I had such an exciting day. First it was Monday. Just that made me have to sit down for a minute. To read news on the internet. Hey, I have to stay informed...and maybe make some increasingly grumpy comments on the message board for one of the local paper's online stories. What? People care what I think, dammit (question for y'all: is it sad that I check back often (hit refresh like a research monkey hitting the pleasure button) to see how many people said my comment was "helpful?" I didn't think so...there is nothing wrong with seeking anonymous approval).
Also? Emily, she of emailing brilliance, finally started a blog already, geez, huh. I'm all atwitter and aflutter and agape. Go there and visit her and her white trash tube top (note to Emily: dude, your photo is freakin adorable, but seriously, you should be wearing a tube top...no? Oh, gawd, I just called Em white trash while talking about her own blog...reason #15 bazillion 2 trillion 25 million I'm going to H-E-double-hockey-sticks...sorry Em, that's not what I meant...aww crap, I think I've had about 6 too many of those chocolate covered raspberry sticks from Trader Joe's that I never buy because they always give me a sugar high and I have to stop now with the parenthetical). Just promise you'll still read me when you figure out how hysterical she is, kay?
So. Anyway. Deep breath. Much less exciting is my trip to get my car serviced after work today. It was lovely because I didn't have to pay anything (I added a prepaid maintenance plan on when I bought my car, and while I'm probably paying 5 times what service is worth in interest, at least I don't have to come up with 60 bucks every 4 or 5 months because that is hard), it was very quick, they washed my car (and vaccuumed the carpets...wee!), and when I drove away, there was a nice little present sitting on the passenger seat. It was a cute box with the Toyota logo all over it. When I finally got to a traffic signal and stopped, I opened that puppy right up. To find a dirty air filter. I appreciate that they wanted me to know not only that they changed it but that it needed it. But I didn't need to touch it.
As a last thought, is it wrong that I want to be the meat in a Jon Stewart/Dennis Miller sandwich?
You can't look at me now, can you?
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