I was stuck in traffic for forever. We have a bridge within plain view of the railroad crossing that you use whenever a train is coming and those....er...things...come down, but apparently every idiot in front of me could not see that. The big stick looking obnoxious beasts kept coming down and going back up. Finally some tractor/bobcat looking thing came down the railroad tracks. Then they kept going. I was thoroughly agitated.

~~~I used to have a handle on life, but it broke

I have had so much to say, but no energy to blog it down. Or, in the words of Till, "load it down." Sorry...anyway...I shall continue on because I am EL NI�O! MUAHAHAHA! No wait...that's Pam. So I guess then I am LA NI�A! MUAHAHHAHAA! Yes...anyway...moving on...

Japanese people are interesting. Especially the ones at Kan-Pai. We went there for my friend Nicole's birthday. She wanted a candle....she got one...in her rice. I think he was flirting with her...she begged to differ but she doesn't notice things like I do so she doesn't count. He made her a paper mach� flower and wrote "Happy b-day" on it. See...if that isn't flirting I don't know what is! He was quite entertaining and I have to admit, I had eifersucht running through my veins. For those of you who know pas about German, that means jealousy. He showed us a japanese mickey mouse with hot oil and set enough things on fire to keep a fire department busy for a month. We've all gone back since then. Our other chef did basically the same thing setting rice on fire shaped like a fish. Yes...Laich zeit...just kidding. I'm not translating that so don't ask me to.

I don't remember half of what I was going to blog about. The absence of doing it right when it happens creates a problem. However, were it not for the last minute nothing would ever get done. Lucky you, eh? You get to watch me stumble through the blog like a man when he wakes up in the morning trying to find the bathroom. (Sorry...I had to. I have many male friends who share experiences.) I got my truck back finally. After almost 6 months, but I got it back. Threatening does get you places. Pam always says "violins not violence". I however believe it is the other way around, but that's just me.

I went to Barbizon Sunday. That is where I discovered I have mastered the art of seducing men. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I probably shouldn't be saying this, but yes, I have mastered it. I do give lessons for whoever wants them, $1,800 for 3 lessons. It's well worth it if you ask me. Just call me...Yoda. We had to find out what kind of "face shape" we had and I was told that I reminded people of a "terminator biker chick". Well rock on...
That's all I have to say about that pretty much...okay one other thing...David is one hot mofo...

After weeks of pondering I have finally decided on what I'm going to change my name to. Nele Renatae Akena. Yes...more than likely 3 days later I'm going to change the first name again, but for the moment that's my new name. If you don't like it, don't bother telling me so because it only creates hazards for your life. If you do like it, feel free to tell me.

In the wee hours of the morning, one discovers things that one didn't know about oneself. Like why your best friend seems to have lost her mind and it is strolling through the fields with yours. We have come to a conclusion as to what we want on our tombstone. "Bow to the onions." Believe it or not, there is actually a story behind that...I just don't feel like typing it. With that said....BOW TO THE ONIONS!!

Pam and I agree: Sex before marriage is not worth it. If you think differently, you will agree with us soon enough. You also suck and are stupid. Explanation will be given on a later blog, but right now my back hurts and I'm tired. Deal with it. I have nothing else to say. Auf wiederzehn.

