Strung out on life

Last night, on my way to The Dayments, I got stuck behind a rather broken down car. I don't drive much here (allah be praised) and so I've become, in the last eight months, even more 'I drive like my grandma' than previously. This means that I was not about to swerve into traffic in the next lane in an attempt to get around them. My timidness meant that I was the first car behind them, and I felt real bad; there was one guy trying to push and a woman trying to steer. Should I get real close and try to bump them up the hill? I wasn't sure. The man kept looking back at me, trying to push faster, and when he'd look I would try and make sympathetic faces so that he'd know I wasn't being impatient and obnoxious, although I guess that by not going around them, I probably was. Fortunately, a nice frat boy pulled over and jumped out to help push and I was absolved of all duty, although I think I may have tarnished my karma a bit.

It really is just like a French restoration comedy inside my head.

So yes, girl's night in at the Dayments. Heather made some tasty pasta and as an added bonus I got to take home some of Tara's taco dip, which is made almost entirely out of things that I don't like and yet still somehow manages to be "delish for fish" (to steal my brother's favorite phrase). We talked about stalkers and poop, and it was altogether a delightful time.

Ohhey, I forgot to gloat about my special professional discount for The New Yorker. I don't know if it's all phooey or what, but I'm still pretty impressed with myself for getting a thing that says "Your status entitles you to receive The New Yorker at the Preferred Professional Rate..." That's right, kids...turns out that being a stud really is a career.

I keep forgetting to mention this, but a few days ago I got an email from someone named Jordan. The body of the message was simply "you suck" and I didn't recognize the address and anyway, what the -fuck- is up with all the strange emails lately?

And also, you should all notice that it's been four months since this happened, which means that it's been a bit more than that since I did this. (And, incidentally, about that long since I started reading '7 ways to keep him interested'-type articles more seriously than not.) Who'd a thunk that such a stupid move would have turned out so well? I am -such- a stud.

Also, this:


Greetings Samantha --

Here is your horoscope for Sunday, January 18:

If you're so much better than others, why are you having such a hard
time? Satisfaction is missing from your quest for perfection. No sane
person should maintain this pace. You've already done so much.

Repeat after me: Word.