Things I Learned From My Very First Car Accident

So there I was, minding my business in the left run lane, waiting for the light to change so that I could return to work, when I got kablammed.

His car slammed mine into the pickup truck in front of me and it was all SUPREMELY FUN, let me tell you.

My first reaction was to open up the door, look behind me, and scream, "WHAT THE HELL?" Luckily, the guy wasn't out of his car yet, so he didn't hear me.  

(Apparently I was concerned about looking like an asshole.  HE hit ME, you guys, and I was worried that I wasn't being nice. Sigh.)

LESSON ONE: It's okay to be mad.  

Then the guy in front of me got out of his car to survey the damage (hint: there was no damage because his trailer hitch saved his Silverado from harm.  The most harm that befell him was potentially a lit cigarette falling from his mouth when the bumper car madness began). He was also this close to screaming at me until he realized that I was just the meat in a car sandwich.

So Mr. Volvo gets out of the car and we (mostly him) held up the left turn lane for several rounds of lights until I announced that we were all going to turn into that Dollar Store parking lot FOR FUCK'S SAKE.

I wanted to call Mike, but I knew that he was in important meetings, so I called my dad.  His "dad" voice changed to his "lawyer" voice and he told me to call the police.

Holy shit, the police?

(Also, please note that I did, in fact, text Mike: "Hi!  My meeting went well!  Also, I was just in a car accident.  Waiting for the police!")   Which brings us to:

LESSON TWO: DO give details of said crash to boyfriend so that he does not call you, immediately, in a panic.

Mike was a not thrilled with my text.

LESSON THREE: DO NOT get out of the car until the police officer let you.

I've never been in an accident before - at least, not one in which I was in the driver's seat, so I was completely ignorant on the ways things work.  But I knew enough to call the non-emergency line instead of 911, and the super nice dispatcher sent over an officer.

It couldn't have been more than two minutes when I realized that a police car was parked behind us SO THAT WE COULDN'T LEAVE.

I got out of the car to speak with her, since I was the one to call, and she was all, "Ma'am, return to your vehicle. I will come to you."

But you know, in a "I will totally cut you" sort of voice.

Anyway, there wasn't much damage (compared to what I had done to the car my own damn self), so I didn't end up filing a claim.  And no one was hurt, so it really wasn't a big deal in the scheme of things.

But it still sucked, and I wouldn't recommend getting into a car accident.

Les Miserables

Right, so I finally saw the newest version of Les Miserables, and I was going to write my review, but then I totally forgot to do so and therefore all of my thoughts have merged with various reviews I've read elsewhere and I can't be confident that my thoughts aren't actually someone else's, so I am just going to say that I really enjoyed the movie, and I was really impressed with the actors, the script, and the cinematography.

So you should see it.

The real reason that I wanted to write this post is because I was going through stuff at my parents' house, and I found some long-lost pictures from high school.  

I've known and loved the musical Les Miserables for a long time.  It started in high school when I was a member of the SUPER COOL Marching Band.  My freshman year, we played music from Phantom of the Opera, and I was all, "yeah, yeah, tell me something I haven't heard a million times before because my dad plays it all the goddamned time."

And then, it was suddenly sophomore year, and we were to play Les Miserables.  AND IT WAS AWESOME, YOU GUYS.

Here is me, my horrible haircut, and my Coke habit at Bands of America Regionals:

And here is proof that while I was a dork, at least I didn't play the flute or something:

FUCK YEAH, SAXOPHONE.

PREHISTORIC SAFARI NIGHT

It was safari night at the dinner table.  PREHISTORIC SAFARI NIGHT.

They died deliciously.

Having a Blog Has Paid Off AGAIN

Remember when I made my own popcorn mixture and it wasn't all that great?

Well, imagine my surprise when I came home to a large package on my doorstep.  When I shook it, I immediately knew what it was, and I knew who it was from.

THANKS, MIKE'S MOM!

This... I Can't Even.

I love my books.  I LOVE THEM.  When I was packing to move to DC for graduate school, my mom wanted me to leave my boxes of books at home, but my dad convinced her that I needed them.  They were a kind of security blanket to me - as strange as that sounds - and having them with me in a new place, truly alone for the first time in my life, gave me a feeling of comfort.