Hello, and welcome to another exciting episode of "My Life Sucks" with Heather Dover. Shall we get started? I went to see my friend Addison at Clemson yesterday. I really enjoyed FCA and seeing the campus and all that. I did not, however, enjoy getting lost.....again....However getting lost on the way back was much worse. I was going on 85 south and needed to be on 85 North, but some idiot put 2 roads into 85 south instead of one into north and one into south. Anyway...point being...I took 85 south. I looked desperately for a bridge in the pitch darkness and saw none. I desperately cried out to God for a bridge and I saw one...there was just no exit to it. So I asked God for a bridge with an exit to it, only to realize the exit I had just passed had a bridge to it. I was not amused. I missed about 4 bridges, but once I got into Georgia and found one, I turned around and headed home. Something kept telling me something bad was going to happen that night, not anything tragic, just annoying. Mucho annoying. So I prayed for safety and all that and also prayed that I wouldn't get stopped or get a ticket. Apparently God didn't hear the last part. I was going 74, and when I realized it, slowed down to 63. Normally I wouldn't care that I was going 74, but I was the only car for miles. After I slowed down to 63, I passed a trooper sitting on the side of the road who blue-lighted me. I was not amused. He proceeded to tell me that I was going 81. I was NOT going 81 and wanted to beat him over the head with his clipboard. However, my heart is not what it should be and I was about to die and could not think straight. I could have gotten out of it, but the only coherent sentence that came out was,"My spedometer said 63." Well I guess it doesn't matter what my spedometer said because he wrote me a $156 ticket, fueling my hatred of "the po-po". Ok, I take that back.....I don't hate policemen...just the county ones :) Ok just the county ones who pull me over for no reason. Anyway...He agreed with me that the zone was 65 mph, but wrote on the ticket that it was 60 mph. I was, again, not impressed. Hell hath no fury like my rage....and in court....I'm going to rant and rave like a redneck and then fake a heart attack. Yessss......it is all so perfect....

The simple pleasures in life. Right now I am sitting here eating peanut butter fudge and enjoying every moment of it while I feel the nagging urge to post. This is probably because Lori has cursed me to post at least once every 3 days or she convulses while foaming at the mouth. Just kidding...anyway...now I must begin the task of filling you in on the last 3 days...it starts...

There's a little town in SC called Enoree. (There's also one called Sugartit, but that's another blog, another time.) I suggest you never EVER visit there. My mother wanted to go for a ride, and she used to live in Cross Anchor (which is not too far from Enoree) so we got in the car and drove. After about 2 hours of drinking soda and watching the road, I had to use the loo in a major way. I asked her if we would be coming into civilization anytime soon because I really had to go to the bathroom, and she said,"Oh sure, in about 8 miles. Can you wait?" Oblivious to the nice gas station we had just passed. So I waited.....and I waited..and I waited...8 miles turned into 9, 9 miles turned into 10 and so on. So finally we came to the God-forsaken town of Enoree and as luck would have it, there was a gas station. I waited until everyone had left the store because frankly they all looked like redneck serial killers, then I went in. I asked the lady who looked like an illegal alien if I needed a key to the bathroom and she said,"NO...unlocked..." I growled at her in response and went to the bathroom. I instantly found out why I needed no key. There was no lock. The door had been apparently kicked in and the lock blown off. There was a hole in the side big enough to see though, but I had to pee. I noticed a wash basin in there about half my size and 5 times as wide, so I pushed it in front of the door. I turned towards the loo that looked like it was stolen from an outhouse and noticed that Hotspot is not the only place that puts condoms in the wall dispenser instead of tampons. I used half the roll of toilet paper trying to keep contact away from my butt and the seat, but I would imagine the cooties still did a good job of eating through. Of course there was no soap (rednecks don't believe in such) and the dryer was ripped off the wall. Actually the whole thing wasn't ripped off the wall....jut the button and the metal part where the air comes out. Knowing these people, they probably just fart-dried their hands. So I pushed the basin back out of the way and got some cappuccino. While up there, I was graced with the presence of some drunk woman who kept tapping me. She had two gigantic beers in her arms and from the lines in her face, and the gaps in her teeth and spaces in her mouth where teeth should have been, I could tell this woman was an avid alcoholic. She kept setting her beer in front of me on the counter and moving in front of me. I, in return, would move back in front of her. Finally after the 9th time or so, I looked at her and said,"uh...NO" and moved in front of her again, prepared to knock her remaining tooth out if need be. Before she could reply, another man walked in. He had more teeth than she did, but smelled twice as bad. He also had a beard ZZ Top would have been proud of, and there's no telling what dead creatures lay tangled in that beard. He laughed a santa clause laugh and said,"WUH I AIN'T SEEN YOU IN A MILLYAN YEARS!" To which the drunken thing replied,"WUH I AIN'T SEEN YOU IN A MILLYAN YEARS AND UH HAIF!!!!! HUH HUH HUH" I would have laughed if that were funny....but anyway...he proceeded to tell her,"you ain't aged a BIT" and she said,"aww thank ye yer just too kind." No, he's not kind. He's lying. Either that, or she always looked that old. They asked each other about their "young'uns" and their "old lady" or "old man" from the other end. For those of you who don't know, the rednecks consider their old lady/old man their wife/husband. The person can be 27 years younger and still be their old lady/old man. It's a vicious cycle with a vicious name, Anyway...I ran out of there as fast as I could before Santa went in the bathroom and discovered the neon/glow in the dark/assorted flavor condoms and tried to use them as nose warmers.

