I think perhaps I've finally stepped out of the abyss I've been in recently. Whoo hoo to that; another funk passed (I hope). I haven't spontaneously broken into tears in well over a week now, which is solid progress given that for a while there, it seemed crying was becoming a new hobby for me. In fact, I don't think I cried at all last week, either, except when I heard Bob Mould's new song, I'm Sorry, Baby, But You Can't Stand in My Light Anymore. Those tears were totally justified, though. Have you heard that one yet? You can listen to it here. If you've ever likened yourself to a bit of a Wendy Darling, an unfortunate magnet for lost boys, I guarantee you too will feel a swift punch to your stomach when he gets to the line "I always find the broken ones. What does this say about me?" Maybe I'm the broken one indeed. Ouch. (Sidenote: You're not going to click that link, are you? Fine, but you totally should.)
On to things that do not make me cry (or rather, that do draw tears, but only tears of laughter)... This someecard is the funniest thing I have seen all week. Mind you, it is disturbing, but if you're the easily offended type you probably wouldn't be here, given all the shit ass motherfucker type language I've been tossing around lately. (If you are offended by that, I apologize. I'll try to reel it back in to the usual only occasional well placed "For fuck sake" again henceforth.)
In other news, remember that unfortunate incident a few weeks ago where Mr. I Make My Own Traffic Rules turned across my line of traffic and ended up with a sizable dent in his fancy silver Mustang? Our insurance company finally decided where to place blame, and the larger portion of it landed on his policy. Whew. He had a "witness" who claimed I ran a red light, but apparently when both drivers say the light was yellow, a supposed witness's word carries less weight. Nice try, lady. Perhaps you could just stay in your car and mind your own business next time.
Because it was only marginally my fault, I have to pay only $60 rather than my usual deductible, which is well worth it if you ask me. Perhaps it seems silly to replace the bumper on an eleven-year-old car, but on the off chance I actually attempt to sell or trade it in someday rather than driving it into the ground, I'll be much better off without the remains of at least three mishaps marring it. Still, because I am a Midwesterner, grounded in "Oh no, no; I don't want to be a bother" sensibilities (and because my latent Catholic guilt resurfaces whenever I feel I might be doing something the slightest bit shady), I was more than a bit paranoid when the insurance company's damage inspector came to verify the worthiness of my claim. I thought for sure he'd take one look and say, "Are you kidding me, lady? Your car is older than my third-grader, and that scrape over there was clearly the result of you misjudging the distance between your car and a giant retaining stone. We are NOT paying for this." In truth, there is a giant scrape where I misjudged the distance between my car and a retaining stone in the Crapplebee's parking lot, but is it my fault that fixing the damage that was part of this accident will conveniently fix that, too? Answer: it is not. It is a nifty bonus, though.
Let's see. I had other things I was going to tell you, but they seem now even less important than the last four paragraphs of things that were not particularly important. For instance, do you really want to hear about how I found a form on the Wendy's web site today that lets you invite a friend to meet you for a Frosty or a Garden Sensations salad? No, I'm guessing that won't be nearly as amusing to you as it was to me. Incidentally, Lara did not meet me at the designated Wendy's franchise after I sent her that message. What--ten minutes isn't enough notice for a Philadelphia girl to get to the St. Paul suburbs for lunch?
Likewise, you probably aren't particularly interested to know that I am sucking it up woefully in my recent Facebook Scrabble games, with the exception of the game Beej invited me and Aaron to join him in, wherein I used all my tiles and scored 70 points on my very first turn. Damn shame those boys have attention deficit disorder where Facebook Scrabble is concerned. One of my finest Scrabble moments may well be overshadowed by the shallow disappointment of an abandoned game.
But I said I wasn't going to tell you either of those mundane stories. Eh. I say a lot of things. Surely that's no surprise by now. Carry on.