however; is quite early for me on a Monday. I sat around, reading blogs and noticing who still did not comment (I'm not giving up. Either contact me or stop reading about my life. You can't have it both ways. I'd prefer you contact me.) Motivation kicked in and I headed to work around 2:30. Steve left his debit card at karaoke last night so I dropped it off so he'd be able to eat lunch later in the evening. While at work, Steve had the numbers pulled up and our team is soooooo close (2 cents overall and about $1,000 in items) away from the next level of bonus. We're crossing our fingers.

After that, I headed to the local oil change shop for some scheduled maintenance on my vehicle. I hate, wait, let me emphasize, I HATE going to auto shops without a man. I'm not completely idiotic when it comes to cars, but I don't have the skills or knowledge to understand all aspects. I know that I put gas in, turn the key, shift gears, and go to the shop when I'm due for an oil change (at least within a few thousand miles (over-exaggeration here)).

The mechanics (if that's what they'd like to be called working in a Jiffy Lube) told me I needed two new filters (some heat one and the actual normal air filter that I'm familiar with) and I said yes, mainly because I'm lazy and I did know my car was over 10,000 miles and due. Then they told me about the winter oil. Sure. Whatever, take my money.

Here's the deal. I'm willing to pay the funds for the crap you pedal, but please, if you want me to choose your store next time, don't act all high and mighty with me because I'm a woman and I haven't spent the last 15 years playing under the hood in the garage. Don't belittle me and tell me all about how much schooling you've gone to about cars (because, duh! You're the expert and that's why I came to your shop and didn't do it myself. I don't need you to tell me that you know what you're doing. I hope you know what you're doing since it is YOUR job, not mine.) And don't assume that all men in my life are car experts. I may actually be more upset that the man assumed typical man behavior of those I know than treating me like an idiotic woman. The guy actually told me that my dad knows all about cars. I'm sorry, no disrespect to my father, but I KNOW more about cars than my dad does. I've actually hung out with some men that were car fanatics and he has not. I've had conversations with Steve too and I can tell you that I could identify more parts under the hood of my car than he could of his. Not all men are automatically born with the desire to re-build engines.

When I pull into the shop, I am immediately surrounded by an excess of testosterone and I know that I am happy that I work at a bank. Bon Jovi is blaring on the radio and I groan. Before arriving at the shop, I was listening to my nice music in the car, sweet, soft music that is calming and relaxing. I don't care about "Livin' on a Prayer." The guy who takes my information tells me that there are plenty of magazines to read in the lobby. Yeah, 'cause I want to read about V-8 engines and sports cars and fuel-injection systems. I did not see one magazine that was not geared towards automotives.

Once I paid my bill (ouch!), I left, thrilled to be gone. I went to my dad's and we watched an episode of The Outer Limits (the old series - I got it for him for Christmas), ate dinner, and watched a few episodes of CSI (the original series). I got a bit of laundry done and now I'm home, listening to happy music again.

If I ever do meet a guy, one whom I like and he likes me and we click and he doesn't annoy me to death (and I don't annoy him either), I am sure that I would appreciate his knowledge of automobiles, but if he decided to try and shove his experience in my face, I'd be quick to walk away. Actually, I think that just having a guy who could bring my car to the oil change shop would do the trick. He could pretend that he knew what he was talking about and since he'd be sans breasts, they'd listen.