Back a few months ago, I was bitching about having to pay $900 in car repairs. I had no idea how good I had it. Those were the good old days. $900? Psh. No problem.
Because now I need about $1,900 worth of repairs on my car.
On my $4,000 car.
I am no mathalete, or anything, but my calculations are indicating that purple flying pigs will ice skate on a lake of frozen gold in hell before I pay that much for this car.
Seriously, the guy at Volvo called me on the phone and as soon as the words "nineteen hundred dollars" left his mouth I said, "Holy shit." And that's all I said for several minutes. Then I laughed at the very nice, clearly delusional gentleman when he asked me if I wanted them to get started on that. He was super nice about it, actually, but he did warn me that I'm likely to die a horrible fiery death at an indeterminate time and place. Which...eh. That's kind of always been a possibility hasn't it? It's not like it's more likely now that I know about it.
Halloween consisted of Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th, a lot of Ghost Hunters, A Haunting in Connecticut, and Paranormal Activity. I LAUGHED all the way through Paranormal Activity. Until I went to bed. Where I suddenly became terrified of the demon and sweated all night with 13,000 blankets pulled up over my face. Because if I can't see it, it's not there, and also everyone knows that blankets are the ultimate in protection against demon possessions, axe murders, and serial killer clowns.
I have always been jealous of people in big cities with reliable public transportation who have hilarious and shocking stories about their fellow commuters (just for context: my office is 14 miles from my house. In order to take the bus to my office, I have to walk 1/2 mile, change buses 5 times, and walk another 1/2 mile. Cars are kind of a necessity here). Anyway, I always wanted to be able to tell stories about fellow commuters and the receptionist at the office generously supplied me with one.
As she was driving in to work the other day, she was cruising along in the middle lane to avoid one particularly horrible set up where two exits are about 1/4 mile from each other and the first one backs up the interstate for about 2 miles in the morning. She and I both need the second exit. This is usually no big thing. You stay in the middle lane, get over immediately after the first exit, and take the second exit. Except THAT morning, when she was trying to get over, the car next to her was staying right beside her. She slowed down. The other car slowed down. She sped up. The other car sped up. This continued as she turned to give the guy "What the fuck?" face. At which point she realized he was staring directly at her while driving and jacking off.
And really? Dude? In the car? While driving? Part of me respects his ability to multi-task and part of me wonders things like was he planning to masturbate in the car that morning or was it spur of the moment? What exactly was his long range plan? I mean, did he bring something (like a sock? a...condom? a jizz rag?) along to contain the ejaculate? Was he planning to improvise? Is his steering wheel covered in crusty old spunk? (What? Inquiring minds).
And to get the bad taste out of your mouth, I bring you: Unparalleled cuteness I should probably feel bad about including in a post about Happy Highway Masturbator.