The other night, I put antifreeze in my car ALL BY MYSELF. Usually, I have to take it over to my parent's house so my dad can help me get the cap off because it's on really tight and I don't like to get my soft, unblemished, girly hands dirty. But Thursday night Big Brother was on (shut up, and I hope you're prepared to hear about THAT for the rest of the summer) and I was too tired (read: lazy) to drive the two minutes toward parental help. So I went downstairs myself, popped the hood, and used a dishtowel to help remove the cap. WITHOUT horribly scalding my face and arms, which is what my manual says might happen . . . and why the hell do we drive these stinking death traps that can kill you in a myriad of horrible, disfiguring ways, I'd like to know.
Anyway, I'm sure I provided my neighbors with quite the spectacle, down there in my pink, cow pajama pants, stumbling around my car with a bottle of antifreeze. Now I'm really paranoid that I have the antifreeze in the closet downstairs and that somehow phoebe will get into it. One time on Animal Planet, I saw a cat who had gotten into some antifreeze and they kept calling it "drunk kitty" because, you know, it did stumble around all willy-nilly in crooked lines and running into things but then IT DIED and it was sad and I cried. This is why I don't watch Animal Planet. The end.
Also, I'm trying this new thing where I don't speed as much. And when I say don't speed, I mean I go five over the speed limit instead of ten. Everyone knows five over doesn't count. I'm doing this to save money, because apparently driving faster over like 60 mph costs you more money in gas and also speeding tickets? Not free. This was all well and good yesterday on the way to work. I was all happy and content because hey! It's Friday! And also I discovered that I still know all the words to Shoop by Salt n Peppa (thank you Q102 for the reminder), and I was driving to work during non-rush hour so everyone was still driving like a sane person.
But on the way home from work I almost got in three accidents. The first one? Some teenage bitch who probably just got her license cut across two lanes of traffic to swerve into the left lane, right in front of me, and then STOPPED to turn into the movie theater. I actually considered pulling in behind her so I could . . . I don't know, yell? But I thought that might lead to me ending up in prison for killing someone with my bare hands. The rest of the drive home actually led me to think, "I hope you crash and die!" several times and actually mean it, which means if I actually still had my pass to get into heaven, it would have been revoked yesterday. So, yeah, I was in a pretty bad mood the whole way home and not even the brief appearance by giant, touchdown Jesus could calm me. And if Jesus can't calm you down, I'm sorry, but you're screwed.
PS: If you have never seen the beauty and wonder of all that is GIANT TOUCHDOWN JESUS, then you need to come to visit me in Ohio and I will show you. You really haven't lived until you've seen him in person.
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