Pig Pen

Our trip to New Zealand is afoot, tickets and a microwave coat purchased, itinerary made and discussions of what's to come endless. Chatting with the Ten Key Ninja today about our little trip round the world led quickly to bed bugs. I'm not a entomologist but for some reason I have a belief that bugs, even those of the bed variety prefer "clean" people to munch on. Thus, when sleeping in hostels I've claimed myself as safe from such predators. This little theory was born because when I vacation, I vacation from everything I consider everyday life. I like to embrace vaca like that. Showering just happens to be one of those everyday things I steer clear of. It's not that I prefer being a dirt ball, it's just that I get so enamored by living my whole trip things like showering become trivial. Couple that with the fact that traveling in foreign countries on a budget might not provide the best digs. I would have to check with J-Nelly, but I think the whole time I was in Thailand I might have showered, ehhh five? times. There was a waterfall and a pool, so I am of course counting those. Really though, if you look back, showers in Thailand could be taken while sitting on the toilet. Something about this particular situation, though admittedly a time saver, doesn't make me feel all that clean so I just move right past that little portion of my day.

This discussion resulted in a artistic representation of A on vaca....apparently I strongly resemble pig pen.

I think I rock those stink lines

Breakfast of champions...who like to sleep in

I love brunch, it combines a couple of my favorite things- waking up late and breakfast foods. I can't wrap my brain around morning people. I know these people, they are my friends, my co-workers, my momma. They provide reasoning such as "habit". These people allege that after waking up at an ungodly hour for work everyday for insert a copious amount of years here that they just can't sleep in. I have been at my "grown-up" job for 5 years 9 months and 26 days, and I can still sleep till a minimum of 10am on any given day. On a weekend, good luck getting me out of bed before noon unless someone arises to consciousness before I, and alerts me of activities such as brunch. Brunch is like a beautiful poem, except that I can understand it without having it explained to me. Generally, good brunch places follow some general rules.

Good brunch places:

• Have a minimum of a 45 minute wait; you want a good sized line at your brunch place, this way you know they mean business, you know they serve cocktails, and you know people want to linger.
• Are the size of an atm vestibule, bonus points if none of the chairs match.
• Have servers who are eclectic. Last great brunch I had the pleasure of partaking in, I didn't know whether my server was a man or woman, to tell you the truth I still don't and I was there for around two hours....Best brunch I think I've ever eaten... french toast I would cut a bitch for.
• Speaking of toast, it should be like a great kiss- french and in my mouth. They must serve some hybrid, culinary genius, thousand calorie version of french toast- fry it, stuff it, cram it, scatter it, cover it, smother it, I don't give a shit, do whatever you have to do...just make it fancy and put it in my mouth hole.

Wanna brunch, but don't know how? How about some tips....

• Take your time, brunch is about starting your drunk in the am hours, continuing it into the early afternoon and having a hangover somewhere around the prevening/evening. You're going to want to drink rum, because it's delicious, but contrary to everything you've read on this blog rum isn't a morning beverage. Think more mimosa, screwdriver or bloody mary. Brunch based alcoholic drinks always have some type of 'healthy' flair to them, usually juice of some sort so you can masquerade your morning drinking as starting your morning off right with some vitamins.
• Avoid the scone, not sure how this became a food but its essentially like a really really hard, crumbly, bad tasting donut thing. You'll recognize it because it resembles a petite, buttery, fluffy biscuit; but when you lift it, its brick like weight will tell its true tale. Put some bacon in your mouth instead. Bacon is amazing, so amazing in fact that when it cooks it makes its own applause. Better yet, see if they make some kinda fancy pants donut with maple bacon on the top of it. It's not trashy, bacon's all the rage right now, even hipsters are ironically eating it.
• Try other people's food, don't ask, just get your fork right up in there. This is normal brunch behavior and they want you to do this (come on, you know you want it too). Then make lots of nummy nummy sounds which suggests you made a wrong decision, are inferior, and their food was better than yours (even if that is not at all true because you ordered french toast that made you tingle where you pee).

Damn, now I want brunch and it's 7pm.

Momma in da house

"If they call it snowbird season, why can't we shoot them?", is the question asked by locals each and every year just after the holidays wrap up and the blue hairs fly south for the winter. Among those blue hairs is the one and only, well my one and only, Momma, in town for 6 weeks. Thus far momma has been on the island for 10 days, and in that time I've began to learn a few things about the snowbirds, have been taking some "field notes" (aka typing stupid, confusing shit momma does/says into the notepad of my phone). Come along with me on this learning journey.

