See this? This is the rental car that I’m driving around until my beloved Toyota Corolla gets back from the shop. It’s perfectly appropriate since this past two weeks has been a entire comedy of errors, really. I dropped off my car last weekend, thinking it wouldn’t take more than a week to fix and that I would simply take the train to work. No biggie.
Then, I remembered that Keegan and I would be housesitting in Pasadena, so no more train. And then I felt sick, so I decided that working from home for the rest of the week last week would be the best solution.
And here’s where it gets complicated…
Keegan and I forgot how long the homeowners would be out of town, since we have been housesitting so often, it’s all turned into one big blur. We think they’re coming home tonight because their next door neighbors mentioned that they were when we walked by their garage sale. Lucky that.
So then last night, as Keegan and I were drifting off to sleep in the guest bedroom…CRACK! The bed suddenly BROKE! Um, WTF? We were so sleepy that we just slunk over into the master bedroom and said, “Fuck it. We’re sleeping in their bed.”
The best part is that I stepped on their scale a few days prior (I make it a rule never to weigh myself because otherwise, NEUROTICA!) after being goaded into it by Keegan and I became convinced that it was lying because it was a good 10 lbs. heavier than I’ve ever been in my life—and all my clothes fit just fine at the moment. This is doing wonders for my body image, BTW.
Unfortunately for their dog, Scout, it was all very confusing that we were in the big bed, since he kept wandering in there thinking it was his masters and got all mopey and disappointed when it turned out to be me and Keegan. I finally had to close the door because of the whining. Also because he’s so big he sounds like a man in a dog suit dragging his long nails on the floor.
Luckily, I decided to go out for lunch and had some sushi with Robbie, which was a rare treat since I bring my lunch pretty much every day.
To sum up, if you see me whipping around Los Angeles in my Douchemobile and I happen to cut you off, don’t be upset. It’s not me—it’s the car.
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