28 Easy Steps to Digging Out Your Car

How to dig your car out of a snow grave.

Feel free to print these directions out and put them in your glove box.

...no seriously....

1. Open car door from passenger side. Why the passenger side? Because snow will fall into your car, and it is up to you whether you want it to fall on the driver’s side seat, where you will be sitting in 10 minutes, or on the passenger seat. I opt for the passenger seat, but should you enjoy a wet bum in the morning, I would open the driver’s side door first.
2. Turn off all windshield wipers. Why? Because snow is heavy, and most windshield wipers can’t sweep 15 inches of snow off the front of your car effortlessly. Unless you want to risk having the screws in your wipers strip, causing them to not work, I suggest making sure they are off before doing anything.
3. Start car…this can often go in tandem with step 1.75: pray that car will start.
4. put both front and rear defrosters on high.
5. enjoy that freezing air that just pelted your face because your car hasn’t had a chance to warm up.
6. find gloves and snowbrush/scraper
7. wear one glove upside down because you accidently have two left handed gloves in your car.
8. Start sweeping off passenger side window, going from top to bottom, and moving around toward the back of the car. This will give your car a chance to thaw the windshield before you get to it. I also find that my rear defroster works much faster.
9. Advance to windshield. Do not be scared. You are better than the windshield.
10. Start brushing at the end of the glass, running vertical strokes from the top to the bottom of your winshield.
11. Continue Step 10 until you have reached the middle of the windshield and can no longer reach.
12. Walk over to other side of car.
13. Repeat Steps 10-12.
14. By now, your defroster should be helping, if only a little. If you have ice stuck to your windshield, continue to step 15. If you have a clean windshielf, free of ice, skip to step 17.
15. take your scraper and identify the area where the defroster has done the most work for you. This is usually in the lower middle portion of your windshield. Do not start in the top corners, as those are the most frozen.
16. Gently scrape, or in some cases aggressively hack, until you can see the glass. Create a small clean section, and work around its perimeter to increase the size of the cleared section. Continue until your windshield is cleared.
17. Move onto the wipers. If you didn’t do an adequate job removing snow the first time, take time to clear the snow out from under/around the wipers by flipping your wiper up and ridding of all snow/ice. Don’t be afraid to get aggressive close to the wipers.
18. Clean off the actual wiper blade by running your scraper along the part that runs on the glass. What is the importance of this, you ask? Well, once you get into the car, you are going to run your wiper blade, and if you don’t clean it completely, you will find that you have an ineffective wiper that cleans, maybe a streak or two of your windshield. To avoid having to get back out of your car, do this quick step while you are already out there.
19. Walk to other side of car.
20. Repeat steps 17-19 on your other wiper.
21. Get in car and run your wipers. See that your windshield is clear enough for your liking. If it is, move on to step 22, if its not, get out and redo steps 17-20. No, running wiper fluid will not magically fix the fact that your wipers aren’t doing anything for you.
22. You are now ready to get your car out.
23. Put car in drive. Drive you ask? Yes, drive. Putting your car in drive, and inching forward a few inches will give you more leverage and space to put your car in reverse and build power and speed to get you out of the snow grave you are in. Now stop asking questions, I know what I am doing. So, inch forward a few inches.
24. Now, put it in reverse, and gas it relatively powerfully. The little extra space you gained from inching forward should provide you enough space to gain some power and get your car right out. Should you still be stuck continue to step 25.
25. Put car back into drive and repeat steps 23 through 24. Do not continue to floor it in reverse. This will be your gut reaction but it is important to fight it. If you continuously floor it backwards without gaining any ground, your wheels will dig you into a tractionless hole and you will get stuck. No traction= no way for your car to move= major problem.
26. Continue to do steps 23 through 24 until your car has removed itself from the spot. I affectionetly call this “rocking.” It typically takes me one to two rocks to get my car out of its spot. Do not give up! Provided that you have rocked correctly, you will be able to build up enough speed to get yourself out of the spot!
27. Once out of the spot, it is completely appropriate and normal to scream gleefully/congratulate yourself/do a happy dance.
28. Glare at the perfectly clean suv that just drove by. They have a garage, you don’t.

why rent when you can walk?