The snowbird, also known as the blue hair, is a particular sect of the human race native to the Midwest. It is primarily a carnivorous species, and thrives on early bird menus or cafeterias at assisted living facilities. When left to prepare its own meals it will instead eat whatever sweets are in its sights, such as cake for dinner. It has few natural predators due to its endearing immobility, and generous offerings of hard candies.

The snowbird varies in size, but is distinct in it's markings. Their exterior is leathery and dark in color and glistens from its ceaseless application of Australian Gold Dark Tanning Oil Accelerator. It seems snowbirds live in seasonal rentals or mooch off their children. They are notoriously habitual and seem to keep a routine consisting of the following: breakfast, cocktail, nap, tan, nap, cocktail, watching their idol and bachelor, and finally passing out. Snowbirds do not like to be awakened from their slumber and will either lash out or talk nonsense when it occurs.

Additionally, they appear to have poor eyesight without something they call "their readers". Their memory too seems to be lacking. I believe for this reason they do not like their surroundings changed. I noted this particular trait as Momma tripped over a newly acquired fire pit twice within a week long period. When the snowbird injures itself from a fall they vocalize through plaintive whines. They also prefer to have trips and falls blamed on their age and arthritis as opposed to their day drinking. General knowledge of first aid also seems to suffer as the snowbird ages, as they appear to not understand that hand sanitizer should not be used to clean an open, bleeding wound. For these and many more reasons it's believed their lifespan in the wild would be shorter than in captivity. We're only 10 days in folks, stay tuned for more momma updates and observations about snowbirds.

It's Monday morning....

...here's a picture of Flav getting breaded to help you get through it.

Whirly Like a Champion Today

Admittedly the north wasn't nearly as blistery as I anticipated. It did snow, but by that point in the night I had my beer coat, managed to throw a couple snow balls at the intern without falling, and generally enjoyed it.
The cold, windy weather that followed the next day I generally did not enjoy but thankfully most of the day was spent inside recovering from whirlyball.

I don't think you can go pro in whirlyball, but if you could I would try. My dad always said he wished he would have raised us to be amazing in a really obscure sport like trampoline because inevitably everything will be an Olympic sport one day. If whirlyball ever becomes an Olympic sport, I will start watching the winter Olympics for more than just curling.

This 'sport' is amazing. Picture basketball, mixed with lacrosse, played while inebriated...in a bumper car. Sound stupid? Yes, yes it is.


So the ultimate goal is to get a whiffleball into a hole in a backboard more times than your opponent. Other goals include not pissing off the crackwhore who is 'refereeing' your game, and not losing any digits or appendages. You know how when you go on a fair ride or to the amusement park and they have a multitude of signs and workers that say "keep arms and legs inside". This rule was probably created after someone at insert name of large amusement park here stuck their hand out of whatever 'vehicle' they were riding in and it got ripped off, the one handed man in-turn sued insert name of large amusement park here and is now a kajillionaire. Despite that, in whirlyball you are encouraged, nay, required to stick your limbs out of the bumper car to retrieve the ball. Keep in mind, at no point do you sign a waiver releasing this place from responsibility for your limbs. I don't understand it, but I didn't question it.

Here's some tips in case you get a chance to go play.
1. ALWAYS whirly like a champion.
2. Be prepared for more than a few bruises from your hips jamming into the side of the car and/or your legs jamming into the steering 'stick'
3. Pay more attention to the game than the photo ops.
4. When not playing, be shufflin'...everyday.
5. Leave with a nice buzz and all your limbs.

It's gettin cold in here...let's put on all our clothes

It's off to the blistery north for me this weekend to celebrate Ten Key Ninja's birthday with some Whirlyball (updates on that when I return). Turns out, it's been some time since I've visited during the winter months and I know people can develop allergies so I'm crossing my fingers that I haven't somehow developed Cold Urticaria. I imagine I'm good to go though as I've never had an allergic reaction to an ice cold beverage or the lovely ocean water on a "winter" day. What I am not looking forward to is the ice. I hate ice, it's hard and slippery, and I am clumsy. I think we're even going ice skating, which to me is like paying someone to fall and hurt myself. Ice is just water that won't let you go swimming in it. Generally, I'm not a fan, at least when it's outside of my glass. Back in a bit!

