Goodness, what a day it's been with Balloon Boy capturing our attention and all. Now it turns out he was hiding in the attic the whole time the Jiffy Pop flying thingamajig his father made was floating over Colorado.
I was sitting in the dentist's chair when the story broke and I watched, transfixed, as the nice lady poked around my mouth. Good times.
Anyway, that's not why I'm here... a week after my last post. I really am terrible, but in my defense I was stuck in Sidekick hell. More about that in my upcoming column... err.. two weeks from now. Now I'm in Blackberry purgatory. It's an okay place to be but quite a change after six years of loyalty to a device that, as it turns out, had its head in the clouds.
I drove home today with the windows down, the seat heater on (it is 50 degrees out after all) and "That's Not My Name" blasting on the stereo.
Of course here's another song I just heard recently (way too late to the game as usual). Even Tom's heard it and everything. He said they played a show with The Ting Tings in Australia.
I think I've documented my penchant for flying up 71 while pretending I'm in a music video or something. There's something very un-self conscious about rocking out in your cocoon. I'm addicted to the V8 (engine, not the drink), I admit. It's appalling behavior for a Springhurst Housewife to put the pedal to the metal, I'm sure, but it's superfun blowing them all away as some fun part of me that no one ever sees takes center stage for the 20 minute drive home.
I've been asking for a faster car. I envy your V8...nice.
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