it's me, scott. i have a new tire on my car, wanna have sex?

this weekend was relatively crappy. i would like to include the following open letter which i wrote when i woke up this morning:

  dear father time,

  fuck you.

  love,
  scott.

see, just when i am getting used to this whole "hey, it's light outside when i get up! this makes it really easy to get up in the morning for work now!", stupid father time goes and invents this thing called "daylight savings time", and makes it dark again! grrr!!

anyway, back to the new tire. and the sex.

so i was driving down campus drive yesterday, headed home from a lovely day of walking around aimlessly downtown, when suddenly it sounds like there's a big airplane about to land on my car. "what the hell?" says i, and i pull into a parking lot in front of a store named "chickadee depot" (which is irrelevant, but i thought the store name was funny). and i get out of my car, and i have a flat tire!! very unfortunate.

so i put a spare donut on my car, and i drive to a gas station to have the tire patched. and mr. gas station man says "no. i can't fix this. i will charge you $65 for a new off-brand tire, though." and i say "no thank you sir, mr gas station man.". and i drive. through town. to the other side of town, going 45. it sucked! and i finally got to the tire place, and they said "sure, it'll be 45 minutes, is that okay?" and i look around at the tractors and the man watching NASCAR on the television in the waiting room and i say "uh, okay."

and 45 minutes later, my car is still sitting in the exact same place!

so after a total of an hour and a half of watching the stupid cars drive around in a circle on tv, my car is fixed. and i finally get to go home.

so, i think you should have sex with me.

also, i am wearing a pink shirt today.

love,
scott.