Just hope it's not cold enough for this to happen

Turns out I've dated some real ones

As you may be aware each year on MLK weekend The Gray Lining, My BFF and myself try to get together. MLK 2K12 was no different and as it was my year to host the Yanks headed towards the blue on the map. We ate, we drank, we sunned some of the palest skin I have seen in my life. Mostly, we talked...because that is what we do. We talk about very stupid things. One such item which sticks out in my mind for what will become obvious reasons was My BFF informing us that science says that people are 5 times less attractive then they believe themselves to be. Science said this, that's all we were given, no other reference than science. So apparently I am a 1.3...on a good day. The Gray Lining is a negative integer when she wakes up in the morning.

After some poking around, I still don't know that science says we are 5 times less attractive then we think we are but I did find some research (there was some legit stuff which was not off msnbc as well) to back up My BFF's claims. Turns out, 28% of young women and 30% of young men rate themselves between an 8 and a 10 out of 10. Meaning that essentially 3 out of every 10 people think they are super duper hot. Having been to Walmart in the past week I can tell you this is not true.

Hmmm, if science is right, I'm not completely sure how I ended up gainfully employed.

Twenty Eleven in Review

I learned the importance of car maintenance only after Steve-o almost lost an eye, wondered why I am always the sidekick in my own dreams, found out I'm allergic to angry birds, won trivia, got scared, watched Flav spend two days as a cone head, felt happiness like that I've never felt before, learned doctors don't necessarily understand science, snuggled and fed a baby tiger, fell in love with Hannah Hart, discovered what a heart attack feels like, ate breakfast at mac donalds in three different countries, begrudgingly turned 30, got lost in an Ikea, started an urban farm, kissed a stone named blarney and got a silver tongue, found out that I "look like" a person who would drive an Element, ate Thai food without getting sick, won a Beer Olympics, felt sadness deep inside, made some charts, BINGO!-ed, drank a Guinness while on Irish soil, met Tila Tequila, crafted my face off, and shot my friends.

Not too shabby. But I'm ready to make 2012 my bitch.

New Year, New and....well, maybe just Improved A

The new year is right around the corner and with my track record for keeping up with New Years Resolutions...remember this back in 2010 . Epic fail. Seriously, who couldn't possibly accomplish "taking more naps"? Moi, that's who.

So this year, no resolution. I have however started trying to make some positive changes here in the end of 2011 that if I keep up great, if I don't, eh...I'll just hope good genetics look out for me as I age. One change, which I honestly can't believe has lasted damn near a month is no fast food during the week. Turns out, I haven't really even taken advantage of my weekend freedom and have only consumed one delicious Big Mac since Turkey Day. Are you ok? Perhaps I should have asked you to be sure you were sitting before providing such shocking news.

I have also tried to lay off red meat, and have been leaning on my good friend the turkey for a delicious substitute. That being said, yesterday I had to stop off at the Le Target Boutique to pick up a couple new lint (aka cat hair) rollers, so I just grabbed a wrap from their deli while I was there. I went with the turkey in a spinach wrap, had some cheese, lettuce, mayo and some diced tomatoes in there...or so I thought. Turns out, Le Target Bistro is a damn liar, because that wrap didn't have a single diced tomato in it. What it did have appeared to be roasted red peppers. Now, I'm a fan of the red pepper, but it's a food I like to be forewarned I will be consuming.

What followed was the worst heart burn I have ever experienced in my life. I was mid-way through teaching a CPR class when it hit. I honestly thought I might be having a heart attack. A number of thoughts passed through my mind...did I really do a good job teaching these people CPR, I'm not sure I was thorough enough maybe I should reiterate some things; is this what a heart attack feels like?; DAMN YOU LE TARGET BISTRO!!!!; this is maybe not my best set of students, if i make it one more hour without being rendered unconscious I have a chance; stop being a hypochondriac sissy, you can manage a little heartburn; I have a stethoscope in my car, can you take your own blood pressure?....seriously, this inner monologue went on for an hour until I was able to get my hands on some antacids, after which my "heart attack" was cured miraculously.

Anyway, moral of this story is...Big Macs are good for you....well maybe not, but at least you know the ingredients, aside from that delightful secret sauce.

Definitely just buying a ticket home next year

Skype is a wonderful invention if you enjoy not drinking by yourself on a Friday night. That is all it is good for.

