Gone Are the Days...

Gone are the days when one could go out to breakfast alone, quietly read a book, and engulf their food in the swiftest manner possible; the days when one could narrowly avoid becoming the first person on the whom the “heimlich maneuver” poster and learning kit conspicuously posted on the greasy kitchen wall becomes an actual learning implement, with their own, dumb, choking ass becoming the test dummy. Of course, you wouldn’t have to engulf your food if you weren’t constantly receiving reproachful stares from all of the elderly married couples and the even more annoying, “We fucked for hours last night and now we want pancakes before we stop calling each other” couples. At least the older couples give you the benefit of the doubt that can only come with life experience. “Maybe he is waiting for someone…maybe he is on an errand and got hungry…maybe he’s…gay.” I guess the assumption really just is that someone eating alone is a lonely, sad person who can’t even find a partner suitable enough to share a table at IHOP with.

Such is the story of my morning. I had to wake up this morning and drive to Manassas (or “Man-asses” as we NOVAers like to call it) so that I could get the 30,000 mile checkup and new tires on my car. Honestly, the only good thing I can say about Manassas is that it is the only place in Northern Virginia where I have not been judged for having a donut tire, the sad remnant of my Tuesday night flat tire incident (basically just me getting a flat while Lindsay and I were driving around smoking, her screaming that she wouldn’t get out of the car because “she’s the girl” and me screaming that I couldn’t fix it because, “I’m the gay”). Since then I have had to drive around on a set of wheels that would make 50 cent (fitty) want to kill himself…come to think of it, can we subject him to my car. This tire has also put a damper in the ol’ social life, seeing as I couldn’t really drive too much without fear of another flat, and thus, another awkward meeting with whoever decides to pull over and help me with the tire. It is just that sort of awkward meeting I hope, more than anything, to avoid.

Update on the car…it needs new transmission fluid, meaning that this will take another hour. I have been here for two hours and it doesn’t look like I am going anywhere anytime soon. They still haven’t done the tires or this new transmission fluid thing so I figure I have somewhere in the range on two to three hours left. What sucks is that I am running out of things to do. I have already completely reorganized my Itunes library, restored my Ipod (because I could) and reloaded all of my music. Even with all of that, I am now on paragraph three of this blog and have read the entire pamphlet for the Hyundai Elantra, Santa Fe, Tucson, Tiburon, and the new Entourage…“the mini-van that makes mini-vans cool again, while not taking too big a chunk out of your pocketbook or adding too much to your gas bill.” God, please hear my call and let me escape this misery. The sound of CBS news in the background is really the cherry on top of the Ihop funnel cake (which was delicious, thank you).

I have one more thing to talk about, and it relates back to that CBS news I was referring to. You would think that with all the shit going on in the world a major news network would have something more important to talk about that different tricks you can use to sell your home. Still, I understand that the market in the area is down and that people are getting pretty desperate. I even understand that some people, in their infinite lack of wisdom, turn towards some higher power in an attempt to get what they want, as if following that crusades mentality of “No, God’s on my side…no he’s on my side…nononono, he’s on my side.” Did that mentality work then? No. All it got them were dozens of wars and millions of lives lost, all because god was on their side. Well, it seems that this mentality has been passed on to people desperate to sell their homes without having to lower the price too much. After all, life, like war, is all about profit. What these pathetic people are turning to, however, is what makes this truly sad. Apparently, purchasing a small, three-inch plastic figurine of St. Joseph, the RE-Max proclaimed “Patron Saint of Real Estate,” and burying him in your yard UPSIDE DOWN will help sell your home. At the modest cost of $10 and your eternal soul, you can sell your house within a week, guaranteed, or God will cease to exist forever. My God, if hell exists, I think I would rather be there than with all these idiots in Heaven who sold their soul and their homes to the highest bidder.

P.S. See Little Miss Sunshine. It is THE BEST!