The Christophorian job...
I'm really crabby today. I had more "nightmares" last night about my car being stolen. Let me back up...
A couple of weeks ago, on a random Wednesday, I got home from the shoe-slangin' store around 8:30 PM. I hadn't started class yet, so I stayed up watching the late-night talk shows. I fell asleep on the couch in the middle of Conan. Around 1:00 AM, the incessant sound of someone's car alarm woke me up. Finally, I decided to peer out my living room window to see what was going down. My big living room window has a panoramic view of asphalt and cars. Don't worry, there wasn't much going on, except someone trying to steal my car. They were trying to drag it across the lot with some vehicle that resembled a tow truck, but was in fact, not a tow truck. In my grogginess, I did not realize that at the time. I jumped into my shoes, covered up my braless boobs, and ran outside. They were gone. Looking back, it's probably a good thing that they were gone. I mean, how was I going to successfully confront some obviously amateur car thieves?
I called 911, and the cops came in about 2.5. I was wired. Why me? I drive a 1998 Pontiac Grand Prix, and let's just say it's nothing special. We found evidence of them trying to get into my car the old-fashioned way. Again, why me?
It takes a lot to freak me out, but I was freaked that night. Last Sunday, at 4:00 AM, someone laid on his car horn for about two minutes straight. I bolted up in bed, my heart pounding. This time, it was coming from the neighborhood behind my complex, but still. Why all the drama, people? I live in a nice neighborhood. Can a girl get a decent night's sleep?
The answer to that is no. If it's not amateur car thieves or my late-night partying neighbors, it's my subconscious scaring the crap out of me. On that Sunday, I dreamed that everyone in my complex had their cars stolen because we were being punished for steroid use. Last night, I dreamed (seemingly over and over again) that people had stolen my car and were then coming for me inside my apartment.
I think I'm scarred for life.
A couple of weeks ago, on a random Wednesday, I got home from the shoe-slangin' store around 8:30 PM. I hadn't started class yet, so I stayed up watching the late-night talk shows. I fell asleep on the couch in the middle of Conan. Around 1:00 AM, the incessant sound of someone's car alarm woke me up. Finally, I decided to peer out my living room window to see what was going down. My big living room window has a panoramic view of asphalt and cars. Don't worry, there wasn't much going on, except someone trying to steal my car. They were trying to drag it across the lot with some vehicle that resembled a tow truck, but was in fact, not a tow truck. In my grogginess, I did not realize that at the time. I jumped into my shoes, covered up my braless boobs, and ran outside. They were gone. Looking back, it's probably a good thing that they were gone. I mean, how was I going to successfully confront some obviously amateur car thieves?
I called 911, and the cops came in about 2.5. I was wired. Why me? I drive a 1998 Pontiac Grand Prix, and let's just say it's nothing special. We found evidence of them trying to get into my car the old-fashioned way. Again, why me?
It takes a lot to freak me out, but I was freaked that night. Last Sunday, at 4:00 AM, someone laid on his car horn for about two minutes straight. I bolted up in bed, my heart pounding. This time, it was coming from the neighborhood behind my complex, but still. Why all the drama, people? I live in a nice neighborhood. Can a girl get a decent night's sleep?
The answer to that is no. If it's not amateur car thieves or my late-night partying neighbors, it's my subconscious scaring the crap out of me. On that Sunday, I dreamed that everyone in my complex had their cars stolen because we were being punished for steroid use. Last night, I dreamed (seemingly over and over again) that people had stolen my car and were then coming for me inside my apartment.
I think I'm scarred for life.
posted by quank at 1:25 PM
4 Comments:
steroids? of all the things you could be punished for...
There a website that calls for the punishment of Dutch girls for having big breats.
Now, I say to you, women, Dutch or otherwise, should not be punished for having large breasts.
JB says, if anything, they should be rewarded.
I say they should be equal. I will not have the objectification of women pandered about this office willy nilly.
And everyone says Dolly Parton's just a pair of tits.
how did this conversation turn to boobs?
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