Overthunk

Someday, perhaps even before I die, or in 2036, auto-pilot for cars will be invented. Maybe then, I'll stop hitting people. It's not 2036 yet, though, and I'm still crunchin' metal. Over the course of my twenty years behind the wheel, I have sprinkled the byways of the greater Dallas area with glittering debris from collisions ranging from tiny to major, somewhere around a dozen times. Once, I fell asleep in the bank line and my foot slipped off the brake. I put a tiny, quarter inch crescent moon hole in a Lexus bumper. The guy reported it. Once, I slid down a wet hill in the rain into the back of a Ford F150. I had a Honda Civic. It was totaled. After that one, I was driving my rental car (which I nicknamed "La Cucaracha" because it was cockroach brown) down the freeway. Someone REAR ENDED THE RENTAL. At least that time it wasn't my fault. This time, however, according to the Necessary Evil Insurance Company, it was. See, I happened to be pulling out of a

Lately, carrion vulture shadows from 17 years ago have been circling. Namely, when I was a dumbass college kid, I racked up some debt on some credit cards that I knew nothing about having and which were passed out like candy to young fools like me. Now, though, I understand, and I religiously pay everything on time and in full. Since then, I've bought a house, several cars, and have some brand new and better cards in my wallet now. I know my credit score, and it beats most people's. None of this is still on my credit report, which, to me, means nobody cares anymore except a few jackals looking for long-dead meat to sustain them. Thus, I'm not particularly motivated to take care of this, and even if I did, the original people I owed have long since written off my pittances on their 1991 federal taxes. My logic is, if I pay, I'm just giving money to people who aren't the people I wronged. Therefore, why do it? For awhile after I moved, I was in an information hidey ho

or, not in Dutch, Five Odd Habits. Julie tagged me to list five odd habits I have. This is my FIRST TAG EVER. I am so proud. So here I go: 1. I usually cut my fingernails and toenails outside on my patio, because I think nail clippings are gross. 2. At restaurants, when I drink iced tea, I put Equal into my unsweetened tea, then fold the packets lengthwise, inserting them (and their ripped off tops) one into another into another like those nesting Russian dolls until they are all neatly in one long foldy piece. Then I roll the combined packets into a spiral shape and usually put it aside until I can put it into a used dish that will then be taken away. If I get a straw, I twist and twist the wrapper into a tight little twisty rope, which I then continue twisting until it twists around itself tighter and tighter. Sometimes, I tie it into knots repeatedly until I cannot tie anymore. If I don't like how the table is arranged, or if the spiral bound drink/dessert menu annoys me, I

1. Joss Whedon 2. Marilyn Manson 3. J.D. Salinger Hack who most assuredly did not hit the big time: me.

She didn't mean New Wave MTV vests fashioned from violently vulcanized inner tubes. She meant "dancing with myself." A few weeks back, she mailordered some new "dancing shoes,"strumming shaky signals of ones and zeroes across a sticky web. She didn't like going to the "dancing shoe store," for she had abominable snowwoman feet. For days, she feared the discovery of the all too pretty "dancing shoes," for they would have caused alarm and disarray in polite company. There were three "pairs," a gluttonous number, one glass, one rubber, one plastic. Still, in her head she visualized all the ways, the steps, the positions, the pirouettes. Finally, the day arrived. Propped against the doorframe lay the box: intact. Inside she took the things, unable to wait any longer. Box torn asunder, ripped passionately apart, she put the "shoes" to their proper use. It had been too long since she danced this way. And it was good. Wuh uh