the car on your street, parked TOTALLY crooked. you picture a drunk blond girl, staggering home from a night with ritzy martinis in her hand that accessorize her ass-tight jeans and pointy shoes who really too tired to try anymore and just gave up with the parallel parking endeavor half way through and just left the friggin' car that way. but maybe you've just got the story wrong and there's a compelling to walk away from a car in mid-parallel-park to stick out into the street for 3 days.
paralyzed boys who send unsolicited endearing emails and then fail to deliver... then you get to unload your woes about said paralyzed boys to the episodically insightful boyfriend of a friend who reads you the riot act about how pretty and smart you are and how men should be falling at you feet. WELL, THEY'RE NOT. you're quietly admitting to yourself (and probably your inner circle of 9 closest girlfriends) that, liberated or not, you're about ready for that engagement ring already and he's still standing there under the burrito sign, unable to decide he actually likes burritos.
it's also annoying that for the apparent 6 times a day that the simpsons are on, they never seem to on at the moment that you need to be rescued from your girliness by a good half hour of crass (but let's face it- side-splitting) humor.
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