You might have thought I was done talking about drunk people...but...I am not. I ride with Bobby (he has lost his title as my "father''. That title now belongs to my new dad, Richard. :)) on 3rd shift a lot and he asked me where I wanted to eat. I said,"What are my choices?" He replied,"Well there's the Sandwich Castle, the Sandwich Castle, or the Sandwich Castle. Oh, did I say the Sandwich Castle yet?" Again I say, I would have laughed if that were funny. The Sandwich Castle is a joke of a restaurant. It is nasty, disgusting, and filthy. He however enjoys the place so I don't know what that says about him. There's a drunk man who is always in there named Billy Jack and he is the poorest excuse for a human I have ever met in my life. He told us about the woman waiting for him at home, and then told us how ugly she was and how he would rather have her daughter because she's still ugly, just less ugly. Some woman in bright ungodly pink lipstick spoke up and her voice sounded like a 2 year old child prostitute. "Why....Billy Jack...I thought you loved me." and he said,"why you ugly too.....you don't even know my name." And she told him his name and his father's name and his fake name and everything else. He replied,"WOMAN MY NAME IS BILLY JACK! NOW SPELL IT! B-I-L-L-L-L-Y X-P-M-G-A-.....aw hell..." yes...his spelling needs a little work, but at least he realizes this. The woman told him that she didn't believe he had a job and she wanted to see his stub. The waitress was more evil than me and screamed,"IF I SEE THE STUB I KNOW HE GON' PULL OUT, I'M GETTIN' DA' HELLZ OUTTA HEA!" sad actually...

Last night really wasn't anything interesting. We listened to this guy on the radio talking about pirates and how they existed today and all this...blah blah blah...he offered them stale coffee when they attacked his ship......blah blah blah....and Bobby replied,"Well I'da put a 12 gauge up 'ere butt and then theyda realized they shouldn't mess with me!" I tried to explain that the man didn't HAVE a 12 gauge and was just trying to survive because the men had guns and the sailor didn't and was the only one on board. He didn't pay me any attention and just sang,"If I go down, I'll go down swingin'" the rest of the night. Which reminds me....I must put that letter in the mailbox beside the railroad tracks I am sure is for a hobo of some sort. It reads: "Dear Mr. Hobo...I have faith in you! You can do anything you set your mind to! Love, your secret admirer." See...I do have a heart...

Ah, for once in my life I have been busy, so excuse my lack of post for several days. Right now I am listening to my mother becoming enthralled with our new skull candy dispenser that burps, laughs, and says,"Pardon me". Then she complains that nothing is coming out, then she fixes the problem and does the whole routine over again. I am somewhat less amused frankly because I can do that myself. I am good at it, and practice it often. The dear one who birthed me claims that is unlady like, however I am not a lady so I reply with the most loud and disgusting burp imaginable. Ah yes, the good life.

Brent and I have thought up a new game. It's called,''Dover car." It's much like "punchbug" except a little different. Even though I have to take partial claim to that wretched last name, I will not ever claim the rednecks who share it with me simply because they are who they are. With that said, let me explain the rules. The Dover's are the most backwoods redneck people you will ever meet in your entire life (minus me of course) and their vehicles are no exception. If it has at least 75% rust, missing fiberglass (or glass in general with ducktape embarrassingly trying to cover it up), no hubcaps, a very sucky paint job, is missing pieces normal cars should have, and cost less than $500, you have yourself a genuine Dover car. Everytime we pass one, we have to yell,"Dover car" and smack the other person in the back of the head. You would be amazed at the Dover cars we passed. Some even lost parts of their car in the street. I think there's a littering fine on that...I'll have to check...but anyway...I won everytime, of course. Brent did come close at some point, but was ultimately defeated. We saw over 30 Dover cars that day, and we still weren't satisfied with it...so being the weird people we are, we added on to it. If someone was missing more than 5 teeth, had nappy very VERY long hair that hadn't been brushed since birth, pants ripped to the point it looked like they were only wearing underwear, smelled like a garbage dump, and had "Looka dis right cher", "ain't never seen one like 'at" or other selective phrases in their vocabulary, they were classified as a "Dover dude" or "Dover chick". We got more of those than anything else, but are you surprised? We figure they stole all the nice cars because they learn how to hotwire them by the time they are three. It is around the time their first tooth gets knocked out when they try that new "rasslin'' move they learned on "da tayvay".