So, this year I once again skyped with my family on Christmas morning (which to them is 1:40pm). Momma now has learned that she need not put her mouth directly on the microphone to speak to me, but she still has not grasped the concept of using your normal or "inside" voice. This shouldn't surprise me as her normal voice is louder than most, but she borders on yelling with the skype on. Once again I got taken on a walking tour of my childhood home, which I still don't understand as I spent the first 25 years of my life there and my sister once again gave my dad a gift with her face on it. One year it was stamps, this year it was M and M's. What can I say, it was Christmas as 'normal'....which is never quite normal.

I hope you and yours had as wonderful and merry Christmas as I did.

Is this place pager friendly? Cause I'm not getting a sig on my beeper

I was grabbing a ddp at a gas station last night after work still in uniform and the guy behind me said "How do you wear a pager?". I said while demonstrating, "It's really easy, you just clip it on your belt like this." He said, "No, no. I mean who still wears a pager in this day and age? Drug dealers don't even have them anymore." I said, "Well, I just drove my DeLorean here from the past."

What can I say, if I had a choice Mr. Gas Station Man I wouldn't be rocking a pager....but I do find some comfort in knowing the 13 year old version of me would have thought the 30 year old me was all that and a bag of chips.

Bleck

My BMF and I were at dinner the other night and we were talking about families on television who were excited to spend the holidays together. I suggested they didn't exist in real life, complete with a reference to a conversation with Momma about her preparing to head off to the big family thanksgiving get-together and how I swear I heard a gun cock in the background. Now in reality that sound was more likely that of a beverage being cracked open, which brings me to the topic at hand. Tis the season....for cocktails.

Cookies and milk get left for Santa, White Russians for Momma. Getting liquored up goes hand in hand with the holidays, because if you can't get that warm fuzzy feeling from spending time with your loved ones, maybe a bit of nog with a splash or ten of rum can do it. Rum...I love rum. You know what I don't love...vodka. I hate vodka. When I drink it, I wake up and literally fell as if my skin is too small for my body. You know that scene in Men in Black where the alien is wearing the Edgar suit, yeah...its like that.

I feel like vodka is what they pour in people's eyes to make them talk. Yet, every shot that tastes good has vodka in it. Explain that to me? The only possible answer is, life isn't fair- A sentiment I heard from my parents on numerous childhood occasions. Vodka is unlike other alcohols. Take jager for example, it tastes like black liquorice. Did you ever notice what's left in the bottom of a jar of jelly beans? The black liquorice ones...cause they taste like shit. So, when you take a shot of jager your body knows it has ingested poison, because your taste buds tell your brain that you have just drank something that tastes like ass. Vodka is evil in that way, it tastes of nothing, thus takes on the characteristics of what it is mixed with. And shot ingredients taste like candy....thus vodka tastes like candy...and all the sudden I wake up feeling like I'm wearing a dry clean only A suit that had been inadvertently tossed into a dryer filled with rocks.

Happy Holidays, be sure to mind your P's and Q's

Gobble Gobble

It's the time of the year that I give thanks for all the wonderful things in my life, so in no particular order here are a few.

First off, I am so very thankful for my family. They are truly one of a kind. My baby sis, who you know as the Gray Lining, never fails to astound me with random phone calls revealing her next huge money making idea. I'm come to respond with nothing more than "I don't really see any way that could fail" no matter the complexity, insanity, or improbability of success that surrounds it. If any one of these ideas comes to fruition, I'll be right behind her. Though sometimes standing behind her means I might have to move to Indiana and become a Head Cheese Developer. Upside: how awesome would that business card be. Downside: It's Indiana, but that story is for another day.

Turkey, oh how I love thee. Plus it wouldn't be a true I'm thankful list unless I mentioned food. For the first time this year I believe that I will wake up Thanksgiving morning and my turkey will actually be fully thawed. Not one Thanksgiving has passed that I have not spent the better part of Thanksgiving morning trying to pry the neck from its icy grave. In the past I have almost resorted to tossing the turkey in the dryer on a nice little permanent press cycle to defrost it, yet have resisted. However, this year, no more insane "I wish I possessed a much larger microwave thoughts", because I'm feeling completely prepared.

I am thankful for friends that have become my family. I'm blessed in this way, being so far from my family family. Throughout this past year I have needed to lean very hard, and they have truly been there to keep me from tumbling over.