Yesterday was a hard day.

I was required to get behind the wheel of a car and drive. This may sound simple and routine, but when my last driving escapade resulted in glass breaking and plastic cracking, it was more traumatic than I would have hoped.

PTSD?

Driving someone else’s car is always a foreign experience, especially when you drive a Saab. I am always immediately uncomfortable because, well, its not my own car.

Why driving a rental car sucks:

1. the unfamiliar [and often low] seat and mirror positioning. Perhaps my car just places its seating closer to the wheel than other models, but whenever I sit into a foreign seat, I automatically feel like I am attempting to drive like a badass, seat leaning way back, low to the ground. All I need to complete my look is some hardcore rap, a flat brimmed hat, and a [tin foil] grill. Word.
2. the different [and often peculiar] smell. Nothing says home like a rental that reeks of old cigarettes, cheep upholstery cleaner, and old [pine tree shaped] air fresheners
3. the awkwardly placed [and often hard to find] windshield wiper location. I understand that I am [just slightly] neurotic, but I have a hard time understanding why car developers relocate the location of the windshield wipers with every new car made. Why is it that some choose to place the blinker in the same spot where their predecessor thoughtfully placed the wipers in the model before it? Doesn’t it seem counter productive to constantly relocate important car functions from model to model? I often find myself on a semi scavenger hunt looking for all the vehicular basics I may need. Think you found the blinkers? Surprise! It’s the windshield wipers!
4. the fact that I am unable to find the keyhole to start the car. Why is it particularly difficult for us Saab drivers to adjust? Because the key hole is in a completely different place. Normal cars have their key hole located behind the wheel; we opt for vehicles who choose to be different, placing the key hole in the center console. The very act of starting and shutting off a foreign car serves as a stagnant and constant reminder of the mistakes I have made over the past 72 hours. Can’t find the key hole? Maybe you shouldn’t have taken Sass on a joy ride into the back of the car in front of you!
5. the fact that I believe everyone who looks at me while I drive the rental is now judging me. Yes, Lady Driving Range Rover With Oversized Sunglasses, I got into an accident and am now driving this P.O.S., get over it.
6. the radio presets are not my own. Never has there been a Latino or AM station on my preset, yet with every rental I have had, somehow these delightful favorites have made their way to the spotlight. I immediately, and often times spitefully, reset my rental’s preset. Take that, Shakira!
7. Rental cars serve as a reminder to your problem. Unless you frequently rent cars while away, rental cars are only used when there is a problem with your own car. Rental car equals problems; problems equal money; money equals stress; therefore, rental car equals stress. Did you follow the direct correlation?
8. Rental cars make me doubt my ability to safely operate a vehicle. I am a safe driver; however, something has happened to my original vehicle, and I am now required to drive this P.O.S until they are able to fix whatever I did to you. Good job.
9. Rental cars remind me that I am the one at fault for being stuck in said rental car. Every time I get into a rental car I usually say something self deprecating to myself, such as: “Self, you have no one to blame but yourself.” or “Lets remember how crappy you feel at this particular moment so that we refrain from damaging the car again.” You know, so if I ever feel like getting into an accident for fun, I will remember to avoid doing so.
10. Because its not my car. This may come across as semi psychotic, but I love my car and I miss it when I don’t have it. Insert my ongoing wish to time travel.

All in all, having a rental car is never fun. That being said, I am so glad that my insurance is kind enough to not cover me for a rental, thereby not subjecting me to such horrors. I would much rather bum around and need to beg loved ones to drive me and/or let me borrow their cars. (Insert sarcasm here.)

Saving Sass: Round 2

I am worried that the vehicular DSS is going to deem me as an unfit legal guardian and take Sass away from me. Said DSS agent will most likely be in the form of an Insurance Appraiser, who holds Sass’s fate in their hands. Sigh.

Why?

This is why.

This is what happens to cars who are neglected by their owners. Poor Sassafrass. I love her so much, yet I let things like this happen to her. I am such an awful mom.

