A Middle Eastern guy ended up standing in the aisle right in front of me, and he was a hairy little f*cker. Which is not at all a bad thing.
Two talkative friends boarded at one stop and they took seats with a person between them, but talked non-stop the rest of the way in spite of the chasm between them. I'm pretty sure that right before I got up to exit the bus that the last sentence the one said to the other was, "That's so gay." That's so unacceptable.
That huge pile of mail from people trying to make money off my accident has sat on my kitchen table for several days now. Until tonight, I'd only opened one of them, and that was because it had a free pen in it, and I love me some free pens.
I opened one more today, one that said, "Public Accident Report & DVD Enclosed" on it, and their copy of the accident report was actually kind of interesting. Also enclosed was a nicely done piece of technical communication entitled, "How to Understand the Police Report from Your Accident."
On our report, boxes 14-16 all have the code "0" in them, because that's about my driving and I'm the good guy. Boxes 17 & 18 do have codes in them though, as that's about her driving and she's the villain. Box17 contains an "8" and box18 contains a "30."
Oh, and two other interesting things about their copy of the accident report:
- It contains what I believe are the results of her breathalyzer test, which Joe and I both thought she'd refused to take, but I guess she did (if that's indeed what the number is): 0.19, which is almost 2.5 times what you can get a DWI for in North Carolina (0.08).
- An estimate of the damage to each of our vehicles: mine is $2000 and hers is $5000.
My second cousin, Tara, posted this on my Facebook wall tonight, and it made me laugh:
Her father is my first cousin, Rene, who is the son of my mother's brother—the one whose 50th anniversary I attended over Memorial Day last year and who passed away in July.
Here's Tara's dad and me, side-by-side:
I killed two birds with one stone (such a violent metaphor) combining both my reading and exercising goals at the gym tonight.
In a rare move—because I have to ride it too long to burn off an equivalent number of calories as on the elliptical machine, I rode a stationary bike for one hour while reading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks.