i'm attempting to think of an analogy to accurately describe my current state of being..and all that seems to fit is UUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH. to quote the man, the myth, the legend jesse chisholm: "i feel like a big bag of mess..and i don't think i like it."
picture the carefree antics and wild shenanigans of one mr. ferris bueller on his very famous day off. and seeing as though it was on approximately 845874857 times on friday (big ups to the new TNN) and i am now even more well versed in everything bueller, i can conclude beyond a shadow of a doubt that my day was the exact polar opposite of that. join me, will you, for a quick trip down memory lane.
so i wake up rockin' a pretty lethal hangover (no need to lick my palms here..this was for serious) and realize very quickly that i have to move the civic (not a ferrari california that i never drive, but instead rub with a diaper) from x-lot and gas it up, the least i could do for it after the obscene amount of driving i did this weekend (driving? in a car? who DOES that?). so me and jeff (my very own version of cameron frye) scamper down the hill in the torrential rain (it never rained on ferris..jeanie maybe..but never ferris), hop in the civic, and start it up. now is the time where i will dazzle y'all with my impression of what my car then did just to bust my nonexistent balls (although it would be better if this could be done, in song, atop a parade float in downtown chicago): sputter-sputter-eeee-eeee-eeee-shakey-shakey-haha-lex-this-is-what-you-get-i-hate-you-peace-out-mofo-kersplat-caput-stall. so of course i did the only logical thing i could think of: scream forever and go into a catatonic trance that could only be remedied by falling off a diving board.
when once again able to function properly, i called the roomie (definitely playing the role of "mom") and she picks my, by that point, completely drenched self up and we go to the gas station to revive poor, poor blue. the attendant, strangely reminiscent of one of the sketchy guys at the parking garage..accent and all, hooks me up with one of those little red emergency gas caddies. i once again scamper back outside and we zoom back to x-lot (cue star wars music and slow-mo video footage) where i proceeded to dribble gas all over my frostbitten hands whilst trying to quench the thirsty tank. after i was done (read: 7 years later), me and ol' blue zipped back to the gas station for round 2 with the sketchball foreign guy. i filled my tank, got even more soaked by the subsiding rain, and peaced out of the piece like it was my job.
i would have gotten away with this whole thing scot-free..if my moms (mr. rooney for SURE) asked me the inevitable question "so honey..how is your car running?". what i should have done was ask her to make me some soup and then squeal in satisfaction, but i elected to tell her the whole damn story, and was once again made privy to the fact that honesty isn't always the best policy..because my ass got screamed at for a good 5 minutes about "responsibility" and what a "dumbass" i was for "letting it go too far" because "the e is there for a reason." and all this time i thought it was just for decoration. excuse me while i blush and grin sheepishly.
and THAT, my friends, is the crapfest that is my life. i will gladly accept your sympathy..in addition to cash, check, and all major credit cards.
..pucker up buttercup,
lex
picture the carefree antics and wild shenanigans of one mr. ferris bueller on his very famous day off. and seeing as though it was on approximately 845874857 times on friday (big ups to the new TNN) and i am now even more well versed in everything bueller, i can conclude beyond a shadow of a doubt that my day was the exact polar opposite of that. join me, will you, for a quick trip down memory lane.
so i wake up rockin' a pretty lethal hangover (no need to lick my palms here..this was for serious) and realize very quickly that i have to move the civic (not a ferrari california that i never drive, but instead rub with a diaper) from x-lot and gas it up, the least i could do for it after the obscene amount of driving i did this weekend (driving? in a car? who DOES that?). so me and jeff (my very own version of cameron frye) scamper down the hill in the torrential rain (it never rained on ferris..jeanie maybe..but never ferris), hop in the civic, and start it up. now is the time where i will dazzle y'all with my impression of what my car then did just to bust my nonexistent balls (although it would be better if this could be done, in song, atop a parade float in downtown chicago): sputter-sputter-eeee-eeee-eeee-shakey-shakey-haha-lex-this-is-what-you-get-i-hate-you-peace-out-mofo-kersplat-caput-stall. so of course i did the only logical thing i could think of: scream forever and go into a catatonic trance that could only be remedied by falling off a diving board.
when once again able to function properly, i called the roomie (definitely playing the role of "mom") and she picks my, by that point, completely drenched self up and we go to the gas station to revive poor, poor blue. the attendant, strangely reminiscent of one of the sketchy guys at the parking garage..accent and all, hooks me up with one of those little red emergency gas caddies. i once again scamper back outside and we zoom back to x-lot (cue star wars music and slow-mo video footage) where i proceeded to dribble gas all over my frostbitten hands whilst trying to quench the thirsty tank. after i was done (read: 7 years later), me and ol' blue zipped back to the gas station for round 2 with the sketchball foreign guy. i filled my tank, got even more soaked by the subsiding rain, and peaced out of the piece like it was my job.
i would have gotten away with this whole thing scot-free..if my moms (mr. rooney for SURE) asked me the inevitable question "so honey..how is your car running?". what i should have done was ask her to make me some soup and then squeal in satisfaction, but i elected to tell her the whole damn story, and was once again made privy to the fact that honesty isn't always the best policy..because my ass got screamed at for a good 5 minutes about "responsibility" and what a "dumbass" i was for "letting it go too far" because "the e is there for a reason." and all this time i thought it was just for decoration. excuse me while i blush and grin sheepishly.
and THAT, my friends, is the crapfest that is my life. i will gladly accept your sympathy..in addition to cash, check, and all major credit cards.
..pucker up buttercup,
lex
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