Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Don't let me find you....

If I ever come across the previous owner of this house in the flesh, there's a bitch slap in her future.

I can almost hear the conversation.......

Husband/Girlfriend/Boyfriend/Repairman: "Hey, I know that the sink is all the way over to the right, but I think that we should put that light you want right in the middle of the wall. Seems like the best thing to do in this spot."

Previous owner: "Hey, good ideaaaa. Ooh, let's do that. You're right, I think that would be really cool." (switches to inner monologue)---> Man, that'll be awesome. This will really get across the message that my style is eclectic while at the same time remaining cute.....


Christ, I've got a lot of work ahead of me.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Weakest. Bull. Ever.

The last few days have been fantastic. I can here the cries all around, “But why?”

I’ve had the rare opportunity to spend the last couple of days rolling in a mostreal (that’s most tight and real, for those of you who haven’t studied up on advanced theoretical ebonics) ’06 Ford Taurus.

Trying to keep all of the honeys off while cruising to work was quite a gauntlet, adding at least an hour onto my nightly journey—they were practically bouncing off the windshield, giving rise to the consideration that I may require a police escort. The only window of import while rollin’ that bad boy like fuckin’ Benz was the rearview as I blew past everyone around me like rocket fueled butter. I could almost hear the panties sliding off in my high-speed wake.

Fuckin’ hell.

A question for you, Mr. CEO of Ford. Have you ever driven one of these? Ever? I mean, have you actually spent any time with one?

I never want to hear Ford complaining about lack of vehicle sales again. I would rather have gotten a rental from the kid down the street, the one who makes homemade soapbox racers--out of cardboard and his own excrement. My first vehicle was a ’72 Chevy Luv pickup with a manual choke and more miles than three of the same model should ever have. I drove that truck for a solid year and at no time was I as embarrassed as I have been during the past three days. Children were passing me on bicycles, peppering me with derisive loogies. At least the Taurus of a decade ago, even then universally derided by any denizen of cool, had an engine that could go up a hill at a decent clip. There wasn’t even a tint on the windows to partially conceal (within legal limits, of course) my crushing shame.

Imagine how you would feel driving down the street, people thinking that you support George Bush, use AOL, and consider wallpaper borders to be a generally fantastic decorating idea. Oh wait, I guess the first (if not all) are true of you.

Still feels pretty shitty, doesn’t it? Feeling like a champion buttdart always does. Perhaps you should think about that the next time you decide that making something like the ’06 Taurus is the way to go.

And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Mr. Audi CEO. It was your goddamn car having to be serviced that forced me into that living hell in the first place.