I treat all books - not just my own - very kindly.  In fact, if you looked at the majority of my books, you would think that they hadn't been read.  But they have - some of them multiple times.  I've never cracked a book open and smoothed it down flat, and I've never, ever flipped the cover of a paperback behind the book.  THAT WOULD BE PAINFUL TO THE BOOK.

So what I'm trying to get across is that I treat my books with respect, and I couldn't even imagine harming them.

Until tonight, that is.  I wanted to throw this book across the room, set it on fire, and pee on its ashes.  And then throw the urine-soaked ashes into the FIERY PITS OF HELL.

So, thank you so much, Fifty Shades of Grey.  You can go fuck yourself.  It is literally the worst book I have ever read, for so many reasons, and I've read the Twilight books.  (Which is apt, considering that these asinine Shades books started as internet fan fiction of Twilight. Because apparently, we as a nation cannot get stupider.)

I don't know where to begin.  I hadn't read this trilogy when it was first published - in fact, I avoided it like the plague (although, did one actually avoid the plague? Discuss).  I had heard that it was crap, that it was poorly written, and that the subject matter was SO SHOCKING OMG.

And then I came upon this blog, where the author so expertly and hilariously recapped the book chapter by chapter.  I was angry reading those recaps, and I started to write this here blog post, but I realized that my post would carry more weight if I actually read the books. So I borrowed the first one, because this sham of an author was NOT getting my money.

And then I read it. WHICH WAS A HUGE WASTE OF TIME, in case you're wondering.  Here we go:

Sexual fucktard, Ana Steele, is on her way to Seattle to interview a business mogul for her college newspaper because her roommate (who she constantly bitches about, by the way, because apparently when Kate worries about Ana, it's annoying) is too sick to do the interview herself.

Ana bitches about every woman she encounters, literally falls into the mogul's office, and proceeds to ask scripted questions that she didn't bother to review.  She embarrasses herself, as well as the reader, but somehow charms this enigmatic man.  This... Christian Grey.  

Anyway, she soon discovers that he's into BDSM, about which she is all, "Whatevs!"  So even though she knows exactly nothing about what he's into, she's all eager to get started because this Christian Grey is just so attractive and mesmerizing. But then he gets mad at her because she didn't reveal her sexual status to him immediately upon meeting him. (Which, SPOILER ALERT - she has never seen a penis.)

He tracks her cell phone, shows up at her part-time job, buys her a laptop and a Blackberry so that he can reach her at any time, and basically kidnaps her.

Oh.  And then there's the contract.

I won't tell you about it because it's TOO AWESOME.

I don't know how much of this "novel" is true to life - I don't know much about this lifestyle except from what I read in the last half hour.  I don't know if contracts are something that people sign, and I certainly don't know if people build rooms in their homes specifically for these activities.  But.

One of the things that truly bothers me about this "novel" is that the author paints all sexual fetishes as wrong - that if you are a damaged person if you have predilections of any nature that is not vanilla, married-person sex.  BUT IT GETS BETTER YOU GUYS.

The reason that Christian is into BDSM is because he was a fucked up child and then a really fucked up teenager, and then OBVIOUSLY it's because his parents' older female friend introduced him to the ways.

Ana nicknames her "Mrs. Robinson," even though there is no fucking way she has even SEEN The Graduate, so go die in a fire, Ana.

So.  This is the only way he knows how to have sex.  The only way he wants. And now that Ana's had the sex with him, it's the only way SHE knows.

It's so disturbing.

You know what?  Nevermind. I don't even want to do a fucking book review.  It's crap and I don't think that you should read it.  Unless you love reading about emotional abuse!  Yay!

I'll leave you with this awesome picture I found on the internets:

(Photo Credit: Asad Qayyum)

It's Cookie Time, Motherfuckers!

So... this happened:

And the thing is?  Apparently I don't like Samoas anymore.  What the happy fuck is that about? I mean, I was well aware that I wasn't a huge fan of coconut, because I live with myself every day, but for some reason I was immune to those caramel-y, chocolate-y rings of Heaven.

Dear Thin Mints and Tagalongs, you are too delicious to exist.  I'll see you in hell.

Girl Scout cookies always remind me of two things:

Monica: "When I was a Brown Bird, my dad bought all of the cookies, and I ate them all."
Ross: "No, dad HAD to buy all of the cookies BECAUSE you ate them all."  

Ross: "They call me COOKIE DUDE!"

and, of course: