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Tim Gunn is NOT my insurance agent…I’m glad we cleared that up.

September 15, 2010

Well…I’m all verklempt. Today I was in a car accident. Other than being completely pissed, I’m fine and my totally paid for car will be fine also…after beacoups repairs.

Our neighbor that slammed into me may NOT be fine as I soon dress in all black (not hard) and fling some canned biscuits at the brick of his home. (It would seem that canned biscuits + brick = one helluva mess. I’ve yet to have the chance to test this theory, sadly.)

But seriously. I have complained LOTS about the way that people speed down our street and nada. Close to our house I was pulling out of a parking lot to turn left as a white blazer (I only know the car because J told me) came speeding out of nowhere. I had looked left, right, left and then right as I turned and there was no car ANYWHERE. All of a sudden this car was in front of me-I stopped but he kept going and ripped off the front of my car.

My seatbelt didn’t tighten, airbags didn’t deploy and the front of my car is destroyed. He has a scratch and a black rubber thing that probably falls off all the time came off. He said he thought I saw him. Well, dumbass if I saw you I would have stopped and if you saw me-why didn’t you?

Oh right, you were too busy chain-smoking to the point that your stench was unbearable and your white “dress” shirt was tinged yellow. Charming.

He also said he wasn’t going any faster than 15 which I fail to believe as I didn’t see him, bratchild didn’t see him and DID I MENTION HE RIPPED OFF THE WHOLE FRONT OF MY CAR AND PULLED A BIG ASS LIGHT THE ENTIRE WAY OUT?

So the police come and Lester the smokey molester continues to smoke and whine and I am charming. I have an excellent driving record. I’ve had one accident and it wasn’t my fault and the last ticket I got was for driving on the sidewalk in college-long story.

BUT apparently when you are making a left-hand turn and hit someone, or they hit you-techincally, it is ruled your fault, failure to yield or something…ummm, yeah I didn’t yield I stopped at the stop sign and then stopped again when he came flying down the street. Whatever.

And then he had the nerve to say I’m sorry this had to happen to which I replied something about yes, I’m sorry you were barreling down the street and now MY car is all farked up.

Luckily, J happened to be pulling in the street right after this happened (I was less than a half mile from home) as I was so upset I couldn’t work my phone to call him. Also luckily, J is big and angry-looking and has been mistaken for my security before so the little whiny smoky man was terrified. (Smoking really bothers me and I find it terribly rude that he was blowing smoke in mine and the cop’s face.) I let J deal with it. He talked to him and took down info and kept me from pacing and yelling at someone.

As we drove home I was LIVID to see the 1987 pos blazer pulling into a house down the street from me. The SAME house that a few months ago was the site of a stand-off with the police because the dude had pulled a gun and was supposed to be killing himself-I really don’t understand but it was a pain in the ass and another officer I know told me the whole family is whacko to the max.

Of course, then I was EVEN MORE severely pissed and told J that I couldn’t believe the cop ruled against me when I have a great driving record, was clean and not smoking extensively and smelly AND had apparently recently had a run-in with the law-like a 12 car on  my street run-in.

Bratchild helpfully pointed out that I had been pulled over in a school zone awhile back without my license and with expired tags but I think since I didn’t get a ticket-it doesn’t count. (Cops usually love me so I’m still confused.)

And then I figured I should tell my parents since my dad would see my rant when he looked at mom’s Facebook page and I figured he would yell at me…which he didn’t.

But then bratchild tried to explain how she didn’t see the car either and the person that hit me was the guy who recently committed suicide. Which confused everyone until I explained that he obviously had NOT committed suicide as he had just ripped my car to pieces.

And YES, had he done himself in he would have been a GHOST so OF COURSE neither of us would have seen him…damn ghosts and their invisibility. I also feel a ghost wouldn’t have done so much damage, especially a whiny little creepy no neck monster pansy smokey ghost..with a trach tube. Therefore, I’m going with the belief that a ghost DID NOT hit my car.

So J called the insurance agent and we trooped to the body shop and I informed them that our agent was Tim Gunn. Everyone looked at me, especially J who I think was wishing I would stop ranting, I mean, talking. It was then I learned that our insurance agent is NOT Tim Gunn but I did point out that he was on Project Runway which I had been watching today. (How awesome would it be if Tim Gunn WAS my insurance agent. I would LOVE to see him telling those body shop jokers to hurry up and make it work and then critique their attire and then bring me some couture to rouse me out of my despondence.)

I was so shaken that when we got home I baked something. J was pretty concerned and told me to rest and then he wouldn’t let me cut the roast I had made (I almost never cook) which actually worked out okay as I am banned from using like 90% of our knives. My grandmother, of the “accidental” rat poison in cookie fame, once told me if she ever wanted to kill herself she was NOT coming to my house as I didn’t own any knives sharp enough to do the job.

To add insult to injury, another campaigner for the asshat that walked in my house, happened to stop by. When the doorbell rang, I may have hollered something about if that was our “neighbor” stopping by to discuss the car I was going to shoot him.

So I think the little frat daddy campaigner was already terrified when I yanked open the door and told him to “Go away. The last idiot that came by here campaigning for Wanker the Politician walked in my house and there’s no way we’re voting for him.”

Cliff was all riled up because I was upset and he doesn’t like strangers so I should have flung some roast sauce on the frat daddy and let Cliff eat him. Perhaps that would have perked me up?

Then J and I had this conversation:

Me: “Honey. We need to mark the house or something like hobos used to do, except we need to figure out which symbol means these crazy people may kill and/or traumatize you. You know, the opposite of the cats they put for nice people.”

J: “No, for nice women. You know cats? Pussies? Do you even know about hobo signs?”

Me: “Yes, I learned all about it in Fried Green Tomatoes, I think. Or it may have been an episode of Heroes. Or possibly Mad Men.”

Does anyone know the hobo symbol for get the fuck away from my door before I start shooting/unleash the hounds/call the police? Assistance would be MOST appreciated.

Please like me on facebook. I will love you more than 20 tons of glitter and it may prolong the amount of time before I go a spree of violence that involves Pillsbury.

© Amy Lloyd Mayfield and Amy’s Blam, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Amy Lloyd Mayfield and Amy’s Blam with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

6 Comments leave one →
  1. Ginny permalink
    September 15, 2010 4:49 AM

    I am really curious as to which campaign keeps knocking at your door… Please share!

  2. September 15, 2010 6:21 AM

    Ai caramba! I’m so sorry to hear about your accident and the moron that caused it. Unfortunately, I do not know the answer to your question so I hope you won’t hate me.

  3. September 15, 2010 11:25 AM

    I have liked you on Facebook since the sparkly day I met you. How about a picture of a semi automatic with a campaigner next to it with a big slash going through him. Might help.

    Your story is Wow and awful and I’m sorry, but it was also Amyblam snorty funny. And you better tell that story about driving on the sidewalk, real soon.

    Cops like me too. I just got my husband out of a wallop of a ticket when he got pulled over on the interstate and the trooper was so stinkin mad, but luckily we were on our way to a charitable event and luckily I was gussied up big time and even luckier my dress was showing some cleavage. I just leaned over my husband very decorously and pleaded up our innocence and said we were sooo lost and just panicked about finding our way and didn’t notice our speed and we were soooo soorrrry. Big bat of the eyes. And not only did we not even get a warning. We got directions to the place we were going, that we’d been to a thousand times before. My husband owes me so big.

    Glad you girlies are all okay.

  4. September 15, 2010 3:38 PM

    I’m fluent in hobo slang.

    “Bone polisher” means vicious dog and “greasing the tracks” means to get run over by a train.

    As for hobo symbols, drawing handcuffs means that hobos will be arrested.

    I think those will come in handy.

    P.S. Don’t ask how I know this. Just do not ask…


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