1. I think popcorn mixed with Junior Mints is a perfectly suitable dinner.
2. I don't believe in umbrellas (or pneumonia, apparently).
3. I take Flintstones vitamins.
4. My father does my taxes.
5. It takes everything in me not to blow my monthly car payments on trips to Target
6. It takes everything that's left not to blow my student loan payments at Target.
7. I don't own a single pair of shoes that might be deemed "sensible".
8. I spent $20 on a pilates mat after doing it twice (in my defense, I've been doing it for over a month now and love it).
9. I don't wear a watch.
10. I drive way too fast.
11. I sometimes decide that my almost waist-length hair needs deep-conditioning at weird times.
12. Like 2 am.
13. On a Wednesday night.
14. I wait until my inhaler is completely empty to refill it.
15. When I stub my toe (and it happens a lot, I have pontoon boats attached to my ankles) I curse like a sailor.
16. I spend a lot of time lying on carpets with my gigantic dog.
17. I don't own an iron (that's what a steamed-up bathroom is for, cello).
18. I cry at any movie that's remotely sad (and "Tears in Heaven" by Clapton makes me straight up lose my shit).
19. If I lose a button, I toss out the shirt.
20. Goldfish crackers are a staple in my diet (they're shaped like fish, ya'll!!)
21. I forget that there are windows in my basement. Which wouldn't be an issue were it not for my penchant for emulating Tom Cruise in Risky Business at times.
22. I ran out of checks a month ago and have yet to re-order.
23. I like to blow bubbles.
24. I look too damn young and beautiful.
Happy 24th birthday to me. How the hell was this allowed to happen?
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
The newest, hottest excuse for the lack of blogging is....
...allergies have kicked my ass all over the place. I admit defeat. Pollen, you are the victor. You now own my nasal passages, and all of the riches within (basically, just pounds of pollen that I have unwittingly inhaled). I don't remember allergy season ever being this bad, but then I have selective memories about unpleasant things (like when Natalie and I go to the classy Cinema DeLux and always think that getting cheese fries sounds like the best idea ever, until one of us reminds the other of the ONE time when we actually got them and they were the grossest things on the planet-we should have known though, the orange "cheese" that melted through the plastic container should have been a give-away).
This is my first springtime back in the DC area in six years, and I never had any issues in Indiana with this. In fact, April would always be when I'd crank back the moon-roof in Big Red (awww, I need to do a post about him) and blast some vintage Byrds or Dead (I like to give the old hippies a thrill). All that I remembered from springtime in Washington was cherry blossoms! And flip-flops! And lovely afternoons spent frolicking in fields and weaving daisies through my long, flowy hair! And now I realize that I never used to get to see the cherry blossoms because of the effing tourists, flip-flops are a no-go until I can get that pedicure that I can't afford because Christ, being a grown-up is pricey, and I wouldn't know how to find a field or identify a daisy if my life depended on it.
I have redecorated for spring, though; I've had to move my alarm clock off my nightstand to make room for, and I'm not kidding, the following drugs: Restasis and Optivar eye-drops, Zyrtec, my super huge dosed Flovent inhalor, Flonase, some weird antihistamine nose-spray who's name I can't pronounce, Echinacea, Flinstones chewable vitamins, and an economy pack of Aloe-infused Kleenex.
The guy at the CVS pharmacy drive-thru KNOWS ME BY NAME.
This is my first springtime back in the DC area in six years, and I never had any issues in Indiana with this. In fact, April would always be when I'd crank back the moon-roof in Big Red (awww, I need to do a post about him) and blast some vintage Byrds or Dead (I like to give the old hippies a thrill). All that I remembered from springtime in Washington was cherry blossoms! And flip-flops! And lovely afternoons spent frolicking in fields and weaving daisies through my long, flowy hair! And now I realize that I never used to get to see the cherry blossoms because of the effing tourists, flip-flops are a no-go until I can get that pedicure that I can't afford because Christ, being a grown-up is pricey, and I wouldn't know how to find a field or identify a daisy if my life depended on it.
I have redecorated for spring, though; I've had to move my alarm clock off my nightstand to make room for, and I'm not kidding, the following drugs: Restasis and Optivar eye-drops, Zyrtec, my super huge dosed Flovent inhalor, Flonase, some weird antihistamine nose-spray who's name I can't pronounce, Echinacea, Flinstones chewable vitamins, and an economy pack of Aloe-infused Kleenex.