Brent is going to get himself hurt one day. I just know it. He doesn't realize that tinted windows only work if you don't have your face smashed up against it. I look over to see him sticking his tongue out at the person in the next car over. I was apalled and prepared to floor it knowing we were going to be shot (remember the Dover's are out), but then I noticed the strangest thing. She was sticking her tongue out at him and making faces at him as well. She had to have been close to 50! Strange...very strange indeed...

I have this phobia of red lights. I feel that it is going to be a good day as long as all the lights I come up to are green. That being said, I go to all lengths necessary to avoid red lights. I was coming to a light today when, to my horror, the bugger turned red. Brent screamed "NOOO" in slow motion while I slowed down...just not to a complete stop. I went 1 M.P.H down the road and, for some reason, got the deer in the headlight look from passerby's (who were stopped completely.) But like I said...anything to avoid a red light...

My Terminator costume has now been acquired. Complete with large machine gun bullets to hang around the shoulder, cyborg half face, blood, black hair, leather accessories, cyborg hand, etc. Yes...be afraid...be very afraid. I am the terminator I tell you! You just don't know it. You will not realize it either until it is too late.

I have spent two days trying to clean extremely flammable blacklight hairspray off the walls. For some reason I read it as "spraypaint" instead of "hairspray". It's still not all off, but you know my philosophy. "Screw it". I settled for re-writing everything in glow in the dark pens that glow extremely nice in blacklight. I am thrilled. This is sad.

There were many things I was going to remember to blog about...unfortunately most of those things are hiding in the dark recesses of my mind and they will not show themselves so I can reveal my revelations to you. Therefore, you must unfortunately do without. Should I remember at some point, I will definately report them to you. Auf weiderzehn for now...

PS More power to the blacklight!

I haven't been posting because I haven't had anything to say believe it or not. (more than likely it's the latter of those two.) However, to make you happy, I'm going to babble my way throughout the blog anyway. So sit back, relax, and prepare to watch your IQ drop at least 10 points....

I had another very disturbing dream. This one was about Schneider and Till, however to save permanent scarring, I'm not going to reveal it to you. I am simply going to keep it to myself and torture them with it immensely. Of course, Till will probably like the idea and run with it simply because he is like that. I really have nothing to say...I sleep all the time....why am I blogging?

My computer died again. Actually it died twice. I unplugged it and started pressing the on/off button repeatedly until it started working by absolute magic. So I plugged it all back up and started it up again and...you guessed it...it died. At this point I flew into a rage, kicking the electronic dimwitted fool and screaming to all who would and would not hear that I had acquired a genuine one of a kind p-o-s. This is the highlight of my day. Well...that is all for now. There Lori......ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? I posted and it's boring because I STILL had nothing to say but I did it to appease you. Oh, and by the way, I luff to play dwums. LOLLLLL sorry sorry sorry! Little inside joke there. I could tell it to you, but of course by then it's not an inside joke. That's all for now.

Interviewer: Who is the woman from Engel?
Till: My sister.......::pause:: and my girlfriend too....
Schneider: His dahtah (daughter) too
Till: NO NO...nono....
Interviewer: ::nervous laugh:: Ok, so who is she then?
Till: ::angry look:: I DON'T KNOW!!!!!!!

I had a dream Richard was a guppy. He was swimming around in the pool with an oxygen tank while I forgot about him and then all of a sudden realized his 220 minutes of oxygen were probably up. We drained the pool that was all of a sudden made out of concrete and behind our church and I jumped in and started doing CPR on the very VERY large guppy (about the size of a human) and he woke up and I was like,"RICHARD!!!!!! ::hug::" and if you hug guppies...they are not the greatest things in the world to hug. He then turned back into Richard. This was the ghetto redneck version of the Frog Prince

I actually cooked breakfast yesterday. Wait...before you get out your little paper bags and breathe into them before you go hysterical...there is a reason for my house wife-ish actions. I was forced. Plain and simple. Why I took Home-Ec I will never know. Someone who plans on having a maid does not need to know such things. Am I right? Of course I am.

