Why, Why, Why?

Why is it that people can't quite bring themselves to give a two week's notice when they quit a job? Sigh. It's such a standard phrase and we take it so much for granted. A two week's notice generally means your last day will be in TWO WEEKS. Not tomorrow. Not one week. Two Weeks.

Just a pet peeve of mine. Feel free to ignore me at will.

On another note, my car is evidently entering a rebellious stage. Literally. The part about rebellion, not the stage. I mean...oh, forget it. Anyway, I own a 1992 Ford Taurus that has approximately 500,200 miles on it. No exaggeration, sadly enough. A friend was riding in the backseat of my car and rolled the window down. It refused to roll back up. It seems that my car had a stroke somewhere in the electrical circuits. My father and brother couldn't even get the door panel off to see if they could fix it, and then they informed me that now the OTHER back window won't roll back up. They had apparently decided to see if the other windows worked. Well, they found out.

If it was the middle of summer, I really wouldn't care all that much unless it rained. However, I live in Minnesota. It's March. Up here, it could be sixty degrees and sunny, and in the next instant thirty below and in the middle of a blizzard. So, you can understand my distress.

I was thinking if I let the Ford company know how many miles are on my car, maybe I'll get a free car out of the deal. And any second now, a pig will fly by my window. Which would be a miracle, since the nearest pig is probably about ten miles away and on someone's kitchen table.

So, as much as I would like to hop in my car and drive to Texas (BTW, April, if you want cold weather, just move up here! Pleeeease?), it's a little unrealistic right now. That, and I have no money at the moment. Poop.

On the plus side, I'm having a BLT for dinner! (Oh. That's the pig I was talking about earlier?)