My chi is so fucking negative right now. Not attracting positive chi. Not at all.

With apologies to the children in the audience...

So, yeah. I carpool to work this week (I'm not working at Berkeley this week, but instead at Sucktastic University, San Rafael, CA) with my Coworker, and by carpool, I mean that I drive, and he admires my Cadillac, my fearless frequent lane changes, and my taste in eighties rap. Coworker and I agree on many deep issues, we discover...we both think that parents should spend more time with their kids, that Weird Al isn't the hot shit we thought he was back in eighth grade, and that Dire Straits is pretty good. Coworker and I get along well. We are upstanding young twentysomethings, work diligently, do not take our clothes off in public much, and are generally the sort of people you want teaching your children computer stuff 9 hours a day. The other counselors at Sucktastic University...aren't. Their idea of a work day is:

Roll in half an hour late.
Do not talk to parents, do not talk to kids.
Let kids do whatever on the computer.
Nap.
Talk to their friends on the cell phone.
Complain.
Vanish mysteriously and let other people watch your class for you.

This does not endear them to Coworker and me, who try our bestest and give our little all. Whatever. Anyway. So, Coworker and I are very happy that the week is over. To celebrate, we put a stupid rap cd on. We are stuck in bumper to bumper traffic. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. For a long time. The stupid rap cd starts to malfunction. We both take our eyes off the road for 1/2 of a millisecond to analyze the problem, and I somehow manage...to roll into the car in front of us at three miles an hour.

My car is fine. That's because my car is a Cadillac El Dorado, a fucking giant grey box of STEEL, which STRIKES FEAR INTO THE HEART OF UNBELIEVERS, and has fucking BUMPERS which allow you to BUMP INTO THINGS WITHOUT HURTING THE CAR. In a rational universe, all cars would be designed that way.

The other car, however, is a souped up green Honda Civic, driven by the owner's Asian girlfriend. She is very nice. There are no scratches, and the tiniest of dents (almost completely invisible...you have to feel the damn bumper to perceive the dip). We exchange phone numbers/insurance info. She will have a quote done before we call our respective insurance companies. Life goes on.

My chi, though...will never be the same.