The guy at the CVS pharmacy drive-thru KNOWS ME BY NAME.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
I blame the mafia's little-known tacky sculpture division for this
I suppose that if you live anywhere else on the planet, then the following license place would not give you pause. However, when you're stuck behind it in rush-hour traffic a mere mile away from the White House, it is cause for concern...
I mean, I know it's not THE Cheneys (although I'm sure that they too are fans of West Springfield Spartan cheerleading), but still. Oh, also! Speaking of the Beltway! WERE ANY OF YOU JERKS PLANNING ON TELLING ME THAT THE ENTRANCE FOR 395 TOWARDS WASHINGTON CHANGED FROM A LEFT EXIT TO A RIGHT EXIT? When did this happen?!?! I have enough trouble getting to D.C. without VDOT or whoever authorized such a change messing with my universe.
After taking that picture off my phone, I decided to unload a few other choice images that I have been snapping lately. Behold!
My new most loathed bumper sticker. The position was previously held by the one that I've seen everywhere lately that reads "I'd rather go hunting with Dick Cheney than driving with Ted Kennedy." First of all, Ted Kennedy is a senator. A senator's deadly car accident from BEFORE I WAS EVEN BORN-NAY, BEFORE MY PARENTS WERE OF LEGAL DRIVING AGE) is not funnier than the VICE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES SHOOTING AN OLD MAN IN THE FACE. It's just not. But no, this sticker is far grosser. Basically this guy is saying "instead of being appreciative of hybrids and the fact that they are helping off-set the environmental damage being put out by my SUV, I will make fun of them because they aren't as cool as my bad-ass Nissan." I'm fairly certain that the type of person who would put this on his car sports one during election season that says "voting is gay" or something of the like. Also, they make hybrid SUV's, you ass.
I'm an imaginative person, and I'm hard-pressed to think of a worse way to go than Fergie killing you with her "sexy". I don't know for a fact, but I'm willing to bet it has something to do with blunt-force trauma, possibly utilizing her "humps", and that makes me want to throw up a little bit.
You know what's missing from the new unbelievably over-priced condos in Fair Lakes? Giant horse heads made of marble. NOW they're classy.
Monday, April 16, 2007
What can you say, really? It's inconceivable, but in a sick and macabre way, not that surprising.
Everything that I try to write here comes out awkward and wrong. I'm afraid of offending people. And who can you blame this on, really? Should the campus have been put on lock-down, possibly trapping a killer inside a dorm with kids in it? Should classes have been cancelled after the first shooting so they could choose to stay home, or would that have put more students milling around outside where they could be easy targets? There's nothing to say. The word "tragic" barely does it's job.
No one wants to read my opinions on this, and I can't do it adequately, so I won't. I'll blog about something mildly entertaining and give you some lukewarm comedic distractions later in the week. Right now it's back to obsessive CNN watching and staring sadly as my kids at school color mermaids and play basketball and laugh, because I don't want their world to be one where these things happen.
This world sometimes sucks, and that's all there is to it. Sometimes it sucks in a funny, "our president gets injured while eating a pretzel" way, sometimes it sucks in an unbearable way. This is clearly the latter.
To the people that I love who are Tech alumni, I'm so, so sorry.
Everything that I try to write here comes out awkward and wrong. I'm afraid of offending people. And who can you blame this on, really? Should the campus have been put on lock-down, possibly trapping a killer inside a dorm with kids in it? Should classes have been cancelled after the first shooting so they could choose to stay home, or would that have put more students milling around outside where they could be easy targets? There's nothing to say. The word "tragic" barely does it's job.
No one wants to read my opinions on this, and I can't do it adequately, so I won't. I'll blog about something mildly entertaining and give you some lukewarm comedic distractions later in the week. Right now it's back to obsessive CNN watching and staring sadly as my kids at school color mermaids and play basketball and laugh, because I don't want their world to be one where these things happen.
This world sometimes sucks, and that's all there is to it. Sometimes it sucks in a funny, "our president gets injured while eating a pretzel" way, sometimes it sucks in an unbearable way. This is clearly the latter.
To the people that I love who are Tech alumni, I'm so, so sorry.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Wow, you look great today! Now please give me your money
Well Internet, I am sick again for the FOURTH time in THREE months. Would these be drastic times? Because I see a need for drastic measures in the near future. I think I need to date a doctor. Or maybe a shaman. But I think the chances of me finding a nice Jewish shaman are slim to none.
