So it might be time to think about appropriating an SUV. >.>
Today, without prior notice, my impertinent little car chose to make the life decision to become a pole dancer.
By this, of course, I mean that it drove itself into not one, but two poles. At once. Miserable blowing snow and icy roads may have contributed to the delinquency of this misguided eleven year old.
Clever how I leave my own fault entirely out of the equation. :)) I WASN'T EVEN GOING FAST, I SWEAR. IT WASN'T POSSIBLE TO GO FAST EVEN IF I WANTED TO, BECAUSE TRACTION AND CONTROL HAD NO ROLE IN MY MORNING! Okay, truth:
I'm not certain whether it is more pathetic that I nearly slid right through a busy intersection and crash landed on some unsuspecting citizen's front lawn (separate-ish incidents, by the way!) after I had already decided to bail on attempting to go to work (and was still, technically, in my own neighborhood). Well, the intersection electric slide was really the defining moment for the small corner of my brain not panicking. That section of synapses was also simultaneously composing a mental LJ update, as it often does instead of doing anything one could define as useful.
In any case, after failing at both braking adequately and turning without going sideways, I drove directly into a stop sign pole and pwnd it hard. Assessing the damage afterward, I noted that the stop sign left a mere triangular dent in my front bumper; practically no damage! The light pole a foot or so away from the stop sign then, in turn, made my car its bitch, forced it down on its dirty knees right there in the snow and slapped it in the face with its manly wand and---scraped all along the driver's side front bumper, though it thankfully didn't get far enough to chop my side mirror off. Small favors. :| The front driver's side section between the door and where it curves to become the front of the car (yes, I seriously do not know car-speak, stfu) is slightly crumpled in, and a few points of contact have large sections of paint that chipped right off to accompany the massive black paint scrapes from the light pole. My car is white. You can imagine the obviousness of the color contrast. No pictures until the snow melts, rubberneckers!
After this, while still composing just how this would go down in the LJ entry I am now typing, I tried to put the car in reverse and make a clean getaway, though that was impossible as the turned front wheel and the car itself had the lamp post wedged in there. After no less than a dozen self-absorbed trophy wife soccer moms and pussy-whipped assholes in SUVs drove right by without bothering to help, one guy finally stopped and guided me and pushed my car backward to get me unstuck. I feel so guilty that I didn't say thank you or get his name or anything, but my brain just . . . was not in that zone at the time. I doubt I could pick him out of a lineup. 8-X
The really fantastic part is that I received a lecture about why I should have taken the Light Rail train when I called my cunt of a boss to tell her why I wouldn't be in. You know, the train might have been in my plan of attack, had nature not attacked me first. I didn't even have words, so I cut her off and hung up, and I will likely never, ever hear the end of this as long as we both shall live. :-w
I should be grateful that my car is still drivable and that the damage could have been a lot worse if the shameless hussy pole dancing car had elected to tangle head on with the light pole instead of a weak, bendy stop sign---the air bags go off, and you're both unconscious with whiplash and fucked financially---but that part of the brain is now too busy composing my defense speech to my asshat father to concentrate on much else. Which ought to be easy, since I am the only witness and can lie up one side and down the other with reasonable success. And scowling. This is yet another person who will remind me of this event until the day I die, which really should have been today. The dead can't be yelled at. >.> When worrying about being yelled at overrules omg-I-am-going-to-die during the moments leading up to an accident, there is something wrong with this picture.
NAP TIME. >:o
By this, of course, I mean that it drove itself into not one, but two poles. At once. Miserable blowing snow and icy roads may have contributed to the delinquency of this misguided eleven year old.
Clever how I leave my own fault entirely out of the equation. :)) I WASN'T EVEN GOING FAST, I SWEAR. IT WASN'T POSSIBLE TO GO FAST EVEN IF I WANTED TO, BECAUSE TRACTION AND CONTROL HAD NO ROLE IN MY MORNING! Okay, truth:
I'm not certain whether it is more pathetic that I nearly slid right through a busy intersection and crash landed on some unsuspecting citizen's front lawn (separate-ish incidents, by the way!) after I had already decided to bail on attempting to go to work (and was still, technically, in my own neighborhood). Well, the intersection electric slide was really the defining moment for the small corner of my brain not panicking. That section of synapses was also simultaneously composing a mental LJ update, as it often does instead of doing anything one could define as useful.
In any case, after failing at both braking adequately and turning without going sideways, I drove directly into a stop sign pole and pwnd it hard. Assessing the damage afterward, I noted that the stop sign left a mere triangular dent in my front bumper; practically no damage! The light pole a foot or so away from the stop sign then, in turn, made my car its bitch, forced it down on its dirty knees right there in the snow and slapped it in the face with its manly wand and---scraped all along the driver's side front bumper, though it thankfully didn't get far enough to chop my side mirror off. Small favors. :| The front driver's side section between the door and where it curves to become the front of the car (yes, I seriously do not know car-speak, stfu) is slightly crumpled in, and a few points of contact have large sections of paint that chipped right off to accompany the massive black paint scrapes from the light pole. My car is white. You can imagine the obviousness of the color contrast. No pictures until the snow melts, rubberneckers!
After this, while still composing just how this would go down in the LJ entry I am now typing, I tried to put the car in reverse and make a clean getaway, though that was impossible as the turned front wheel and the car itself had the lamp post wedged in there. After no less than a dozen self-absorbed trophy wife soccer moms and pussy-whipped assholes in SUVs drove right by without bothering to help, one guy finally stopped and guided me and pushed my car backward to get me unstuck. I feel so guilty that I didn't say thank you or get his name or anything, but my brain just . . . was not in that zone at the time. I doubt I could pick him out of a lineup. 8-X
The really fantastic part is that I received a lecture about why I should have taken the Light Rail train when I called my cunt of a boss to tell her why I wouldn't be in. You know, the train might have been in my plan of attack, had nature not attacked me first. I didn't even have words, so I cut her off and hung up, and I will likely never, ever hear the end of this as long as we both shall live. :-w
I should be grateful that my car is still drivable and that the damage could have been a lot worse if the shameless hussy pole dancing car had elected to tangle head on with the light pole instead of a weak, bendy stop sign---the air bags go off, and you're both unconscious with whiplash and fucked financially---but that part of the brain is now too busy composing my defense speech to my asshat father to concentrate on much else. Which ought to be easy, since I am the only witness and can lie up one side and down the other with reasonable success. And scowling. This is yet another person who will remind me of this event until the day I die, which really should have been today. The dead can't be yelled at. >.> When worrying about being yelled at overrules omg-I-am-going-to-die during the moments leading up to an accident, there is something wrong with this picture.
NAP TIME. >:o