Dude Where’s My Car?

I lost my car on Saturday.

Well, it’s ok.

I found it.

But from the time I lost it to the time I found it, I think I grew 20 grey hairs.

I parked my car on the street on Friday afternoon. I always park my car on the street. Sometimes I forget where I put it, but it hasn’t happened in a while.

It’s a common problem. And easy mistake to make when you park in a different place, on a different block every day. The days sort of end up running into each other and then you forget.

Anyway, in parked on Friday afternoon on my block, a few Avenues west of my place. I had to really maneuver my car into the parking spot, since a huge white truck was double parked next to the car in front of my spot. It was a really good spot.

On Saturday, I was headed out to Long Island to see the family. I was running really late and it was cold and raining out. I started walking to the car. Only, when I got to the street where I thought the car was, it wasn’t there.

Hmmm. Maybe it’s on the next street over.

I walked over to that street. No car.

Maybe it’s on the next Avenue.

I walked over to that Avenue. No car.

It’s raining and cold. And now I’m beginning to panic.

Where the heck did I park the flippin car?

I had to stop and think.

Think!!

Maybe I’ll have to hail a cab and make him drive me round and look for it. I was getting fatigued.

It was also getting later and later. It’s almost not worth going anymore. As it was, I was running so late.

Maybe I should just turn around and go back to the apartment. But, I’ll have to find the car eventually. I may as well just keep looking.

Then, as a last resort, I prayed. I’m not the most religious person, but in times of need like this, I figured I’d give it a shot.

I prayed to the saint who helps you find lost shit, Saint Fenurious.

Suddenly, I remembered the big white truck. That made me remember the street it was on. The car wasn’t on one of the streets I was looking on. It was on my street! The street I live on.

I headed back towards my street.

As I turned the corner, there it was. My sweet car was sitting there waiting for me. Winking at me, as it always does.

I sweetie! There you are! Thanks for waiting for me!!

My faithful car was patiently waiting.

I unlocked the door and jumped in for warmth and dryness.

Thank you Saint Fanurious!

Hunger Pains

My BFF, Yenta Hessa, emailed me on Wednesday. “I have tickets for Hunger Games tomorrow night. Wanna go?”

“Sure!”

So, yesterday, we were off to the games.

Unfortunately, I haven’t read the books, so I really hadn’t a clue what it was going to be about. But then again, I love that.

We went. No waiting on line for 17 hours. We just walked in.

We probably should have gotten to the theatre a bit earlier, because although we had tickets, most of the seats were taken when we got into the theatre. But, in true BSM fashion, we scored fantastic seats.

Most of the movie was a lot of fun. But about three quarters of the way through, I started to be bored. They were in the woods a really long time.

And my butt started to hurt. And I started to wish I was on my couch in my pajamas.

You know, people are annoying at the movies. I remember, when we were young, my father would get into a fight every time we went to the movies. All because the people who went were stupid. After a while, he stopped going to the movies all together.

I got some popcorn and I ate it quietly. But the woman next to me brought her own treats. In a plastic bag.

You know what that means, don’t you? Every time she reached into the plastic bag, it crackled at about 90 decibels in a quiet movie theatre.

It really kind of distracted me from the hunger. And I couldn’t concentrate.

So, aside from my sore butt and my noisy neighbor, I managed to enjoy Hunger Games.

Today, my sister, Sookie, asked me how the movie was.

I said, “My butt hurt.”

Eat Shit Purge

The movie, Eat Pray Love is out, with Julia Roberts. I’m boycotting. I boycotted the book too. I boycott all of Oprah’s books.

I was intrigued when I first heard of the book because everyone was reading it. But then I saw the author’s interview on Oprah. And I didn’t get it. So big deal, she ate some pasta, walked around in bare feet for a couple of weeks, then met some old, hot Latin dude and went home. What the fuck? What’s all the damn fuss about?

Do you think she would have given two shits about the pasta if she had met the hot Latin guy first? Nope. If she met the hot guy in Italy before gorging on bow tie pasta in pink cream sauce, she would have avoided gaining twenty pounds and been done with it. Screw praying with the monks. I’m outa here!

But no, she had to go on her journey. Gain ten pounds. Find peace. Then, meet the guy. Like she was never gonna meet the guy until all that happened?

I think it’s bullshit.

It all sounds so philosophical until she meets the hot dude. Then, it’s bullshit. Because why are we never happy until we meet a guy? Why couldn’t Julia do all the stuff; eat the pasta, meditate. Then go home? And write the book.

No. She wasn’t happy enough.

Until she found a man.

Gee, ladies. Whatever happened to us not needing a man to fulfill us? I guess that’s all out the window. ‘Cause Oprah says so.