I KNOW it's because I work with kids, kids who, although very, very cute, are apparently nothing more than festering vessels of germs and bacteria and, yes, snot (that's a medical term, do keep up). And I KNOW that when the kindergartner with the 512 degree fever starts crying and shivering, you're supposed to just stand 50 feet away and yell to them that their mom is on her way, while spraying them mace style with the Lysol. How do I end up every single time? With my arm around them, holding cool paper towels to their forehead while they rub tears and snot into my shirt and cough almost directly into my mouth. Whatever. Sooner or later I will become immune to every cold that's ever roamed the earth and who will be laughing then?
But that is not the point of this post. Once, every 17 years or so, I take a break from whining about my own minor and largely insignificant problems and support a cause that actually matters. This Sunday, I will be participating in the 19th Annual MS (Multiple Sclerosis) Walk. This is important for you to know for three reasons:
1. I am waking up early on a Sunday morning and doing a physical activity (and while getting up at 11 and sitting on a bench at the dog park drinking a latte-my usual Sunday morning ritual- requires me to PHYSICALLY get out of bed and get to that bench, it's not too active)
2. I'm doing this because one of my favorite people in the world was diagnosed with MS last spring (more on that later) and I think that sucks.
3. I'm about to ask you for money.
This disease is scary because it a.) affects the brain and nervous system b.) there's no cure c.) it's unpredictable, and we know embarrassingly little about it. When my friend (who I was going to mention by name and link to her blog, but she's not online and maybe she doesn't want me blasting her personal business all over the world) was diagnosed about two months before we graduated from college, she thought that she had a pinched nerve in her arm or just some strange malady that would clear up on it's own. She had to put her life on hold to deal with this, postponing her move to Israel (she's studying to be a rabbi) for a year. She's going to go on to do amazing things with her life and impact many, many people, and my wish for her is that we find a cure for this thing so that she can go do those amazing things and help those people without having to worry about an MS flare-up.
So now is when I guilt you into giving me your money. This is hard because I hate asking friends to give me cash (I was the lame girl scout who sent her cookie order form with her father to work so he could sell them for her), especially when most of my friends are just starting out in their jobs and disposable income is not readily available. But when I say that I'd appreciate ANY amount that you can give, I mean it. While large donations are great and will help me reach my goal faster, I'd really love to have a lot of people giving whatever they can spare, even if you think it's a small amount. The woman that I'm doing this in honor of is ridiculously self-less (the summer after I graduated from high-school I whined and complained because I had painted the windows of Big Red to celebrate, but since I left it on too long, it baked in the 890 degree weather and I couldn't get the "Hell yeah, Class of 2001!"'s off my car. One day while I was at work she went out in the sweltering heat during her break and scraped it all off for me. If you're not impressed by this, clearly you've never been to D.C. in August) and I'd love for her to be able to see a list of people who don't even know her acting in an equally self-less way.
SO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GO TO MY PERSONAL PAGE HERE AND DONATE WHATEVER YOU CAN. It's super fast and easy to do and I will appreciate it forever and ever and when you're super successful and famous (and I don't know how you won't be, as you are so gorgeous and thin and talented and have a sparkling personality*) and I am asked to comment about you on a "Before They Were Stars" type show, I will speak of you favorably.
*The best part of my sucking-up is the subtlety, yes?
I KNOW it's because I work with kids, kids who, although very, very cute, are apparently nothing more than festering vessels of germs and bacteria and, yes, snot (that's a medical term, do keep up). And I KNOW that when the kindergartner with the 512 degree fever starts crying and shivering, you're supposed to just stand 50 feet away and yell to them that their mom is on her way, while spraying them mace style with the Lysol. How do I end up every single time? With my arm around them, holding cool paper towels to their forehead while they rub tears and snot into my shirt and cough almost directly into my mouth. Whatever. Sooner or later I will become immune to every cold that's ever roamed the earth and who will be laughing then?
But that is not the point of this post. Once, every 17 years or so, I take a break from whining about my own minor and largely insignificant problems and support a cause that actually matters. This Sunday, I will be participating in the 19th Annual MS (Multiple Sclerosis) Walk. This is important for you to know for three reasons:
1. I am waking up early on a Sunday morning and doing a physical activity (and while getting up at 11 and sitting on a bench at the dog park drinking a latte-my usual Sunday morning ritual- requires me to PHYSICALLY get out of bed and get to that bench, it's not too active)
2. I'm doing this because one of my favorite people in the world was diagnosed with MS last spring (more on that later) and I think that sucks.
3. I'm about to ask you for money.
This disease is scary because it a.) affects the brain and nervous system b.) there's no cure c.) it's unpredictable, and we know embarrassingly little about it. When my friend (who I was going to mention by name and link to her blog, but she's not online and maybe she doesn't want me blasting her personal business all over the world) was diagnosed about two months before we graduated from college, she thought that she had a pinched nerve in her arm or just some strange malady that would clear up on it's own. She had to put her life on hold to deal with this, postponing her move to Israel (she's studying to be a rabbi) for a year. She's going to go on to do amazing things with her life and impact many, many people, and my wish for her is that we find a cure for this thing so that she can go do those amazing things and help those people without having to worry about an MS flare-up.
So now is when I guilt you into giving me your money. This is hard because I hate asking friends to give me cash (I was the lame girl scout who sent her cookie order form with her father to work so he could sell them for her), especially when most of my friends are just starting out in their jobs and disposable income is not readily available. But when I say that I'd appreciate ANY amount that you can give, I mean it. While large donations are great and will help me reach my goal faster, I'd really love to have a lot of people giving whatever they can spare, even if you think it's a small amount. The woman that I'm doing this in honor of is ridiculously self-less (the summer after I graduated from high-school I whined and complained because I had painted the windows of Big Red to celebrate, but since I left it on too long, it baked in the 890 degree weather and I couldn't get the "Hell yeah, Class of 2001!"'s off my car. One day while I was at work she went out in the sweltering heat during her break and scraped it all off for me. If you're not impressed by this, clearly you've never been to D.C. in August) and I'd love for her to be able to see a list of people who don't even know her acting in an equally self-less way.
SO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GO TO MY PERSONAL PAGE HERE AND DONATE WHATEVER YOU CAN. It's super fast and easy to do and I will appreciate it forever and ever and when you're super successful and famous (and I don't know how you won't be, as you are so gorgeous and thin and talented and have a sparkling personality*) and I am asked to comment about you on a "Before They Were Stars" type show, I will speak of you favorably.
*The best part of my sucking-up is the subtlety, yes?
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Feel the burn
I am capable of many things. Apparently pilates and getting my 92 pound dog to drink medicine from a syringe are not two of those things.
The dog thing is fairly self explanatory. Earlier this evening, upon discovering that the cable On Demand thing has free workout shows, I attempted to do pilates. This was a terrible, terrible mistake. Because while it looks like the most boring, grandma exercise program one could imagine, it is RIDICULOUSLY hard. Like I'm scared to go to sleep because I know that when I wake up my "core" will be killing me (I know what you're thinking, and yes; "core" is a made up term that pilatists use to make me feel guilty for not doing their exercises, because if the "core" is the center of everything and you've merely been working on your abs then you are a terrible human being). And now I'm freaking out because thinking back on it, I could have easily broken my spine. Like the chances of my "form" or whatever the crap they call it being correct is slim to none.
Speaking of things my dog would never, ever let me do with him AND speaking of exercises that my body would never allow me do with it, please read this article on yoga for dogs. Not because it's terribly informative, but because one of the women quoted in it is actually named Eve Holt, and, if you're a die-hard Arrested Development fan like myself, you will appreciate that ("when that one gets pregnant, it STAYS pregnant").
The dog thing is fairly self explanatory. Earlier this evening, upon discovering that the cable On Demand thing has free workout shows, I attempted to do pilates. This was a terrible, terrible mistake. Because while it looks like the most boring, grandma exercise program one could imagine, it is RIDICULOUSLY hard. Like I'm scared to go to sleep because I know that when I wake up my "core" will be killing me (I know what you're thinking, and yes; "core" is a made up term that pilatists use to make me feel guilty for not doing their exercises, because if the "core" is the center of everything and you've merely been working on your abs then you are a terrible human being). And now I'm freaking out because thinking back on it, I could have easily broken my spine. Like the chances of my "form" or whatever the crap they call it being correct is slim to none.
