Just so there are no misunderstandings? I hate Sally. I hate her like the foul breeze off a landfill. I hate her like a genetically engineered, weaponized strain of deadly hives. I hate her like Hilary Duff hates Alison Lohman. The grandiose depth and breadth of my hatred for Sally is as profound as space itself, and is surpassed by nothing. Except, perchance, my hatred for math classes. You know, I still get that nightmare about having a pop quiz in math that amounts for, like, 80% of my grade, only I didn�t study.
Oh wait, that wasn�t a dream, that was my senior year in high school.
Anyway, this entry is not (strictly) about Sally, but I just had to get that off my chest before I flew into a towering rage and starting setting light to the walls of my office. What I was planning to write about was my ongoing attempts to reacquaint myself with Stewart, my beloved car.
Yes, I got it back yesterday afternoon, and the moment I arrived at the body shop, I saw it gleaming in the afternoon sun like a sparkling jewel! Oh, it was so beautiful! And when I got inside after lo these many weeks, I saw that they had cleaned the interior (and even wiped up the splotch of 7-11 ass-coffee I�d spilled on the cup holder immediately before commending it to their care), leaving it smelling ever so faintly of New Car. And ever so strongly of industrial primer. But whatever.
Anyway, I also saw that whoever had been driving my vehicle to and fro about the body shop�s grounds must have been about 3�7", given the fact that the seat was pushed so far forward that I practically needed to shoehorn myself behind the wheel and was almost able to depress the clutch with my left kneecap. I also determined that although they had replaced almost the entire front and back ends of my previously savaged automobile, certain parts had evidently remained elusive and difficult to obtain, e.g. the emblem on my hood. It�s still the old emblem, which is all dented and scratched from the accident. That�s fine, though, as it lends some character to my car.
I also discovered that though absence most certainly makes the heart grow fonder, it also makes the brain grow foggier. I�m really having a bear of a time trying to relocate my comfort zone. I mean, the comfort zone in my car is far wider than it was in the Rental Car of Horrors, so even hunched over the wheel and pressing the pedals with my patellae I was still at least in the penumbra of the zone, and enjoying far more comfort than ever I did in the Escort, but still. I�m continually adjusting and readjusting all the mechanisms, trying to find the Sweet Spot again. We won�t even go into my continued search for the friction point.
Anyway, I�m terribly excited to have my car back. Hooray!
Someone Got Here By Searching For: kimberley locke kissing clay And: "I gave my boyfriend a" [Let me help; I believe the word you�re looking for to complete that sentence is "handjob".] I�m Watching: My season 2 Alias DVDs, finally! I�m Getting: My oil changed tonight. Because I�m an idiot and didn�t think to just get it done while the car was in the shop. Yeah.
A Year Ago, I Said:"Of course, what didn't help that was the fact that two days ago I was hanging out with Pussy Galore and child, and she was all, "Hold the baby! Lick the baby! Let the baby spit in your mouth!" and then she's all, "Oh, by the way, the baby has that Norwalk-like Virus or some shit, and she's been shooting it out of both ends for the last week. Oh, and she's highly contagious, and everyone who's touched her has gotten it. Hope you don't have to work on Monday!" Thanks. Thanks a lot."
In Which Our Hero Heads Back Into the Breach
1-6-2003
� 2005 by Dr. No, all rights reserved; you break it, you buy it.