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DUDE. I’m still fucking congested. I’m not sick anymore, but I’m still blowing my nose about twenty times a day. I wish I lost weight for every time I’ve blown my nose in the last week. Then I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about the caramel frappucinno I had on Sunday.

My boss spent a month ordering his new car, giving the dealer every single specific detail of what he wanted. Friday, when the dealer delivered it, my boss got in it to pull it around to our parking area and it overheated. So he spent almost a hundred grand on a car he got to drive for forty-five seconds.

Speaking of cars, I got rear-ended a few weeks ago on my way to Target. I was behind a Suburban waiting to make a left. The light turned green, the Suburban started to go, and then stopped suddenly. I stopped, but the dipshit in the Scion behind me a) wasn’t paying attention, b) was way too close, or c) BOTH, and hit me. It was very minor. He only scratched my bumper, but his bumper was dented and damaged.

I didn’t even think it was enough damage to file a claim, but if you saw my bumper, and how the moron that owned my car before me hit EVERYTHING that came within five feet of that car, you’d want the bumper replaced, too (FYI, she painted her fingernails while she drove if that’s an indicator of her skills as a driver).

So I dropped my car off at the body shop on Saturday, and now I’m cruising around in this sexy bitch:

It’s a KIA Spectra. When the idiot at Enterprise told me I was getting a KIA, initially the snob in me went, Ewww, a KIA? Are you kidding me?! But I have to say, I’m surprisingly impressed with this car. Since my Corolla is twelve years old, every time I go to get out of the KIA, my arm automatically goes to roll up the window my hand, and I get about halfway through the rolling-up motion before I realize I’m driving a new car with electric windows. I can’t believe how much roomier it is inside than my car. And it’s not so low to the ground, which is nice for a tall girl.

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Scott’s on his way here. THANK GOD. Because it’s ridiculous how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other.I have to admit to being a little nervous this time, because he’s meeting my parents. Poor Scott. He has no idea of all of the incredibly annoying questions my mother will ask, and the dorky inappropriate jokes my dad will make.I think I’m going to test his love for me by making him watch Titanic. Or Dirty Dancing. That could backfire on me, though, because the last time I did that was with Flavor of Love, where he bitched and moaned so much about having to watch it that he said he didn’t even think he could have sex later that night. Now he has episodes of it saved on his iPod.
Crap. This also means I have to shave my legs every day.