I am naturally curious, so I will share my traumatic experience with the world, in hopes of receiving sympathy cards, singing telegrams, and/or deductable donations. I am only telling it once because I have just exhausted my ability to talk about it. Even seeing that very picture of poor Sass defeats me.

Ahem.

Saturday afternoon was particularly satisfying for me, pre 2:00 PM EST. I was finishing up errands, looking forward to a fun evening with some girlfriends, and enjoying a leisurely drive home in the beautiful weather…I even pondered enjoying a Starbucks treat and cleaning out my car (yes, I was in that good of a mood.)

While traveling into the metropolis of Framingham, I drove through the mad house that was the TD Bank Wayland Grand Opening Extravaganza. Here enter people handing out pens at the red light, children/teenagers/employees running amuck and crossing the street wherever they please, loud music, balloons, and my personal favorite…men on stilts. While safely stopped at a red light, I sat there staring slash awkwardly avoiding the guy approaching my car with balloons and free pens, and thinking to myself: a) wow, I semi wish I had TD Bank and b) keep your eyes on the road, diva.

After my successful jaunt in Framingham, I began my journey home to Charlestown for a run, light dinner, and evening of dancing. Approaching the light, the very light where I had sat pondering before, I was relieved to see the circus had relatively died down. As my light turned green, I accelerated through the light and began to prepare for the straightaway to come…you know, the same thing I do every day during my daily commute to and fro work.

The driver in front of me; however, had other plans. In an attempt to appease frolicking pedestrians, who were not on a crosswalk nor had begun their cross, the driver abruptly yielded and prepped for them to cross the street.

If only I had gotten the memo sooner, as I was unable to stop quickly enough to prevent the collision that was about to occur. Insert screeching brakes, bracing arms, holding breath, colliding cars, breaking glass, cracking plastic, sizzling radiator, yelling onlookers, deafening silence, absolute terror.

The next five minutes is a blur, as I was in complete shock. Various people were talking to me, but I can’t find a face or a voice to go with it. The only things I recognize are Sass’s hood bent beyond belief, and the shooting pain down my back, into my leg, and the fact that I caused it. I somehow got my car out of the middle of the road, exchanged information, and called both the police and my parents before suffering from my complete mental breakdown after reality set in. My breakdown occurred just in time for the surprisingly nurturing and understanding Wayland Police Officer who eventually came to my aid.

To my surprise, the officer sympathized with me, as she understood that while the accident was ultimately my fault, the stimulus surrounding it wasn’t. Whether she was sharing her genuine reaction, or merely attempting to console a crying 23 year old, it worked, and I was able to calm down…until my parents pulled in. Insert second round of waterworks.

I will spare you with the painfully boring details that would follow this event, but I am sure this is not the last you will hear of this adventure with Sass. Clearly she has been unhappy with me since the original windshield wiper break.

So that’s the story.

I will never, ever switch to TD Bank, nor do I wish I was a member of it.

True Life: God Laughs at Me

(Disclaimer: this is a long one...)

If I were to describe my life in a single sentence it would be: “My life is comprised of emergencies connected by awkward pauses.” Often times, I think that said emergencies are scripted for an episode of MTV’s True Life. Yes, just think of me as MTV’s next rising reality star, who made her debut on “True Life: God Laughs at Me.” I am this year’s Trek and/or Melissa Rycroft.

Last night was an example of a script worthy set of emergencies. See potential script below.

Scene 1: Happy Go Lucky
(Set scene: 4:37PM, pouring rain, clouded sky, thunder (okay, the thunder is a minor over dramatization.) Enter Kristin, in [cute] work outfit, [non waterproofed] rain jacket, alertly running to car in an event to avoid racoon.)

I left work today feeling powerful. Despite feeling as though my head might fall off and that my eardrums might pop, I successfully launched my first true solo project at work. I beat the corporate monster while feeling completely miserable! Very productive day at work; job well done!

(Pan to devil hiding in corner, who proceeds to laugh evilly, foreshadowing the events to come. Pan back to Kristin who is unaware of her impending doom.)

Scene 2: The Realization
(Set scene: 4:45PM, Kristin driving in almost pure silence to nurse her headache away. Heat blaring, rain continuing to fall heavily. Kristin’s interest perks when she hairs a noise coming from the back of her car.)

