so, i’m having company over this weekend. my place is still a sty. i hate cleaning with a passion. you will all have to keep your fingers crossed for me, because i might get smooched.

of course, i might get nothing because clyde’s being a giant slut. i was driving home from work last night (at about 10:30) and i got to turn the corner by the gas station and he quits. then all this smoke comes billowing out from under the hood. i am afraid to look. i believe he just overheated. but i am not sure. like i said. . . i am afraid to look. i’d go bring him to the shop or something, but i hate mechanicboys with a passion. i hate them. i really, really, really hate them. why?

because they are mean and treat me like i am dumb. last week, i went to bumper to bumper and asked for a headlight for a 1988 chrysler new yorker. c’mon, i was all prepared. . . be a little nice. it’s not like i was some dumb chickie just giggling and saying i needed a headlight for my car. not like i was standing at the door and pointing to clyde and saying, “that car, that one right there.” no, i knew exactly what i needed. so greasy mechanicboy starts punching buttons and says, “we don’t have any in stock.” i didn’t believe it. how could an auto parts store not have any in stock? so then he moves his motor-oiled ass away from the computer, goes over to an aisle, grabs a headlight and hands it to me. i don’t get it, not at all. but it worked and it was only $6.