I am also thankful for raspberries when nothing else seems sweet, and kitties who fill my house with both fur and love. I'm truly blessed. Happy Turkey Day :)

Until then, anyone want a guest spot?

I am full of ennui, hence the lack of posts. I can promise you this, I'll try my best to get excrement faced or something this weekend so I'll have something stupid to write about in the coming days.

Boo! It's scary how awesome Halloween is.

I don't know why it surprises people when I say Halloween is my favorite holiday...cause it's bad ace. It only makes me believe they really haven't thought through how just incredibly bad ace Halloween is. So per usual, I'm here to help ya out.

My reasons for loving it so are 8 fold...

1. Candy. It's free, as in people just give it to you.
2. No familial obligations. No dinners, or religious ceremonies for that matter, for your parents to insist on you attending.
3. Dressing like an idiot. It's a giant theme party. Love.
4. Prize money. No other holiday affords the opportunity to win cash prizes. Except for Easter when my Gee-Ga used to put some change in the hidden plastic eggs.
5. Getting ham-a-lam-a-ding-donged with your friends. Encouraged. That's not coffee in the picture below....it's my 3rd shot of the night.


6. Eye-Candy. Granted there is also some eye-broccoli out there, but people typically utilize this holiday to wear as little clothing as possible.
7. Pumpkin everything. Carving, Lattes, Icecreams, pies, cookies, muffins, candies, cakes. He loves pumpkin so much he's making out with this one.


8. Animals in costumes. Redic cute.

Peanut Butter Jelly Time

Confession. I've never eaten Nutella.

Chocolate-Hazelnut, seems like a dream team of peanut butter-jelly proportions but something about the name puts a hitch in my gitty-up. I can't move past it, which is a shame cause it sounds like candy you spread on bread.

Speaking of ill-named spreads I've never eaten, lets talk vegemite. Does anyone actually eat that shit? I'm 90% sure the only way vegemite stays on the market is by an endless domino effect of people saying "This is so disgusting, you have to try it. No, seriously spread some of this semi-edible dark brown shit paste on this piece of bread and I bet you can't help but puke."

Consequently, the domino effect word of mouth marketing campaign is so ingenious I will probably try vegemite long before I ever crack open a jar of nutella.

Brilliant

Once during college a number of students began protesting (insert random cause here), which entailed them taking their round the clock stand by camping out in front of the student union. It wasn't long before the protesters started looking more like the homeless than students. Not because the students went unbathed for their cause but because the homeless recognized an opportunity and capitalized on it. Twas brilliant. Turns out, it is not cool to sleep outdoors say on a sidewalk or bench if you're simply homeless. You may catch a couple hours of shut-eye but it won't be long before you're nudged by one of the boys in blue and told to keep moving, but if you're protesting something, you can set up tents and bbq grills, and stay for months.

Pretty sure that's what's going on with Occupy Wall Street.

I like to live my life in general by this rule

The Bucket List

I don't have a bucket list, mainly because I despise being on a bandwagon. Like bands, hate wagons. Not really, I neutral on the wagon front.

Regardless, a number of my friends do subscribe to lists of the bucket variety to guide them in different endeavors and adventures in life. This blog is about 1 friend and #47 (totally made up that number for effect) on her list. More than that, this blog is about living your dreams, this blog my friends is about tamales.

Grossed out? Yeah, you'll have that.

According to the TenKeyNinja she knocked off numero 47 wed night when her softball team went undefeated. In celebration her team sponsor bought them a bag of chicken tamales from the blue cooler tamale guy.

Perhaps I should give you a little background. Apparently in the windy city of Chicago there are a number of entrepreneurs, who frequent bars around the hours that people will be drunk enough to eat just about anything, selling tamales out of coolers. They are pretty well-known and typically referred to by the color of their cooler e.g. blue cooler tamale guy, or red cooler tamale guy. The joke has been tossed around that the tamales are prepared by these gentlemen's wives...in mass quantities...in their bathtubs. Little too close to the truth me thinks, funny nonetheless. Alrighty, back to scratching 4-7 of the list.

Apparently the TenKeyNinja ate two tamales, found them delicious for something made in a bathtub and as of 1:35pm Eastern Standard time on Thursday has not gotten violently ill. Winning! Seems like the Ten Key Ninja is sold, "Conclusion: Blue cooler tamale guy is legit. As for red cooler tamale guy, we will have to see. But, last night I learned blue and red cooler tamale guy are cousins, so it's quite possible their supply comes from the same bathtub."