Speaking of things my dog would never, ever let me do with him AND speaking of exercises that my body would never allow me do with it, please read this article on yoga for dogs. Not because it's terribly informative, but because one of the women quoted in it is actually named Eve Holt, and, if you're a die-hard Arrested Development fan like myself, you will appreciate that ("when that one gets pregnant, it STAYS pregnant").
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Phoning it in...
I know it's old news, but I don't think I ever really got to express how much I hated the color of this dress. It haunts my dreams.Upon further review of my previous blog entry, I find it to be lacking. The truth is that my heart just hasn't been in it lately. I've been distracted. On the 20th, I got insanely good news. Like when I am nervous/excited, I pace. And when I received aforementioned news, I spent literally 45 minutes doing figure eights around my basement while talking on my cell phone. Because this was something that I really really REALLY wanted to happen, but I truthfully never believed actually would. And I can't really discuss it here YET. It's not a secret-if you know me, IM, call or e-mail and I'll tell you. It's just not something that I can really post about right now. Let's say by the beginning of June this news will be bloggable.
IN THE MEANTIME, let's talk about Passover. Passover makes me a little crazy. 347 days of the year I don't really care about Wheat Thins and beer. But as soon as the time hit today when I had to switch over to strictly Passover food, that's all that I wanted to eat. If you're not familiar with Passover food, then consider yourself (and your digestive tract) lucky. Basically they take a food and, although all they really need to do is remove the corn syrup, just ruin the crap out of it. Like I'm convinced they add sawdust and chalk to stuff. I'm working on some solid proof.
Plus I'm not big on the Passover story; although I appreciate the gesture, I'm not entirely convinced that wandering in the desert for four decades was some big prize (GOD PLEASE DON'T SMITE ME, OK? THANKS). That is just an unnecessary long length of time. It's like if you start wandering when The White Album is released, and you're still wandering today with a good two, three more years to go (yes, I used a Beatles reference when discussing the Exodus. Whatever. I plan to continue to do so at even less appropriate times. Like when my first child gets married I will say "Honey, I'm so proud of you-as proud as George Martin must have been when Please Please Me reached number one on the charts.")
IN THE MEANTIME, let's talk about Passover. Passover makes me a little crazy. 347 days of the year I don't really care about Wheat Thins and beer. But as soon as the time hit today when I had to switch over to strictly Passover food, that's all that I wanted to eat. If you're not familiar with Passover food, then consider yourself (and your digestive tract) lucky. Basically they take a food and, although all they really need to do is remove the corn syrup, just ruin the crap out of it. Like I'm convinced they add sawdust and chalk to stuff. I'm working on some solid proof.
Plus I'm not big on the Passover story; although I appreciate the gesture, I'm not entirely convinced that wandering in the desert for four decades was some big prize (GOD PLEASE DON'T SMITE ME, OK? THANKS). That is just an unnecessary long length of time. It's like if you start wandering when The White Album is released, and you're still wandering today with a good two, three more years to go (yes, I used a Beatles reference when discussing the Exodus. Whatever. I plan to continue to do so at even less appropriate times. Like when my first child gets married I will say "Honey, I'm so proud of you-as proud as George Martin must have been when Please Please Me reached number one on the charts.")
On yet another unrelated note, I had Florida winning the whole thing so yay me! Though my bracket did take a little bruising towards the middle of the tournament (SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE MOTHER HELL NOTRE DAME-YOU ARE THE FIGHTING IRISH AND YOU LOST THE DAY BEFORE ST. PATRICK'S DAY. UNCOOL), I ended up doing pretty well.
Eight Embarassing Facts About Jenn
1. I have a minor yet palpable crush on Toby from The Office.
2. I knit. As in scarves and blankets. In my defense, I do it while watching TV because my inability to focus on one thing prohibits me from just sitting there watching the screen. I have to be doing something else.
3. I'm scared of Ferris wheels, revolving doors, and car accidents. When I was like 15, I for some reason became really scared of vampires and I'd constantly check my closet doors. I'm not sure why I was IN HIGH-SCHOOL and afraid of vampires, or why I thought vampires hid in closets, but there you go.
