VRRROOOOM

Thursday, Jul. 13, 2006, 7:42 a.m.

While my Honda (its name is "Bruce," by the way, in case you forgot) is recovering from its near-fatal drownding, I have been driving a rental car.

Side note: Many of you may be wondering, "Why don't you just drive the Mini? It is functioning, yes?"

Well, yes, it is functioning. But my insurance peeps say I can get a Premium Rental Car, so that is what I have done, because I have PAID for this, and I will get my money's worth, dammit. I don�t mean to go all George Costanza on you guys, but that�s how it is. Blame the quarter-Jew in me.

My rental car kicks a whole lot of ass. Not because it's anything special, but because it is about nine years newer than Bruce, and 34 years newer than the Mini, and that means a happy driving experience for me. You see, the Mini begins to shake a bit when you nudge it up over 60 miles per hour, and Bruce does the same when he pushes about 80.

But Rental Car? Rental Car lives for fast. Rental Car hits 90 and says, "Is that all?" Except it sounds more like "VRRRRROOOM." And then we smile.

Anyway, Bruce should be fixed up by the end of next week. He needs a new engine, which apparently is not one of those things that you can just drop in there and call it a day.

I know, I was shocked, too. I don't mind, because my insurance is covering it, but the next time it fucking rains in this town, please know that I will be the one staunchly refusing to drive ANYfuckingWHERE.

(I have no real segue here, so please take a moment to think one up. If you don�t want to do that, then please be prepared for this entry to go all ADD on you right about now.)

If we haven�t previously established that I am addicted to celebrity "news" publications, let it please be known right now that it is the shameful truth. I have been known to pay full price in the supermarket checkout line for a copy of UsWeekly or Star or InTouch or TouchUsWe'reStars or whatever, simply because I MUST KNOW what the fuck is the deal with Tom Cruise's non-baby or Brangelina's newest third-world paradise.

But today, my friends, I have discovered something better. And, quite frankly, I am a bit perturbed that none of you have brought this to my attention in the past, but I am willing to overlook that if you will all join me in my new hobby: laughing my ass off at the commenters on UsWeekly's website.

DAMN! If we thought I had a lot of time on my hands (which, as it seems from this sudden onset of nearly-daily updates, I do), we must definitely think again.

I mean, I am addicted to reading about celebrities, but it's just like my addiction to eating chocolate or making snide comments about total strangers as they walk by -- I don't let it get out of hand. (At least, I hope I don't. Um, you guys will let me know, right?)

What I'm saying is, holy fuck. If I ever become SO INVOLVED with the life of someone I've never met that I feel the need to get angry at another person I've never met on his or her behalf? Please shoot me, because I have obviously lost the will to live my own life.

Speaking of the will to live, mine has actually been slightly renewed recently. A commentary I wrote for our propaganda newspaper has not only been Not Rejected, but has actually been allowed to run in the paper as-is.

For those of you who don't know me, this is a momentous occasion. Virtually everything I write is put through at least three separate drafts to ensure that it will not be offensive to ANYONE EVER.

But not this week. This week I have triumphed. And we shall see who hates me by the end of the day.

P.S. Thank you to everyone who still checks to see if I'm updating and leaves me lovely comments when I do. It makes my inner attention-whore feel all warm and fuzzy!