Congrats on #47 TenKeyNinja, oh also on #16 (additionally fabricated). Apparently she gets to mark two things off the old Bucket List this week as on Sunday she "Ran in a Marathon". Don't get it twisted, note the word in...it is key.

DIY Chalkboard Globe

Apparently October is the official birthday month of my friend/family circle. Though I'm not typically one to exaggerate, I may be a little guilty here. Alas 5 birthdays and 1 anniversary, certainly seems like a lot to take on in one single month. Don't worry, I'll power through. The first of the 5 has come and gone and because mom always said homemade gifts were best I started this project early hoping to have it done early...ah the best laid plans. Turns out starting this project two weeks out was a great idea, but lets start from the jump.

I saw the idea for a chalkboard globe on Pinterest, shocking I know, and figured I could easily tackle this project and come out with a quality item for well under the several hundred dollar price tag I found online. Turns out I was wrong. Lets break down the budget....
Chalkboard paint: $2.19 (already owned from previous project) = $0
White paint: @ $2.00 (already owned from previous project) = $0
Globe: $5.00 (purchased by momma at a thrift store, thus free to me) =$0
Oil Rubbed Bronze spray paint: $7.88 (already owned from previous project) = $0
Time: $400.00 (estimated 10 hours at $40 per hour, my time is very valuable) = $400.00
Total cost of the project = $400.00

Lets get to the how to's....
First I painted a line around all the continents as well as any islands that I deemed big enough to count (turns out I did not think Hawaii was big enough to count and thus does not exist in chalkboard globe world...oops!). I didn't worry too much about perfection here, I just wanted to have a line to generally go by after I covered the globe in chalkboard paint.

Next I put down three coats of chalkboard paint, I tended to paint closely, and at times over the white line. The really fantastic camera phone photo below is after the 2nd coat.

Next I retraced the continents with white paint. Obviously the most tedious part of the project. About halfway through this portion I developed claw like qualities to my hand. It was in a word, unpleasant.

Final step was to paint the base and the axis. For this I went with Rustoleum Oil Rubbed Bronze Spray Paint, mainly because I love it and while the standard goldish axis color does give it an older/antiquey feel I thought the ORB gave it a monochromatic and cleaner look....and ultimately looked more like something which would be valued at $400 (winky face emoticon).

Guess there is nothing left to say but....tada!

What does my car say about me?

I was out at a friends house Saturday night for a small get-together. Out of the nine people there I knew one, and from what I could gather most of the people in attendance were in just about the same situation, having been invited by a friend who knew the hostess. Basically, we could have utilized some name tags. About a half hour after the last of the guests arrived, they posed a question. "Who drives the Element?" I volunteer myself up, and the asking couple proceeded to congratulate each other, providing figurative pats on the back coupled with a few "we were right's" and "we called its".

Honestly, I didn't really know what to make of this. I sat there for a few seconds wondering if I should be insulted or happy for being recognized as a consumer who takes safety ratings into consideration when purchasing a car, all the while second guessing my outfit choice. I was perplexed, so I asked "What kind of person drives an Element that you picked me out of the crowd?" Without waiting for an answer I rattled off several possibilities, a habit I have long had, and definitely need to work on. "Do I look like a person who likes to be able to put their bike in their car? Is it because I look outdoorsy? Its my flip flops isn't it?" I was just short of asking if it had anything to do with the fact that I often forgo store bought antiperspirant for the natural antiperspirant found in lime juice. Lucky I quickly remembered I had just met these people and they had no idea I was a bit granola.

I never got an answer, which I'm confident directly correlated to my inability to shut my mouth and just listen for an answer to my original question, and the remaining seven people laughing at what I thought might make me look like an Element driver. It kind of made me wonder if I would have ever been picked out as Gene's owner (the 2003 pink Geo Prism)....God I hope not. Don't get me wrong, I loved that car but what would the owner of Gene look like- I would ascertain they would look, first and foremost, poor. I bet you're wondering what your car says about you.

Just a final thought, but maybe it was the outfit. I was wearing a pair of chinos with hemp flip flops and a shirt with the state of Indiana outlined on it which read "home grown". On the way out I checked out the other cars, one of which was a brand new mustang with racing stripes and I thought to myself, I'm not sure why but I'm happy they thought I was Bruce's owner.