4. I have a semi-serious fight with my pharmacy at least once every two weeks. Those people are just. KILLING ME. Part of the problem stems from the fact that they have two separate accounts for me in their system that I have been trying to get them to fix for about FIVE years now (when I went to school in Indiana, the pharmacy in Bloomington started a new profile for me or something), so every time I call and tell them I need a refill they'll be like "oh, no, you don't have any refills" and I'll say "yes I do, you're looking at the wrong account" and then they'll say no and then I will burst a blood vessel. In January the pharmacist actually made me cry when, because of some stupid loophole in their ridiculous policy, even though I had three refills left on my inhaler I couldn't fill them without a new scrip from my doctor. I cried and there was an uncomfortable silence and I hung up on him.
5. Speaking of which, I'm a total crier in general. I cry at movies, songs, during normal, adult arguments. I cried at the end of every single summer that I worked as a camp counselor. My most embarrassing cry had to be when Billy died on Ally McBeal. But I'm not sure that the crying was what's embarrassing about that story, or the fact that I was still watching Ally McBeal a good three seasons after the rest of the world stopped caring.
6. I don't know why, but I'm rooting for Tori Spelling. I'm glad that she's reconciling with her mom and that she has a new baby and I think that she's actually a good person with an unfortunate boob job.
7. And speaking of even more embarrassing prime time TV moments in my life, I was hardcore into 90210 when I was in 7th grade and I totally watched the Very Special Episode when Donna finally loses her Last Living Virgin In Beverly Hills title to David the night of their college graduation (and I remember she was wearing this ridiculously gaudy all-white lingerie and there were a billion candles everywhere-it kind of looked like some kind of cult ritual).
8. I have really bad road rage. I yell and I curse and I lean on my horn and I sometimes, SOMETIMES extend my middle finger (I wait until I've sped away angrily and the other driver can't see, but still). People here are TERRIBLE TERRIBLE DRIVERS. It's no one's fault, actually. It's just really unfortunate that all of these poor people were tricked into buying cars without turn signals. Because what other reason could they possibly have for not letting me know when they plan to enter my lane at 70mph on the beltway?
2. I knit. As in scarves and blankets. In my defense, I do it while watching TV because my inability to focus on one thing prohibits me from just sitting there watching the screen. I have to be doing something else.
3. I'm scared of Ferris wheels, revolving doors, and car accidents. When I was like 15, I for some reason became really scared of vampires and I'd constantly check my closet doors. I'm not sure why I was IN HIGH-SCHOOL and afraid of vampires, or why I thought vampires hid in closets, but there you go.
4. I have a semi-serious fight with my pharmacy at least once every two weeks. Those people are just. KILLING ME. Part of the problem stems from the fact that they have two separate accounts for me in their system that I have been trying to get them to fix for about FIVE years now (when I went to school in Indiana, the pharmacy in Bloomington started a new profile for me or something), so every time I call and tell them I need a refill they'll be like "oh, no, you don't have any refills" and I'll say "yes I do, you're looking at the wrong account" and then they'll say no and then I will burst a blood vessel. In January the pharmacist actually made me cry when, because of some stupid loophole in their ridiculous policy, even though I had three refills left on my inhaler I couldn't fill them without a new scrip from my doctor. I cried and there was an uncomfortable silence and I hung up on him.
5. Speaking of which, I'm a total crier in general. I cry at movies, songs, during normal, adult arguments. I cried at the end of every single summer that I worked as a camp counselor. My most embarrassing cry had to be when Billy died on Ally McBeal. But I'm not sure that the crying was what's embarrassing about that story, or the fact that I was still watching Ally McBeal a good three seasons after the rest of the world stopped caring.
6. I don't know why, but I'm rooting for Tori Spelling. I'm glad that she's reconciling with her mom and that she has a new baby and I think that she's actually a good person with an unfortunate boob job.
7. And speaking of even more embarrassing prime time TV moments in my life, I was hardcore into 90210 when I was in 7th grade and I totally watched the Very Special Episode when Donna finally loses her Last Living Virgin In Beverly Hills title to David the night of their college graduation (and I remember she was wearing this ridiculously gaudy all-white lingerie and there were a billion candles everywhere-it kind of looked like some kind of cult ritual).
8. I have really bad road rage. I yell and I curse and I lean on my horn and I sometimes, SOMETIMES extend my middle finger (I wait until I've sped away angrily and the other driver can't see, but still). People here are TERRIBLE TERRIBLE DRIVERS. It's no one's fault, actually. It's just really unfortunate that all of these poor people were tricked into buying cars without turn signals. Because what other reason could they possibly have for not letting me know when they plan to enter my lane at 70mph on the beltway?
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