I was in Houston all weekend.  In fact, I went to Houston on Thursday of last week.  As much as I like the city, I'm glad to be home.  I am not-so-much used to the hustle and bustle of the big city anymore. 

Things happen to me in Houston that don't exactly happen to me here in bucolic New Braunfels.  Every experience has to opportunity to entertain.  Even car repair.

At about four-thirty on Friday afternoon, my car started smoking in a disconcerting way.  My car was, frankly, smoking like Cheech and Chong at a Phish concert.  But the smoke didn't last long... and I was relieved. 

Then the "BRAKE" warning light lit up on my dash.  Not the orange, "hey... check out your brakes soon" light, but the big, red, angry "Holy Shit, why are you still DRIVING this POS?!" light.  The illumination of this light coincided with a noticable lack of stopping power, and I cleverly surmised that there was something wrong with my brakes.

I will back up here and give you bit of background.  I was not only in Houston, but in Montrose, the historically gay part of Houston.  I know this is a shock that I'd be in such an area, and I hope you don't draw any conclusions about me just because I was in that part of town on a Friday afternoon!

So I carefully pulled into the nearest auto repair facility and stood outside the garage, peering in and waiting for someone to come help me.  It was then that I realized I wasn't at just any old auto shop... no... this was the MONTROSE auto repair shop.

From the outside, and from all outward appearances, it SEEMED like a regular auto shop, but if you looked closely, you would see that some of the greasemonkeys had big, voluptious breasts and pregnant-woman hair..  It appears that on that day, they employed not one, but TWO transexual mechanics.  Which is cool, because really, why change careers when you change your sex?  When you are undergoing thousands of dollars in surgery and hormone treatments, the last thing you need is to change jobs, right?  Damn right.

But the transgender mechanics didn't work on my car... no... Mark did.

According to the repair shop's website (which I'm not linking to, because I don't want them to know I wrote about them) the shop is managed by Mark (pictured at right), who is the owner's son.  He's also beautiful.  Seriously made me hot and bothered.  His body was perfectly sculpted, and he had that whole "name on a patch on your shirt" thing going for him, and the shirt... it was bustling, trying like hell to stay closed under the strain of his chest.  Damn.  And don't forget about the grease... it looked as if a makeup artist had applied it "just so" to make sure he was just that extra special bit of Hot.  It was as if a little bit of porno had walked into my life.

In addition to a great body, he was also very very nice, and immediately helped me to diagnose the problem, which consisted of him putting brake fluid into my car and bending over my car in a variety of obscene positions and saying things like, "okay, pump the brake.   Again.  No, go like, 'pumppumppump' three times in succession.  I KNOW we can find this leak!  PUMP! PUMP!"

I will admit, I had dirty thoughts.  Lots of them.

Anyway, it turns out that the brake line and my exhaust system had been rubbing against each other, and wore a hole in the brake line by the muffler.  The smoke was because brake fluid was hitting the muffler and not, as it should be, you know... SQEEZING MY BRAKES.

I explained to Mark that I was visitor in his fair city and needed the car back right away, and he promised it to me.  He actually delivered on that promise, too, and came in under his estimate. 

On Saturday, after I had my car back, I saw him at the Ripcord, holding hands with another guy.  I KNEW it!

So, now... I've got to wonder... are you going to have car trouble every time you hit Houston? And if so, will you wear something fetching, that shows a little leg?

Hot day-UM!

I have nothing further.

I'm dropping 2-fucking-grand on my car repairs and I don't even get any eye candy. WTF.

Color me shocked that a gay mechanic at a gay garage in the gay part of town would go to a gay bar. I mean, was it for the music & the ambience?

Hey, at least you got out of Houston before the floods!

Yeah, Sheila, he was very lucky. I was not. (sigh)

http://www.unicom.com/chrome/a/000379.html

I've always thought that guy was totally HOT!! Now I can't wait until I need a lube job. ;-)