Autotacular Hate Crimes

A week has passed and life has grown increasingly convoluted. Starting with the saga of Bruno.

The Saga of Professor Bruno
Bruno is my 1989 Ford Ranger, as I may have introduced him before. As he is almost antique, this car is doomed to have personality. Originally, his name was just plain Bruno, but with a Master's Degree in being a bitch to drive and a seat cover reminiscent of an old English professor's tweed sweater, he gained an aura usually saved for pipe-smoking old scholars that have nothing better to do than talk of Melville and Shakespeare all day. Hence the addition of Professor. He has a manual transmission (hence having a male name. I'd name it Hedwig if I were superstitious), no AC, just recently the gas gauge started working by divine intervention, he eats the clasps for the seat belts, and only the right speaker works. Now, occasionally, when Bruno liked a song, the right speaker would come in, allowing me to hear the intended harmonies and nuances in the music that would make me squee (yes, squee) with delight.

Well, last Thursday, Bruno decided to get in a fight with this:


What I endearingly call the Anti-Bruno. A black, huge, GMC Sierra with an automatic transmission and a grill decided to commit the Auto Hate Crime of all hate crimes and bitch slap my poor little podunk white, stick-shift Ford on the intersection of my parent's neighborhood and Chastain Rd. Now, this accident could have been avoided had I not failed to yield at a left turn and if the motherfucker has decided to go the actual speed limit. The accident was definitely my fault because, y'know, I failed to yield. Anyway, I make a left turn into the right lane and hear the honk before the crunch. I feel the guy slam into the back of my car, Bruno swerves to the left while Anti-Bruno plows into the passenger side and Bruno swerves to the left again to a halt, looking directly at the Sierra. I dumbfoundly get out of my car and gaze in horror at the damage done to my car.

On a side note, I was going to buy cigarettes before heading home to dress for Jessica's 21st birthday party and was coming home from my parents' house just after starting the process of signing Bruno over to me. And I was listening to Meatloaf's "Bat Out of Hell." The irony is so rich, it rots my teeth.

Anyway, to cut this long story short, my car is in the auto-hospital and looks like this:



Since then, I have had to use all the money I allotted for my personal gas to pay for the tanks of others. I am grateful that neither me nor the other people were hurt. I had the cutest cop in the history of ever evaluating my accident. The court date is September 23 at the lovely hour of 8:30 in the bloody morning.

So, other than that, I'm alive and well. Waiting for information on any repairs. If the frame is bent, I'm fucked sideways but if not, I think all that needs to be fixed is the wheel/axel. Sure, he looks ugly as sin but if he's salvageable, I will stick a band-aid bumper sticker on his side saying "Ouch."

I guess that's all for entertainment. I bid you good day!

Paradise By Blogger's Dashboard Lights

I made myself a vow that I would not blog until I received and set up my laptop with wireless internet and such. As you can tell, I have either given the vow a fuck that or I have received my laptop in the mail. Those of you choice B selectors, give yourselves a pat on the back.

Actually, in the past week, more than I'd like to say has occurred. I was kicked out of my parent's house a week ago and has to scramble to find a new living arrangement. Thankfully my friend Beth's family has adopted me at least until I am financially stable on my own. My folks are giving me my car yet not their tax information to fill out my FAFSA. I probably will have to go after a private student loan in which they will still have to co-sign and then will result in me getting bitched at furthermore. Hopefully Dylan will intervene somehow if I ask him but I have to pull some weight and strings before I result to his tactics. I need to go up to financial aid and bring a book and wait in the line until I grow a beard but I'll do it.

In other happier news, I saw Hedwig and the Angry Inch at Actor's Express tonight for only a dollar (I love being a member of a certain mailing list) because I could do "pay-what-you-can" admission. The show was amazing. What I love about Hedwig is that it is a deep story about self discovery, an empowering tale about the pride in being a woman, and how finding your other half is crucial in everyone's life. The music is beautifully written from hardcore beer dribbling punk rock to bittersweet ballads that bring a tear to your eye. The lyrics are filled to the brim with allusions from Aristophanes in "The Origin of Love" to the mentioning of Lot's wife in "Wicked Little Town." It's correlations of other works and motifs in literature that when set to music for a controversial show such as Hedwig makes me beam with joy and utter interest. I can't express how much I enjoyed the show. The music makes me cry if I'm watching Craig Waldrop in a one piece suit with fishnets and pumps belt it out or if I'm listening to John Cameron Mitchell sing it on my iTunes collection; it is just that moving.

Plus Waldrop had FANTASTIC legs. Wow.

I get paid tomorrow so this slight living in solo squalor thing won't last much longer. I'm not really bad off- I live with wonderful people, I have a car, I have a job, I have a laptop with internet. Life's pretty good I suppose.

Until I write again, adieu!

Leevee Pieces

hAPPY jULY TO ALL.

Maybe I'll get out of that so my post doesn't look like a ransom note. Peachy.

So I've discovered a solution to my lack of energy whilst blogging. I love to blog; it's incredibly therapeutic. I get to write out jokes that I tell people all the time, I get to formulate opinions, and I get to actually express them free of interruption. Thus, writing is an extremely cathartic experience every time I do it. Well, as long as the content differs from what I last wrote. I find before any blog post (except for this one oddly enough), I always write up a rough draft. I write minuscule hieroglyphics on yellow legal pads for an entire page getting everything out. I proofread it to perfection, I add, I subtract, I multiply and divide and pretty soon it's ready for my fingers to type it out and execute the same proofreading regimen. But at that point, I don't want to. I'm so burnt out on that story that it lacks pop or "za-za zoo."

Although, I have said to myself, "You did do a lot of work on this. You should post it on your blog for other people to read!"

Then my eyes roll up to my brain: "Don't wanna. Not gonna."

Then my brain threatens to aneurysm and I drag my obligated self to the computer chair to recreate a snappy blog entry with a witty title that would get Oscar Wilde to give me free absinthe.

But in lieu of my laziness conquering every other possible energy I have, my wonderful father is going to send me a laptop. Albeit, it is a little older than most of the models I've used, I hear tale that it does in fact work. Another thing I plan on doing is uploading more videos and stuff of me because I personally love video blogs and I write songs and love to act like a moron for everyone to watch. I have to give a little purpose to the actor inside of me who won't be able to breathe should I choose to be an English major.

This laptop should arrive in about a week, I'd say. I have to figure out all the wireless aspects, how to use the thing, and slew of foreign terms that come with the world of portable computers. Should be darn exciting and I should be able to blog a lot better when I'm all abreast!

Until then, sit tight and await snazzy changes!