As I am sitting in my car, listening to nothing but the throbbing shooting from my ears, I begin to hear a low roar coming from the back of my car. I turn down the blazing heat and the small lull of the radio to most astutely listen to the lurking noise. I break, and as I do so the noise dies. I speed up, it builds. My first thought? “If it is that mother-effing tire, I swear to God I will leave you right here and never look back,” obviously speaking to Sass.

I pull over. Get out of the car, and slyly walk to the back passenger side of my car, you know, incase the tire doesn’t know I am coming, and magically re-inflates when no one is looking. What do I find? The flat, just as she was, if not 14 days ago. Insert swearing, stomping, and a new dog friend watching my throw my tantrum.

Scene 3: The Phonecall(s)
(Set scene: Kristin, defeated, sitting back inside the car. Raining heavier than before.)

After calming myself down, I realized the tire wasn’t going to change itself. I first call Sullivan Tire to inquire whether my new, brand spanking new, tire had any kind of service warrantee on it; I was thinking something like a “damsel in distress” package. No dice. The next call was to AAA, where I was politely told my wait time was 90-160 minutes. The next phone call was to speed dial #4: home. Here enter tears.

Scene 4: The Fix
(Set scene: Kristin, now completely drenched with mascara running down face is now standing outside attempting to change tire. Here enter Dad, my port in a storm…literally.)

After lifting the car, somehow extracting the flat, and putting on the new wheel- all while being on hold with AAA to cancel my service request, my trusty AAA service man pulls up, flashing lights and all. After realizing his arrival was a day late and a buck short, Stunad looks over the replacement wheel, compliments our change, apologized for the wait, and offers to lift the flat into the trunk of my vehicle. Gee, thanks.

Scene 5:The Flood
(Set scene: mid tire change, Kristin and Bob are in the ever building storm. The dog, we have now affectionately named Muffy, is sitting in the front yard, watching.)

Whilst my dad and I battle the elements to change my tire, essentially serving as human rain sponges, Mom calls. I answer mid spare-tire-hand-off, assuming it was to confirm the arrival of my father, but the true reasoning was anything but that, and instead I hear: “Where’s the tube for the Shop Vak, Uncle Dave is going under!” To all you non flood zoners out there, the previous sentence in normal language roughly translates as: “Uncle Dave’s basement is flooding fast. Where is the machine that rapidly sucks water out of a location, and when will you be home so we can go over to help them?” Add a dash of yelling, and a pinch of panic: and Voila, you have our conversation. Still in shock over the fact that I am getting this news while standing mid-tire change on the side of the road in the pouring rain, I panic and hang up. Looks like my real life Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride won’t be ending anytime soon.

Scene 6: Pizza?!
(Set scene: Kristin, now carrying pizzas into Uncle Dave’s house, is garmented in duck boots, rolled up jeans, a sweatshirt, and damp raincoat. Eye makeup has found a home anywhere on her face, but her eyes. House is filled with 8 people, all Shop Vaking and carrying buckets full of flood water out of basement. It is the North Pole for flood victims)

This is when I realized that God’s source of entertainment is my continuing bad luck. I am sucking basement flood water (complete with floating creatures and treasures) into an archaic Shop Vak which houses several holes. After brainstorming with my cousin (my future partner on The Amazing Race), we realized that transporting water our of the basement will either replicate a physical challenge on Double Dare or will require multiple bucket transfers in an attempt to remove the water. Ultimately we settle on the latter, and spend a majority of the night “ShopVak, transfer, move out, repeat”ing until the team realized that we weren’t making any progress. My herniated/ruptured disk(s) surely appreciated the exercise.

Scene 7: Bed
(Set scene: Kristin now showered, is pouring herself into bed.)

After rinsing myself of cat litter infused flood water, I prepped for bed when I realized that I no longer have a bed frame, but rather just a lone mattress dwelling in the middle of my room. Very friendly, if you ask me. While there has been no physical furniture in my room, besides the bed, for almost 4 months now, the frame has now joined its comrades, and has been removed from my room. As I lay on my mattress, not three inches off the ground, I can’t help but wonder when they are going to pad the walls and lock me in. That will make for an interesting blog entry.