I brought Debbie over because she offered to clean the house and since "clean" is not in my vocab anywhere (not even in the dark recesses where the cobwebs and spiders live), I decided to let her have a go at it. She came over and while engaged in conversation, I felt comfortable enough to let out a burp loud enough for any man to be proud of. She, however, did not find it as amusing as me and proceeded to exclaim,"BARBIZON! WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY! CALL 9-1-1!! ONE OF YOUR MODELS JUST BURPED!!!!! THIS IS HORRIBLE!" I was not amused. Christoph had basically the same comment. Since when could models not burp? I saw that nowhere in the paper work.

I had to go to Wal-Mart. For those of you who do not know me, I hate Wal-Mart. Absolutely loathe it. With that said, you now know that me having to go TWICE is quite an effort on my part. Anyway, I got water only to find that clutching it to my chest like a homeless man who'd just found a 5 karat diamond was not a good idea. The container had a slow leak in it, so when I put it on the counter, I had water running down my shirt. I had on a black shirt, so you couldn't tell that it was just water and it looked like nursing time gone bad for me. I was not impressed because I was being stared at and the "IT'S JUST WATER QUIT LOOKING AT ME!" comment was not working. I got the slow-leaking trouble maker home only for it to slip out of my hands and explode like the Hoover Dam with 200 lbs of C4 strapped to it. At this point I proceeded to kick the water all around the yard screaming and ranting in German. When I couldn't remember a word, I made one up. I'm going to invent my own language someday...

I'm tired of taking things back to the store, and they know this. That's why they always give me all the crappy equipment that breaks. I am not amused by this because they know me too well and I don't like to be figured out. Point being, my computer broke again. This would make trip 7 to Best Buy. Well I decided I would either run it over by my car and claim it on the insurance, take it back ,or fix it myself. I ended up choosing the last idea (with much chagrin because the first one sounded much more fun) and got Brent to help. I pulled off the cover and sprayed the inside down with my can of air, only to realize I was pressing the handle too hard and now had white foam all over the inside of the computer. I was not impressed. I sprayed it all down again with air this time and hooked up different wires and crossed wires and screamed and threatened and somehow got it to work. In the words of Till: I AM GENIUS!!! MUAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!!

God did a miracle for me today. The dent came out of my car. I don't know when or how, but it's gone. The dog thought it would leave it's mark to haunt me for all eternity, but nooooooo. I HAVE TRIUMPHED!!!!! The blasted dent is no more to be found all thanks to the miracle making of the creator. Yes....he is great.

If you don't want to spend months and months of work on "good model posture", you simply pay a bunch of money and cheat. Mom got desperate to alleviate the pain from her sciatic nerve, so we went to the Good Feet Store today. I figured if I could automatically walk like I was supposed to instead of having to do it consciously....that was good enough for me. We went in and no one came. The place was completely empty except for some pictures on the wall of feet (::shudder::) and chairs. Giant doors covered the back part as if he was some hermit that kept to himself while developing photos of the "real world" that he'd never seen but had always heard about and would like to visit. Debbie got tired of waiting and open the door, slammed it, and yelled in a highly sarcastic voice,"OH, WHAT A COOL STORE!" That got Hematoad's attention. He hopped out from behind the doors and was more animated than any human being I have ever met or want to meet in my entire life. He kept referring to her problem as....."tootsie pains". This man used to be a detective for the Asheville police deptartment. Now he is reduced to helping people with "tootsie pains." Had I not felt sorry for him, I would have laughed at his plight long ago. While I walked around with my new found insoled friends, he told me to walk in a straight line towards the door. I wanted to run, but held back the urge. He then told me he was going to look at my butt. I turned around and raised one eyebrow and he tried to save himself by saying,"to make sure you're walking correctly." To which I replied,"Do you enjoy looking at my butt? Because it's going to be the last thing your eyes ever see. ::innocent smile::" I allowed my sarcasm to flow like Broad River (smooth and nasty) and enjoyed every moment. I don't know exactly why, but he informed me I would "make one hell of an FBI agent." I guess he would know....I guess because now I can chase the bad guys for longer distances since I have no tootsie pain. He had problems himself, unfortunately with other issues that the store could not have helped. I wanted to throw up, but maintained composure until I found the nearest trashcan. I shall not elaborate on this because I have no trashcan nearby to contain my digesting food.

