The kicker to the kicker

Kyle and I arrived home from New Orleans at 2:30 a.m. today, slept for a scant few hours and then headed to work (him) and worked on Christmas gifts (me). When I hopped into my car around 10 a.m., I was greeted by an engine that choked, sputtered and jerked as I drove. I promptly took it to the dealer, teeth clenched in anxiety the whole way. I dropped the damn thing off, borrowed Kyle's car, and a few hours later, got the verdict: I was in need of $650 worth of maintenance and repairs. It was little comfort to have the service guy tell me that it was nothing I'd done, just routine work. Which, ya know, is awesome, considering I'm still paying the $1,000 bill for car repairs I incurred over the summer. Bleeeeegh. Time to check the going rates for organs on the black market.