When life gives you lemons, fix your own wiper

Today was a big day.

Today I fixed Sass’s broken windshield wiper. Alone. I used multiple tools.

Yes, yes I did.

I had an inkling that I would be able to do it myself, as the last time my wiper broke (yes, it happens often) I hovered over the Saab tech, watching his every move of the 35 second fix. I remember driving away from the dealership feeling defeated after seeing how easy it was to complete the repair, and knowing that the techy was inside the dealership mocking me and my inability to speak car talk, nevermind understand it. Generally, I walk into the service center, and my appearance alone triggers cash register sounds for the technicians. Cha-ching! I hate that feeling. I am smart. I am quick to understand. Do not treat me like I am inept, and then charge me $150 for an oil change, thank you very much.

So, today was the day where I either had to make the call to Saab, or fix the wiper myself. I decided today was the day where I take back my voice… and did I ever take it back.

I fixed it, and yes, I had a witness. My mother, who is my #1 supporter in all my “I can do it myself” endeavors (which usually end up with me making the problem even larger), came down to the garage to bear witness to this miraculous event. And while I am sure the thought of me failing, and ultimately breaking the windshield wiper completely off my car, had her ready to run, Diane did very well throughout the exercise, and even participated with a celebratory thumbs up upon my fix.

I admit my experience was not free of problems. The once 35 second fix for the techy ultimately turned out to be a 35 minute fix for this novice, but I attribute a majority of that time to searching for the correct tools in my father’s OCD organized workshop. (Do not ever borrow a pair of scissors from Bob’s workshop, even if you put them back he will still know they were used.)

After a quick hood pop, removal of a decorative cover and some quick, but stern bolt tightening, I had single-handedly fixed my own windshield wiper. Mission complete.

I would like to take a moment to thank Sass and acknowledge her willingness to accept change. I know today was a turning point in our relationship because even though she knew that I had never operated on a vehicle before, she still trusted me enough to fix her.

Sass and I are no longer fighting.

Sans one wiper and one wheel

February was a bad month for Sass.

For those of you who haven’t met Sass, shame on you. She is the most loving Saab 9-3 out there, and my, does she have stories to share….if only her hood can talk.

Sass has been through it all, and has been a good sport in all weather. She handled beautifully during my 9 hour drive from Burlington, VT in my family’s attempt to “beat the blizzard home” in late 2007 (Great idea, Dad!), and has effortlessly honked and whipped around to sorority tunes with many a deltas hanging out her windows on bid day. Way to go Sass!

Regardless, February was a bad month for Sass…making March an even worse month for my checkbook. As much as I love her classy shine or her willingness to stick it out in tough storms, Sass truly lived up to her name this month, much like her owner. Sass and I are now fighting.

As if her windshield wiper breaking during the monsoon of last week did not serve as enough entertainment for her, this week’s flat tire no doubt added some spice to her month. Sass clearly thrives on my ability to totally freak out over things that I cannot control. The tears, stress, and cash spent on her in the last 24 hours equal out to about the amount I have cumulatively spent on her in the past two point five years. Thanks Sassafrass.

Apologies ahead of time, checking account, for the hit you are unknowingly about to take.
I am hoping these said Sass problems stem back to my not saying “Rabbit Rabbit” on February 1, 2010 (please see my rabbit rabbit rant for all details).

Don’t worry, I said “Rabbit Rabbit” this morning…

Saab 9-3

I am a Boston commuter and that means one thing: I am forced to drive on I-90 daily. Below are the things I think about more often than not while commuting to Framingham and back every day. Any true commuter will agree with me on many of the following observations, and here begins my Boston ranting:

The Good:
Pro: Its familiarity. As a native JOB resident (Just outside of Boston, for all you nons), I have always associated interstates 90, 95, and 128 with being close to home…the hub of the United States. As long as someone can get me to the Mass Pike, I will be able to find my way home. So, Mazel Tov, Mass Pike, for being a beacon of light toward home for so many years and counting…

Pro: It’s a one stop shop: I get on the pike at my apartment, and 2 (expensive) tolls later, I exit the pike at work. Simple, easy, and a good transition into my workday.

