The people in our neighborhood

This week has been especially taxing. The highlight, or low point rather, was when my precious car was violently raped in one bang! when the front of a car hit it as I was backing out of a parking spot right in front of my garage. Why I decided to park in a space when I have an attached garage perfectly suited for my car on this particular day, I'll never know, but I did and now I have a sizeable crack in my bumper that is shifted to the left -- evidence of how fast the dumb bitch was going and the source of this week's headaches and developing ulcers.

If you've ever been in an accident (now that I'm an expert on the subject), you'll know that it's an unpleasant experience. There's the initial slow-motion shock of the impact, to which I reacted with both hands on my ears and screamed, and immediately afterward there's the look back to look at the ugly face of the person who hit you. Because when someone's pissed off and do damage to your property, they're never attractive.

I got out of my car about 30 seconds before I was ready -- I was still shaky and to be honest kind of scared of this girl who looked like she was about to kick my ass -- and she got out of her car crying. She told me, "you wouldn't believe the fucking day I've had already!" This almost incited a sort of sympathy on my part -- the fact that she was human enough to show an emotion (ANY emotion) other than anger and wanting to kick my ass -- but I really wanted to tell her "do you think I give a shit about your bad day -- you don't know me!" Thankfully Big C came out of the apartment and I was reminded that it's going to be alright because if I was left alone with this mess of a girl with her crying and heightened emotions, I don't know how I would have reacted.

To make a long story short, it was obviously her fault and she was freaked out by this fact, so she became irrational and confrontational. Not the most pleasant situation, I have to say. She asked for my license for god's sake and gave me shit about my addresses not matching! I fought the urge to cut her tongue out and spoon her eyeballs out with it and tried my best to handle the situation like a rational adult. I invoked the same calm and sense of self-control I do at work when my boss acts crazy and took control. I told the girl what's going to happen, she's going to be alright, our insurance people will handle it and no, your mama's not going to kill you: you didn't sustain much damage compared to my vehicle (which your mama's car just raped, thank you very much)...just a couple of scratches at best, you'll be fine.

So now I am driving a rental car and am looking at a higher premium because it's going to be a no fault situation, thanks to the big white truck parked next to me, obstructing both our visibility. And that's the drama with my car.

In other news, our days with the marvelous Big C are numbered. He leaves June 10 for sunny California and I can't really tell you how much it hurts to see him go. I've become used to him and, well there are many things I could say on the subject. Our friendship is special and famous and if there were any truly honest and loyal people left in this world -- any at all -- he would be it. This weekend we (Big C, Matt and I) are poised to put our party hats on and celebrate Big C's birthday weekend and raise our glasses to friendship and not getting our asses kicked by ornery speed-happy bitches. And we're eating cake -- one I will build.

A collection of boogars on the blog wall

I hate it when people say "literally" for emphasis. No you didn't just "literally died from laughing." Because then you'd be dead.

Whenever I pass an Abercrombie store, I think about high school...which is odd because I never shopped there in high school.

The older I get, the more things I want to acquire so I can take care of them: plants, roomates, chia pets, kitties...I'm seriously thinking about getting a parrot. I know that one day I'll add children to that list and that FREAKS ME OUT.

I can finally name more than three players in the Dallas Mavericks.

Did you know that if you slightly pinch your nostrils and breathe in really hard, you can smell your boogars? My high school boyfriend told me that. I also learned the word "cunt" from him.

Speaking of my high school boyfriend, I just saw his myspace and he's totally gay and bald and I'm so glad I didn't end up with him. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay and/or bald, but you just had to know him (or see his myspace) to see how much he truly sucks. And how retarded we can be in high school.

I really like that TV ad where the guy in the bus tells that girl to shake her junk. If you know what I'm talking about, I think you're cool.

I want to go out and shake my junk, but I'm too white and dorky and lazy. Go Spurs.

Poop cock munch on a butt stick of herpes

Today was one of those days I wished for everyone's horrible, horrible death. No one pleased me and I believe I wasn't pleasant in turn. People's voices sounded like ten thousand banshees inside my earholes. And no, I'm not hungover. Just tired of inadequate retards who should be caged and be made to eat their own feces while small children point and laugh.

On a lighter note, the boys and I went to San Antonio this weekend where a beautiful retard-free weekend was had in which I saw my mom, grandma, funny-ass aunt who tells more sex jokes than a 14-year-old boy masturbates, 10 friends (half of whom probably masturbate as much as 14-year-old boys) and a big Mexican dude make a drunken fool of himself while giving a speech at my friend's wedding.

Penis. Penis. Penis. And kitty. (penis gets no link...boo for you.)

I saw someone vomit tonight

...and now I want to vomit. Gross.

* Real post coming soon.