Monday, July 13, 2009
Magic Vag in The Midwest
So, lately, my ego has been put through the ringer lately. Apparently it’s been a good week for people to inform me, rather matter of factly, that I am sort of an asshole. I’m a bad person, a bad girlfriend, a bad friend, etc…
And I feel like I have been just conceding to this. Like, just rolling over and being like, yeah… I suck. Thanks so much for allowing me to share the planet with you extra awesome people.
Fucking enough of that. I fucking rock. No one else is allowed to tell me how much I suck for 1 week. At least 1 week.
So, this weekend, my best girl and I met up in the cosmopolitan wonderland that is Indianapolis. We do this once a year, because she lives in Australia but her family lives in Dayton, and Indianapolis is half way between Chicago and Dayton. So we go to Indianapolis and drink all of its booze. Last night was no exception.
We’ll call her Magic Vag. Because that’s what she’s got. And everyone should be lucky enough to have a Magic Vag in their life.
She is absolutely, hands down, my biggest cheerleader, my best advocate, and she’s balls-to-the-wall hot. And a freakin genius. 24 hours with her, and I’m thoroughly convinced I am as good of a woman as she believes me to be. So if you don’t agree with Magic Vag, maybe it’s time to go read another blog. Or better, just go fuck a cat. While reading another blog. And if you know me in real life, and don’t share the opinion of Magic Vag, maybe it’s time to lose my phone number. And, of course, go fuck a cat.
On my way back from Indianapolis, I hit a little bit of traffic. Nothing major, it allowed me to slow down enough to send this Twitter message from my Blackberry. (Yes, I’m on Twitter. I don’t really understand it. You can follow me if you want, but unless someone explains to me how it makes sense, I can’t guarantee it’s going to be worthwhile.)
“Driving back from Indiana. Interstate 65 can bite me. In fact, Indiana can bite me.”
Literally 7 minutes later, if that, the tire on my car blows out. On a Sunday. In Indiana. I pull over to the side of the interstate, and get out of the car. Tire is shredded. Then it hits me: I have absolutely no idea how to handle this situation. At once I curse Indiana, and Twitter. Clearly, Indiana follows me on Twitter, and took offense. I don’t have a spare tire. You can read why here in one of my older posts. And I don’t have AAA. And I’m in a fairly skimpy sundress. Fuck. So, I grab my purse and start walking. A hundred bucks and an hour and a half later, I’m back on the road with a brand new tire. Why? Because I fucking rock.
Thanks for the reminder, Magic Vag.