Pro: Once I arrive at work, I feel less stressed at my desk than I did for the previous 30-45 minutes of my life behind the wheel. Same goes for when I arrive home. Small life victory.

The Bad:
Con: Two words: Pot. Hole. Yes, I know we are in the 42nd year of the Big Dig, and don’t get me wrong, I love the new tunnel to the airport…but the conditions of Massachusetts state roads are atrocious. Driving to the airport is like a real life, real consequence version of Mario Kart. Your mission: get brother to airport on time. Level one is avoiding pot holes and construction details, while being able to maneuver your vehicle between lanes and beating traffic; level two adds things falling from above, like tunnel tiles and rocks from overpasses. Finish line= Ted Williams tunnel, which provides a brief moment of relief, only to be interrupted by a feeling of impending doom when I realize that the only thing separating me from millions of gallons of ocean water is a concrete wall made by the same people who can’t properly adhere tiles to the top of a tunnel. Panic!

Con: The traffic: Eastbound, Westbound, 9AM, 1PM- there will always be traffic one way or another. There is a permanent centrifugal force that drives cars to the pike and keeps them there at ALL HOURS of the day (and who says I didn’t retain anything from physics, Mrs. Mills.) Think you can beat the traffic by leaving 4 hours early for a Bruins game? Wrong, because half the people going to the Bruins game have thought of the same thing, as have the commuters who are trying to avoid the same traffic as you…so now instead of 2 hours of bumper to bumper white knuckle driving, there is now a glacially moving 4 hour pile up, starting at the Weston State Police Barracks and shuffling through to 93.

Con: The billboards: The pike billboards bother me for two reasons: one being that they are completely and totally distracting, as if Massachusetts drivers need yet another reason to take their eyes and concentration of the road; the other being that each and every billboard is a nagging reminder that I am slowly going blind. Let’s tackle the distraction of billboards first, shall we? Being a young marketing professional, I completely appreciate the need for guerilla marketing in an urban, well travelled area, and often find myself admiring many of the billboards I see, but that is a separate topic for another day.

The megatron videoscreen popping out of the New Balance building is not only completely overpowering and bright, but it has yet to display any actual advertising message. While I do love looking at gigantic photos of the WHDH team and black/white photos of babies crying, I find that I spend a significant amount of time waiting for the picture to change, and less time with my eyes on the road. Have they intertwined a hypnotic component that I should be aware of? Maybe, maybe not, but what I can tell you is that I don’t want Bob, the guy driving the 18-wheeler mac truck next to me, to also have fallen into the hypnosis of the movie screen and lost focus of the little black Saab I am driving on his immediate left. Thanks, but no thanks.

The billboard is also a constant reminder of my ophthalmological needs. The blurry billboard issue really has nothing to do with the structure itself, besides the fact that I feel like it is taunting and mocking me for being unable to see it clearly. Every time I read one, or try to rather, I remember I cannot find my glasses and that my eyesight is slowly fading because I am too stubborn to either a) schedule an appointment and buy new ones, or b) find my functioning pair. I know once I choose to do either option, preferably the latter, I will look at these same billboards and give them a giant “Can’t fool me, pig,” but for now I dislike them…and will continue to do so.

Con: The fact that no matter which lane I drive in, it automatically becomes the slow lane. This however, can morph into a pro once I pass the driver and shoot them the “you are the worst driver ever” look. One point Kristin. How is it that Caravans never seem to realize that they are being aggressively passed by cars on both the left and the right?

The Ugly:
Call me crazy, but I have always thought that someday while stuck in traffic (see: The Bad), I would just happen to pull up next a shiny beemer, with a dashing, tall, dark and handsome Prince Charming sitting behind the wheel. Clearly he would throw his phone number up against his window, and we would live happily ever after. That might happen in LA, but it will never happen on the pike. Ever…unless your type is the grungy, slightly overweight, HVAC white van driver, and in that case- game on.

Why not just keep my eyes on the road and shut up? Because I am a masshole, and we don’t do that here.