I’m not kidding, there is a woman that looks just like the Miss Swan character from MAD TV. Except, she’s actually Asian, but she has the same hair style as Miss Swan, but in terms of stature, and likely age, she’s a dead ringer for Miss Swan.
However, she smells like a fucking chimney, and like she smokes two packs a day, which kind of dulls the humor in the situation.
This is my new car. A Kia Forte 5-Door.
At my absolute wit’s end, I finally decided to cut my losses, and ditch the lemon. I had an elaborate plan with a minimal window of time to accomplish it, and in a perfect world it would have gone completely as planned, but since we don’t live in a perfect world, this would have to do. The bottom line is that I have successfully unloaded the fucking lemon, I don’t drive it anymore, and no longer will it give me stress about how much it mechanically sucks, or what no-longer produced parts need to be replaced.
I’m ecstatic that I have a brand new car, that theoretically, I will not really have to worry about (knock on wood) for a little bit, but I’m actually simply more relieved that I just don’t have the lemon anymore.
Pretty much, every weekday morning, and some weekends, I start my day off with bowl of cereal. My favorites are Quaker’s Oatmeal Squares, Kellogg’s Frosted Mini-Wheats, and Kellogg’s Special K, in that particular order. But being the unpicky, frugal consumer that I am, I typically only indulge in those, whenever they’re on sale, and I can hoard them for brief periods of time. So for the most part, I tend to stick with whatever’s on sale, which can range from anywhere from random flakes with various maple or honey flavors, or raisin brans, since supposedly we can all always be better off with more fiber in our diets.
Recently, I picked up a box of Post’s Golden Crisp. I loved this cereal as a kid, and seeing it on sale, I couldn’t resist indulging in a childhood favorite again. This morning, I poured myself a bowl, and while standing outside with the dogs eating this cereal, something felt different. Either my taste buds have evolved, or Post has dumped an ungodly amount of sugar into Golden Crisp these days. I’m fairly sure it’s not the latter, but the bottom line is that the cereal was still okay, but it admittedly, tickled my teeth in only the way that something with way too much sugar can. I was imagining more puffy puffs of cereal, and a more subtle sweetness; perhaps I am mistaking it for Kellogg’s equivalent Smacks, but after I finished the bowl of cereal, I kind of felt guilty, in that I wish I didn’t just eat that kind of way. And to be honest, I don’t think I’d want to eat the rest of this box; I think I may mix it into another box of cereal, at least to off-set some of the gratuitous sweetness or something.
As kids, we’re conditioned to want to inhale these sugary, gimmicky cereals, but apparently as I’m coming to realizations of my own, getting yet another year closer to 30, I have a bigger concern over my dietary habits. This aging shit sucks, yo.
After four months, give or take, of opting to do a cardio routine in the morning instead of running, I feel like I have regressed. Sure, I’m getting my heart rate up in the mornings, and physically, I feel like I’m exerting myself more, than when all I did was run 1.5 miles. Considering I’m doing roughly 33 minutes of cardio, plyo, yoga, and core as opposed to the typical 15 minute pace in which I circle Zombieland, I thought I was making a good choice in opting to stay indoors to workout than going out into the bitter cold of winter mornings.
Long story short, I simply feel like I’m regressing, with going the route of superman-bananaing, as opposed to running. So until further consideration, I’m going to limit the cardio routine to Wednesdays only, and return to running most mornings, since it’s no longer ball-shriveling cold anymore. That being said, I started with this morning. And throughout the last few years, I’m starting earlier than I’ve ever started, due to the time it takes me to get my shit together in the morning, and attempt to get in by 8:30 a.m., so typically I’m out the door and beginning to run by around 6:40 a.m.
Needless to say, it’s like a different world out there at that time. I’d like to think of those ass o’clock early hours to be quiet, and leisurely outdoors, but at the time in which I began running was anything but. Legions of worker ants all departing their homes for whatever early shift and/or long commutes they’re gearing up for. Me, having to dodge cars zipping out of their driveways in the dark, their drivers not expecting any studious morning runners. Black people driving way too fast in the 25 mph residential neighborhood, with me, praying that they don’t run me over. Trucks I’m suspecting are full of stolen goods as I jog by, sitting on the curb, idling, while spouting clouds of exhaust, me holding my breath while passing by.
Nobody has ever interrupted me while jogging before; color me surprised when a FedEx van stops me before 7:00 a.m., asking for directions to a street that doesn’t exist, with me telling them such intel. And then at least ten more cars fly past me, driving too fast before I make it back to the house.
I’ve jogged around Zombieland at various times of the day; and once this past weekend when it was the nicest weather in the world. But never, have I seen this place so busy, bustling, and active, than during a time of day, in which I simply imagine everyone in the world in some state of sleep still.
One of the more amusing aspects of the downward spiral I’ve headed down, having become a very merry social drinker, is the occasional revelation of forgotten, as a result of excessive alcoholic consumption photographs on the phone. They’re sort of like fucked up Christmas gifts in a way, because there’s an element of mystery behind an unfamiliar thumbnail, followed by the inevitable equivalent of opening the wrapping by zooming in.
Looking at my discovery, I sort of remember the scenario, slurring fake dialogue from the horndog douchebag boyfriend in the picture, drinking himself into oblivion while thinking he’s being all slick, subtle, adventurous and exhibitionist all at the same time by repeatedly groping his girlfriend’s ass in public. Granted, I passed out later in the evening, leading me to forget all about this, but upon discovery, it’s becoming clear again. Gropey McGroperton’s hand all over his poor girl’s ass, her, probably too tipsy to bother to do anything about it, and me, the people I’m with, sniggering about it from afar. And from what I can remember, and evidenced by a poor, albeit 8.0MP camera phone shot, it’s not even that nice of an ass to be proud to be groping in public.
Is that every single person on the planet with a car, truck, bike or any form of automotive transportation is on the road, leading to some unexpected catastrophic traffic. People – they ruin everything.
In other news, I test drove manual transmissions of the two front runners, and I think I really like one of them. It’ll be a hectic next few days to see if I can make everything work out. It’ll take a lot of after hours work, but I think it could just happen.
I feel like Woody Harrelson in zombieland, but instead of the futile search for a twinkie, it’s the futile search for fucking manual transmission cars to test drive this weekend. Seriously, I’ve literally found only one car out of the five candidates I’d like to test out, and that’s between many dealerships. Jesus christ, you’d think a city with 4 million black people would have more stick shifts, but I guess they’re all already bought and/or stolen by now.
