I don’t normally get personal on here. I feel that personal posts -as much as I could be honest, true to myself, as non-topical as I like and make dick jokes in yet another format, aren’t really at home on DETF. As much as this is a “too personal for a professional blog”/”too-whoring-of-my-wares for Livejournal” melting pot of stuff, I dunno. I need something to say on here, not just blog about how my day went. Which is why I drag ass when making posts. I mean, fuck. Check my drafts folder:
But this morning? Let’s get personal. Fuck it. Y’all ready?
Wait, I can’t hear you, this is a blog… uh, I’ll just pretend you’re ready, kay?
About a week ago, I was in a car accident and got rear-ended. Stupidity was involved, I wasn’t at fault, just a shitty situation and a case of being in the wrong place in the right time. The guy behind us (of course, in a vehicle that could shred my poor Mazda 323 into tinfoil by just beeping the horn) didn’t break fast enough, claimed he “didn’t see us”, and smashed the back of our car. The boot no longer closes, shit, I don’t even have the car anymore. Waiting on the insurance payout… Whenever that happens (bureaucracy, am I right?).
To add some cherries and chocolate sprinkles to this particular shit sundae, this happened merely MONTHS after I just got a new car thanks to my previous one being written off under similar circumstances (going through a roundabout and someone ELSE’S car got rear-ended straight into the front of ours)
And the little crumbly-ass wafer? My partner, Kim, was injured in the process and now needs physio ’cause of whiplash.
While she’s a big grown up and can take care of herself, I have this idea that it’s my job to protect my beloved from the various ails of the world. I mean, I’m the big manly boyfriend, right? That’s my damn job.
(yes, fat no-talent asshole me referred to myself as “manly”. Yes, I’m aware in non-internet-land, Nikki Webster is more manly than me. Stop fucking laughing)
Point is, take your pot-shots at me if you must, assholes of the world, but NOBODY injures my girlfriend in a car accident… Or something like that.
So I’m at the shit cafe, and the shit waitress (made of shit, her service was impeccable) just served me this shit sundae. I’m angry. Livid. Perhaps even feeling a little shit outta luck in that self-serving “why does this shit happen to ME” sorta way, and heck, upset. Given the loss of the previous car and now this one, right before shooting a movie (again, of course) it almost seems like the payout is totally not worth it. I understand accidents happen, don’t get me wrong. This WAS an accident and I’ve been on the giving end of plenty of ’em myself, but like many, could have been avoided.
I could have been faster on the uptake and sped like a fuckin’ demon to safety, missing my intended turnoff entirely and thus delaying my journey by a whopping five minutes.
The guy could have, you know, been paying attention and not run into us.
I could have whacked more insurance on the car so at least it’d cover some repairs.
The guy, well, could have not hit us. I dunno what else he could have done, really.
I guess the moral of this sob story is “don’t fuck with me, I’ll rant about you in my blog and parade your effigy around the internet for all to see”, and maybe a little bit of Smokey the Bear-inspired “Only YOU can prevent car accidents”, but fuckit. I just wanted once last rant before I put this fucker to bed entirely. Looking back, both Kim and I are relieved that it wasn’t much, much, worse. Had buddy-guy didn’t break, fucker woulda wiped us out completely, push us into oncoming traffic, who knows? I could have been typing this using a straw poking out of a dismembered limb.
Come to think of it, that sounds kinda badass. But then I think that “A Serbian Film” is worth watching at least once, purely for the technical aspects. So perhaps I’m not the best one to ask here.
Till next time.