Weirdness, cars, and mysteries.

What the hell?!? I just got an email from one of my instructors, asking if I, in fact, have the prerequisites for the class in which I am currently enrolled. Now normally, I wouldn't take offense, but it wasn't addressed to anyone else--just me. His salutation contains my name. What's up with this? I just replied and affirmed that I have had them, but now I'm wondering what this is all about. Ok, so call me paranoid. I mean, it's not normal to ask that; it's a closed class; there are only ten enrolled, and it's "closed" in the sense that you aren't able to enroll without the prerequisites, so...??? Oh, well. I guess I'll find out in class tomorrow morning.

Work went ok today--both of them. I confess that I ducked out early on the second one, but that's ok, because I was the only one there. And I needed to get my oil changed, like really, really badly. The guy at the place where I go knows me by now--I'm the girl who comes in dutifully every 5 - 6,000 miles for an oil change, whether the car needs it or not. :-) Well, lookit--those are expensive, and I _do_ augment the oil sludge in-between changes with Marvel Mystery Oil and stuff. It's not like I'm totally neglectful. My car loves me, and thinks I treat it just fine. It told me so. Well...it hasn't complained. :-) This rationale is lost on Scott The Mechanic, however, who favors a by-the-book interpretation of the rules. And in this way, Chirrin, we have an illustration of the difference between the executive and the judicial branches of car maintenance.

I started a new mystery book yesterday, and I'm just about through with it. It's not a bad one, and that's good, because it's probably the last one I'll be able to fit in for a month or two. This is in spite of the fact that I read everywhere--at traffic lights, while I'm walking, in elevators, while Scott The Mechanic is kvetching--you name it. I discovered a few years ago that I like mysteries, cozies specifically. I never thought I liked mysteries, then I moved into a new apartment, and that evening the cable was out, my crap was everywhere, I was exhausted, and so I ended up watching a static-filled made-for-TV movie called Murder At The PTA Luncheon. I just thought it was cool. So I bought the book, and all the other books by that same author at my favorite used bookstore that has cats in it--really, they have three cats there and they are so sweet, but that's a description for another time--and then started getting antsy because there weren't any more. So I started reading other authors that were similar, and before I knew it, I was hooked. :-) They have subsections of mysteries for every possible interest--the ones that are dedicated to food aficionados, pet lovers, lesbians, former nuns, ladies that don't consider car upkeep a dire enough issue to merit throwing wrenches--you name it, it's a series. I once found a website that listed a bunch of mystery authors and genres in a way such that you could find an author you liked, and they recommended similar authors--majorly cool. :-) Although Valerie Wolzien is probably always going to be my favorite, I especially liked the Southern Sisters series, and even cried when I finished reading the last one after their author, Anne George, died. Stupid, I know, but it made me sad.

Sigh...why do I mention it, or ramble on? I don't know. Just because.