This morning when I got to school, my car was on fire. Like, really. The engine was smoking. Carter, who was in the senior lot when I pulled up, had to put it out with the remainders of a can of red bull. Not that he'll really miss it since he'll be asleep 15 minutes into first period anyway. When we lifted up the hood of my car, there was the remainder of a bird's nest, all charred and disintegrating. I felt guilty - poor dumb shit bird had no idea what was coming. Apparently the engine of my '97 outback subaru does not serve as "Home tweet home" (my neighbor painted that slogan on her birdhouse - birds can't read, moron). When I called my Dad, he reamed me out for setting my car on fire - he probably thinks I was smoking up before classes and that's how it started. I'm positive he doesn't believe my bird story. Or much else that comes out of my mouth. "If you don't expect too much from me, you might not be let down".

When I got to homeroom, Lauren hounded me with questions about Carter - apparently she saw us in the parking lot trying to salvage my car, and apparently she's obsessed with him. I'd love to say this was new, but I'm pretty sure it's more along the lines of every-time-she-talks-all-I-hear-is-incessant-buzzing and I just never knew about it. I told her he asked me about my plans for this weekend (he didn't), but I told him I had a meet so not much was up with me. Maybe I'll get lucky though - my back keeps doing this weird twinge-thing, so I'm really hoping that will somehow blow up before Saturday.

Here's to hoping. More later.