I am amazing. That's not just a general service announcement, but a quantitative evaluation of my handidness (handy-ness?). My AC started sucking - as opposed to blowing, ha - and gave me a house filled with warm, moist air that picked up all the bad smells from the depths of my room corners, various pleasant trash can odors reminiscent of dorm hallways, and gently tossed them across all my better-smelling areas. I didn't pay much mind since I was leaving for H-town last week anyway, and last night I didn't care since I was leaving for offshore this morning (the joys of rain delaying last flight until tomorrow!), but when I got home from the heliport this afternoon I decided the time for action was upon 1432 Orpheum.

I narrowed the problem down to outside; my air handler was fine, thermostat - check! -, and I figured out my compressor wasn't coming on outside. So after a quick call to Dad, I pulled out the ol' multimeter to check the fuses for the compressor. Sure enough, one was bad. A simple trip to Home Depot for two new 30A fuses, and I felt on top of the world: Look at me, World! I'm Handy! I'm fixing something all by myself! And a real something too, not just some silly towel rack or CD player!

Then came the fuse installation. Then came the hand-wrenching, towel-tearing, near-tears (ugh, I hate that Handy-ness could even bring me near tears. Reason #409 why I'm still a woman) part. See, there are these end caps on the fuses, which must be removed from the old fuses to be put on the new fuses to put them in their little plastic Happy Fuse Holder. But, the end caps are evil and have a tighter grip on the old fuses than Communism does on Cuba. I'll spare you the bloody details, and suffice it to say that the new fuses are happily residing in their holders outside, and my AC is briskly cool and fresh now. And I'm proud of myself, even a little bit of my roughed-up hands.

Know how when you hear something frequently you don't fully absorb its meaning? This morning on the drive to the heliport I noticed for the first time that the tag line for the pop music radio station here is "The all new B-97." How long can something be "all new"?? Because it's been the same ol' B-97 to me for the past two years. I don't think it's all that new anymore, especially when the playlist is about as long as Santa's list of presents for the Naughty and the music is recycled more than old episodes of Friends. I'd like to suggest, "The all trite B-97. To keep you listening again and again!"

I feel much more normal and whole today, having hung out with two of my favorite people and talking to a third. I like when life is satisfying and the emotional outliers stay outlying, undistracting, and unconcerning. They're still there, though, it's just easier to refuse credence when I'm distracted by better things.

Goodnight world!