I hate it when people use reverse psychology on me because it never works. It only serves to aggravate me and make me mad. So if you ever think about using reverse psychology on me, don't. I tell you this because I care and it's becoming more and more difficult to find places to put the bodies. Ahem...I mean...anyway. A certain "friend" of mine called me today. She told me the heartbreaking story of how she'd been trying to get in touch with me all week(which is a lie), and that she wanted to see me tonight, (which is also a lie. She just wants a ride home.) and then she said,"Call me ok? Love ya!....no wait......::attempts to sound angry:: DON'T CALL ME" and slammed the phone down. Good...I didn't want to call her anyway...and I'm not going to whether she wants me to or not....

Some realizations are good, some are bad, some are pointless, and some are late. The latter of the bunch being my problem yesterday. I realized I had to get something back to Blockbuster before 12 and I looked up at the clock: 12:01. Good job, brain. Now I remember why I keep you. So of course, my immediate next thought: "Eh, screw it." I did take it back today though to pay the late fee that is more than renting the game for a week. I'm going to make a picket sign and march around blockbuster in the pitch darkness with glow in the dark paint. Yes. It makes perfect sense at the moment.

Lunch was incredibly easier to decide on today. We have discovered the effortless art of flipping a coin. So instead of choosing letters, which leads to choosing places, which leads to indecision, we just flip the silver double-sided life saver and VOILA! Note to self: When other people are cleaning up the house, leave so they don't ask you to help.

I went to my mother's school. Children disturb me. Especially these children. They have issues beyond my comprehension, and I wish to talk about it pas. Therefore, we are now moving on...

I saw my dad today and told him about my personal taxi service when he asked me what I had been up to. At this point he proceeded to give me"the look of death" and said,"I don't know why you gotta put so many miles on that car!" to which I flatly replied,"Because I don't have my truck. I wonder where it is...oh wait...it's been sitting at YOUR house for 3 months because you're too broke to replace the air conditioner when it's obvious your new woman has lotssss of money. ::innocent smile::" He was not too happy. He replied,"Well....still..." Ah yes...I have emerged triumphant yet again. I helped him work on a door that would lock everytime you shut it. However, the only reason I helped was because I discovered this only after I had sat in the truck and he shut the door, locking me in it for over an hour. He smiled and said,"Well what do you think Ms. auto-mechanic." And of course, those of you who know me by now know what answer is coming...."I think you have a problem on your hands." Oh yes, I love sarcasm.

Other than that, I did nothing today. I tried...but....sleep called and it won't leave a message. It just keeps calling until you answer.

If I got paid for all the stuff I have to do, Bill Gates would be asking to borrow money from me. However, it's not like I actually mind. My poor car. Almost 10,000 miles in a little over 3 months. You would think I'm a drug smuggler or something. But no...I am, pardon the southern expression, po'. And I'm not talking about the fat red tellytubby. I have no job and I desperately need one. However, my problem with working at fast food restaurants outweighs my desperation for a job. This is probably why I have one pas. I could just do like I've seen a lot of people doing lately. Go to a busy intersection dressed like a redneck and hold up a sign that says,"Stranded. Need food and gas money. Thanks." and do that day after day while still looking like I've taken a shower and changed my clothes. Yes, they are the ones who are still in school. Don't we all wish we could grow up to be like them, eh?

