My car made six years old Sunday, and what a celebration we had for it. The car and I went to work, and then in a crazy twist after the shift, we went back home.
She looks best in the night. Let's take a look at the stats in the life of my Jetta.
Miles: 40,425.
Wrecks: 2.
Front bumpers: 3.
Wrecks that were my fault: 1.
Wrecks I was blamed for by insurance company: 2.
Tickets: 2 (one for wreck, one for speeding.)
Girls: 4. (No. That don't count Tina.)
Others who have driven it: 2 (Tina and Derry, who in a sick joke moved my car to the back lot to make me think it was stolen.)
Drag races won: None yet.
Worst spill: Chinese.
Strangest passenger: Crow.
THE TINA CURSING CORNER
My mom is upset that a book she ordered from the library hasn't arrived yet. "Where the fuck is my book? I ordered it last Sunday. I could have gotten it faster driving to the other fucking library myself."
Mom is watching Sex and the City, and Samantha has a problem with her boyfriend. "His dick is too small."
Mom is watching Dr. Oz. He recommends witch hazel. "What the fuck is that?"
Mom just cut her grass. "Look at that fucking grass. Took three bags after just nine days. I got some thick ass fucking grass."
KELLY: MY VAGINA IS A MACHINE
The Rittiners had a sixth of July party last Saturday. It's one of my favorite holidays, so I was anxious to arrive eight hours late after my shift.
Whereas other parties are still jumping when I get there late, this one came to a crashing halt right after I arrived.
That's because Bert was out of his mind drunk. He insisted that he be left to sleep outside on the ground next to the swimming pool.
Bert looked like total death, but I was not allowed to take a picture of him because he could run for judge someday and that picture on this blog could cost him the bench. Right.
Later with Bert sleeping on an air matress, Kelly told me that Paul broke her toe in the pool earlier at the party. Ouch.
That's not nail polish in red.
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Ew
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