And you thought crashing into the fence was bad. One year to the day now after I drove the old teal Saturn up I-95 to here, she is dead. Fucking dead my car is. And it had nothing to do with the fence. Apparently, although I had a full tank of oil, it wasn't filtering through the engine, something busted and broke a rod off in the engine. Or something. Something like that. Bottom line: Junk it or get a new E N G I N E ! ! ! !

A fucking engine.

It's so insane that the word Engine seems made up, for this specific craziness. New engine Shmew Shmengine.

So, if you're keeping tabs at home that's 1 crashed Jaguar, 1 busted fence, and 1 fucked
E N G I N E ! ! ! !

I'm fucked.

I got a cell phone the other day. Just in time to call Kelly the next day and tell her I couldn't pick her up for work. I had lost control in the snow and crashed into a fence. Somebody's fence. Cracked the shit out of my front end; buried myself in a snowbank.

Kelly and Nicole had to pick me up. AAA had to pull me out. I've got to fix the dude's fence.

I watched Raging Bull for the first time ever today.

It's so hard for me to write in this thing anymore.