I took Debbie to the garage to take pictures of her poor wrecked car. She asked me if there was any way it could be salvaged and I opened the hood and leaned in. Right then some man with a northern sense of humor said,"ARE YA CHECKIN' 'A OIL IN 'ERE? eheh eheh eheh" So I shut the hood, turned around, smiled and said,"WHY NO BILLY BOB I'M JUST A CHECKIN' FER PARTS SO I'S CAN BUILD ME A RACE CAR ENGINE!" For crying out loud, why do I have to deal with people like this? Then the guy told me about how he hit a horse (???!!!) and he was doing 15, and the horse was doing 55 and the insurance company gave him $1,500 and let him keep the truck. Of course, he's having to pay $20 a day in storage because they let him keep it. Ok, question 1: Why did he have collision on a truck like that anyway?! It was your typical "Dover vehicle". Every part on the truck was a different color,and the most common color on it was "rust". And question 2: Why was he smiling about this as if he had just won "male of the year"?? All that $1,500 is going in storage! Helloooooo....is anybody home? Apparently not...moving on....

Debbie and I went out to lunch today. We were feeding off each other's thoughts without even realizing it. The following conversation shall be abbreviated D for Debbie and H for Heather....only because it's Darren Hayes' initials and that makes me one giddy person.

D: So where do you want to eat?
H: I'm buying so you decide
D: noooo I'm buying
H: No you're not. Now where do you wanna eat?
D: I don't know ::secretly thinking of Ruby Tuesday::
H: Me either ::Secretly thinking of Ruby Tuesday::
D: where do you wanna go?
H: I don't care ::really does::
D: Ok...now tell me a letter and I'll associate it with a restaurant
H: ::purposely says "R"::
D: Ok...um....Ryan's!
H: ....::musters up face excitedness:: OK! ::thinking: "crap"::
D: You wanna go to Ryan's then? ::thinking: "crap"::
H: I don't care
D: Or Ruby Tuesday?
H: Ruby Tuesday!
D: Ok you chose the letter and I named the places so therefore you have to choose the place out of those two.
H: Ruby Tuesday.
D: ok, good cause that's where I really wanted to go in the first place.
H: Me too!
D: woww...who knew?

Yes....we have skills that we didn't even know about. After that...I came home and went to bed and didn't get back up until 1:22 A.M. I'm still tired. This sucks....

Editor's note: If you are of the male species, I advise you to skip this post. I do not want my in-box filled with hate mail seeing as how I will read them and write you back even nastier E-mails because that's just the way I am. With that said....let's move on.

Again I say...the incompetence of men both disturbes and aggravates me. Since when does it take over an hour to check a tube filled with glowing neon to see whether or not it's cracked, busted, etc? I had an odd feeling of Deja vu come over me when I realized here I was again for the same time frame stuck in a chair watching T.V. After a lovely hour of "The Drew Carey Show" and wondering how Mimi could stand such goulish makeup, I was informed that I had two of the, pardon the pun, "busted stuff". Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in only one hour I learned I had two cracked neon tubes both filled to the brim with water (which probably was the acid spit sound I was hearing everytime I pulled into the driveway and turned the car off). I just smiled nicely at the incredibly hot man and said,"Ok....now tell me something I don't know." and he said,"Well you have two of them cracked....and we only have one in stock." I smiled an even more fake smile and said,"Again I say....tell me something I don't know." I should have known better, but I didn't. Always listen to the little voice. Next time I go back will mark the 7th time I've been to that place to get those neons fixed for whatever reason or another. But it's ok...I'm not bitter or anything...rarrrrr...

I like taking kids to school. Why you may ask? It reminds me that I do not have to go to that torturous Hell of a place also known as school. Yes...I drop them off and then laugh giddily all the way back home praising God and shouting to the Heavens and all who will hear that I am free. FREE I TELL YOU FREE!!!!! However, some parents still make me highly ill. Yes....the people who think they own the parking lot and run it accordingly. When I went to pick Brent up from school, there was a car blocking the entrance way and some girl was on a cell phone. Now any normal person would have moved. But do you think they did? Of course not. Their car looked like it had been hit by a train and they needed to sue somebody so they had their eyes set on me. Cellphone bimbo kept looking at me every two seconds and giving me looks like if I said anything she was going to come bash my brains out with the phone. Of course I cannot resist controversy, so I rolled my window down and said,"YES I'M LOOKING AT YOU NOW GET OFF THE PHONE OR JUST GET IN THE CAR AND GET OUT OF THE WAY!" to which she responded with sucking on her teeth (which she should have eaten, however I was in a good mood.) and rolling her eyes and getting in the car. I would make such a good mom. :D

I always have the best of intentions. I intended to like/date/marry someone no more than 7 years older than me and no less than 3 years younger than me. and I amazed myself by extending my "acceptible age limit" to 30 for Darren Hayes, but that doesn't count because he's just....he's just Darren okay! Then there was Christoph. I never planned on going for him. I actually forced myself not to. That was because I was told he was 42 and that was just disgusting. However, once I found out he was 36, going from 42 to 36 didn't seem so bad and his personality and good looks on top of that.....well....I had the best of intentions didn't I? Oh well...more stuff to ponder as I venture out into life.

