Say, guess who I won't leave alone?
Good lord, I hate my nose. Can we please take up a collection to get that thing fixed? I'd be doing you all a favor, because you wouldn't have to look at the huge dick on the middle of my face. Do you, if you're a girl, ever imagine what it'd be like to have a man part? Do you imagine that if you had a man part, it'd be just huge, and you'd slap people in the face with it just because you could?
Or is that just me?
Also, I just got an email from Capital One saying they're sending me a new card because there was a data breach at "one" of the places I recently shopped. All my cards are at ZERO POINT ZERO right now, I am pleased to say, but the other day I was in a huge hurry--where was I going? Oh! I know! I was going to Charlie's party, and of course my "you're out of gas!" light beeped on on my way there. Do other people, like, see that they're at a quarter of a tank or whatever and fill the car proactively? Because I always ignore it completely till it beeps at me and then I'm always in Tibet, or that desert they wander in in Star Wars or whatever. It's always a race against time to find a gas station.
I pulled over in Kernersville, and if you've never gotten the family on a plane and taken them all to Kernersville, you are absolutely right to not do so.
Kernersville. We feature a BP right off the highway!
For the second time, and I really should, oh, call my bank, when I tried to use my debit card at the pump, it said, Oh no you don't. You do NOT use me at the pump. It nodded its head around dramatically. I went inside and tried to get the cashier to help me, and I felt like the cashier kind of liked me, and do you know anyone else who's more full of herself than me? I act like I still look 22, with a hot mullet perm.
He couldn't get my debit card to work, either, so I finally used my credit card and just paid it off when I got home. Because I'm obsessed with keeping everything ZERO POINT ZERO.
So THAT is the only place I've used my card, and Kernersville. Where the BP tries to steal your identity. Yay!
Why would anyone want to be me?
I guess that's all I have to tell you. I started my statistics textbook last night, and this is the 6th edition of this particular book, so I've read it probably four times already. And as I recall, it goes pretty fast. Oh, and that's good, because MY EDITOR wrote me last night to ask why I'm not coming to LA. He emailed a bunch of us to say he needed some of the writers to come there for this project, and I didn't answer because that's a long damn way and dogs, but he really does want me to come there, so LA, here I come! I have no idea when yet. Soon-ish?
I haven't been to LA since I lived in LA. I remember it being really early in the morning, and Marvin and me getting in the car, giving our vacuum cleaner to the guy next door, who called himself Robert but whose name was not remotely Robert. He was Laotian? Maybe? And I guess his actual name would have been hard to say or something. Anyway, the neighbors on both sides came out to wave to us as we pulled out of Burbank. I guess I thought we'd pretty much come back every year, like we did Michigan, and we never went back again. Marvin was finally there last year, and took sort of a haunting photo of him at dinner with our closest friends, at the restaurant we always went to, and sort of the only thing missing was, well, me. It was weird.
Okay, I gotta go. I've got fiery eyes and dreams no one can steal.