Gah!

I really want this car.


In a major way. It's a 2009 Dodge Challenger, and it's hot. But unless somebody drops 40 grand and a miracle in my lap (quantities are limited), it's not going to happen. Over the past couple weeks I've grown increasing frustrated due to a sudden urge to drive something wicked fast.

I blame my boss. Recently I followed him to his mechanic, and was seriously jealous of the way he could zip around on the beltway. And he wasn't even trying to be slick- he knew I was following him in my inferior Camry, and that I had no idea where we were going. If he lost me, he lost his ride home. He was just effortlessly slipping in gaps that were closed by the time I could lug my ass up there. Then last week, I drove with him on our way back to the office from lunch, and he jammed on the gas so hard I was smashed into my seat. I've never felt G forces in my car...

To make it worse, the boss is feeding my little green-eyed monster. He's a total sports-car-guy, and keeps trying to make helpful suggestions (some even more out of my price range). My work day is filled with talk of horsepower, transmissions, and brakes (new favorite quote: the better your brakes are, the faster you can go). Gah. Just gah.

Fast and cheap do not always go hand in hand, apparently. I've looked everywhere, and all I've got is a list of Cars I Really Want:

Dodge Challenger
Nissan GT-R (not out yet)
Nissan 350Z
Audi TT
Audi A5
Any Saab sedan
Honda Accord Coupe V-6
Acura TL
Cadillac STS
Infiniti G37

Of course, I can't afford any of these, but I'm going to start saving my pennies right now.

Adventures in the Crack House

Ever since we moved in, the drain in my bathroom had been slow- anything more than a trickle from the faucet would fill up the sink pretty quickly. Knowing what sort of people the previous occupants were, I was hesitant to do much about it. I mean, there could be anything in there: baggies full of crack, used condoms, a dead fetus... who knows? I poured some Drano down there, but that didn't help. There was only one way to fix it. I had to find whatever was clogging up the drain, and pull it out.

The hardware store has these disposable plastic sticks, with little barbs on them. You shove them in the drain, and they pull out all sorts of gross shit. I usually use them to pull my hair out of the shower drain, and I figured it would work in this situation too. So I got one, stuck it in and apprehensively pulled it back out. Do you know what came out? Fucking Scotch tape. Of course. You may remember from previous posts that the idiots who lived here before had some sort of Scotch tape fetish. We found it on walls, under cabinets, on light fixtures, on windows, everywhere. Anyway, who the hell puts tape down a sink drain?! You'd really have to work to get a wad of tape down a drain. Seriously. What the hell is wrong with people?

In any case, it was yet another shining example of Why You Shouldn't Do Drugs. Sometimes I'm so perplexed by the fuckwads that lived here that I have urges to drive down to the county jail and ask the guy (one of several renters) just what went on in this place. But that's probably not the best idea.