I got Avril Lavigne's CD because I promised Pam I would. That and she wasn't going to leave me alone until I did. But it's ok Pam you're still great and it's a good CD so it all works out. That's it...I have nothing else left to say. I wouldn't say it if I did anyway just to aggravate you.

Another day and nothing to do but waste it sitting here for hour upon hour doing unscrupulous things. There's no telling how long I have been on here and would not even be posting if it weren't for the constant nagging of my friends who have nothing better to do but sit on pins and needles waiting until I say what I have to say as if I don't do that already when we talk ALL FREAKING NIGHT. I'm just kidding constant nagging friend. :) Yes...It is 4 A.M. and here I sit still. Resisting the urge to actually get exercise or sleep of some sort. I am waiting to turn into a vegetable. It shall happen soon, I can feel it. At least Jell-o if not a vegetable, although the latter of the two is more likely.

I hate it when men pretend they know what they are doing. They seldom do know what they're doing even in such meticulous things as putting the toilet seat down. ("Did you put the seat down?" "yes" "Oh really, then why is it up?" "Oh...um....I left the window up. There must be a strong draft that came and threw the seat up. Yes...that's right.") I had an appointment to take my car to the dealership to find out why the Service Engine Soon light decided to grace me with its presence. I told the guy what I was there for and he told me to make myself "comfortable". I was anything but comfortable. Besides one salesman trying to flirt with me and grabbing my foot/talking to me/and whatever else he felt like doing at that moment in time, I was forced to watch AMC because some big slobbering mass known as an overweight male had the remote and looked like he would rather be buried with that remote than let me have it. So I watched the black and white story of some horny man named...oh I forget his name...anyway....he was engaged to some foreign princess named Taji. These two had obviously never met because he had no idea she didn't speak English and she had no idea he didn't speak whatever the heck it is she spoke. (I personally think it was a made up language but that's just me.) So every night he would sneak into her hotel room and proclaim his love to her, but it was always to the wrong person. Usually it was her skyscraper bodyguard who chased him around the room yelling,"JW;OEIJFA;WOEIFENOGIHJOIWE!!!!" Somehow he hated the translator who was only trying to help him and kept telling her to leave. Anyway....to make a long story short, they moved the wedding day up because he was obviously too horny to wait and she waited on him hand and foot and they proclaimed their undying love to each other 24:7 even though neither one knew what the other was saying. She started to learn English and was taught Women's rights by her English teacher. Then she goes on a "You are my footstool" kick and treats him like he's the maid. At this point I nodded off only to be awakened by the beanpole service man informing me that after an hour of enduring such tube torture, they had no clue what was wrong with my car because they "did not have the technology necessary to read the codes to check the light." WELL THEN WHAT TOOK A FREAKING HOUR?! And if that wasn't enough, it's going to cost $220 to fix the dent in my bumper from that wretched animal I hit. If I had known it had cost that much, I would have gotten it out of the ditch, thrown it back in the road, and proceeded to back up and run over it countless times, each time laughing more hysterical and diabolical than the last. That is all I have to say on that subject...

I hate telemarketers. I really do. I have settled on picking up the phone and stealing Pam's line of,"No thanks, I already have a penguin." or, being the mysterious person I am, say it in German!,"Nein danke, ich hast das pinguin schon." and then hang up as quickly as possible. Of course this causes the occasional accidental hang-up's on Christoph, but one must do what one must do.

Well, aside from taking 3 kids to school, I did nothing else but sleep and eat. Ahh, the good life. Laziness...the forgotten virtue. I majored in it. I should know.