Early mornings, tolls late

Internets would you care to learn the full extent of Emma's nincompooposity, a month or maybe so, in a fit of egotism I signed up for the site-meter, and have been diligently paying for it since... though to my deep chagrin I'd get the weekly update and see that no one, but one had been visiting me in the internet's hinterlands, so much for that seven dollar grope for a newly minted dirty almost virgin (see below). Turns out I'm slightly retarded much like my car, the Elantra, Electra's slightly retarded younger sister, and though I had signed up and had been paying for the service, and how the innuendo abounds, turns out I had neglected to install it... anytime anyone wants me to contemplate assembling a set of key stroke into rudimentary code I tend to jump up and down and grunt like an imbecile ape and throw rocks at the thing that has a suffix like an "outh" and if you don't know what I am talking about, I am referring to 2001, A SpaceOdessyey, and the word I am thinking of is like behemoth (except it's not, Elantra, the word you're is Monolith...)

well, angry apes and non-synonymns aside

today as I squeezed my darling and somewhat reticent Elantra between the Hummer and sparkling Infiniti at the gym, she bucked a little, but no noticable damage done, just the slightest trace of a key across the hood, I was thinking about the ozone and hairspray, specifically. I am not sure that I have seen a can of aerosol hairspray since the late nineteen eighties, when our big bangs, not mine natch, started to buckle under the weight of all of all the spritz, which now that I think about it, must surely account for the demise of gigantic hair, it was a liberal conspiracy! Which led to remembering the commercials for the Dry Look hair spray, which led to feathered hair and nearly tumbling off of the treadmill, which led to an informal survey of Old Spice, who wears it still, which led to potentially embarassing situations with older gentlemen, which felt as though it might result in my expulsion, but did not, which led me to leave after having worked my abs into screaming submission, which led me and Elantra to weave across the bridge and to simultaneously spot the Farallons and to owe each other a coke even though she prefers unleaded and I prefer vodka, which led to the new ritual of paying 5 dollars to the bridge gods, which led to the hunt for extreme parking, wherein Elantra and I slayed us a good spot, which led to checking the mail, the email, the voice mail, which led to the spark of the hunter/gatherer instinct and we (that is I, Elantra being berthed for the evening) visited our local purveyor of grub, wherein the lovely Jen filled a mug, rather a wine glass, and we stuffed out gullet full of chicken, half of which we offered to the nearest hungry person, which led us to the familiarity of home, which led us to typing, which will shortly lead us to the bathtub, and afterwards the soft oblivion of familiar sheets.

how's that for an ungainly paragraph.