This is my car, but I have a blackish purply sport edition. At least, this is what my car looks like today, never mind what tomorrow brings. My fingers were painfully numb by the time I pulled into the G*damn parking lot this afternoon. Por Que? The wind whipping through the freaking willows almost huffed and puffed my car off the road. Not once. Not twice. Try upwards of twenty times, the worst being right when I drove over the first bridge leaving Sioux Falls.
This begs the nagging question, yet again, why the h-e double toothpicks do people live here? Why I ask (insert image of me violently shaking my fists to the sky). Being from Minnesota I thought moving here wouldn't be really all that different. I mean, it's aint no "Minnie Apple" as the great advertisers of the 1970's were trying to dub my hometown (that's Minneapolis, kids), but I was a silly little bunny to think I could adjust.
Sure, I could've taken-up residence in Brookings and saved myself the agravation. The thing is, when I was looking for an apartment (while still living in Manhattan) all I saw were fugly single-level homes for rent. Nuh-uh. Plus, I can handle driving, I thought, it'll give me time to catch up on National Public Radio and books on cd. Rrrright. Back in November of last year me and my beloved (R.I.P.) VW Golf got our collective arses handed to us when an ice storm flung us straight into the ditch. There I was, on the phone chit-chatting away when I felt my tires spinning ferociously (on a freeway, no less) and nothing much happening. 'Is my transmission finally dying' I thought until I swung around doing almost a 180 and ended up in the ditch. I drove it just enough to turn around on the freeway and find a hotel for the night. But first, wearing a too-short dress for the season, with a bladder full of Starbucks, I had to squat right in plain view of the road, headlights wizzing past (wizzing being the operative word here). I suddenly empathized with my dog who on bitterly cold days sometimes passed on the opportunity to use the outdoor facilities, preferring my living room rug instead.
I digress.
All I am asking, dear spirits of good luck, is please just help me get through the next 46 days WITHOUT crashing my car. Pa-leze. I've been a relatively good girl. I brush my dogs teeth every night (ow, typing that out makes me wonder if that isn't kinda creepy), I give to the ASPCA and other orgs that allow me to make tiny donations (give me a break, I have tons of student loan debt already), I don't litter, I fake-laugh at boring jokes when appropriate and I only make sarcastic comments to students when they deserve it, just do me this one favor (or Favre, as I like to say). Afterall, haven't I been through enough? Thank you. Amen.
