Slam, Bam (Where's the "Thank you, M'am"?)

You all know that I love a good, hard slamming every once in a while. (I mean, sometimes a girl needs to feel a little fire in the belly!)

So when I was awakened Thursday night around 2 by a loud thud that resonated through my condo, I thought maybe the couple next door was getting their groove on. I peered around groggily, and when nothing seemed out of place in my immediate sphere, I drifted back to Sleepyville.

And so my morning unrolled merrily-- coffee, workout, breakfast, and out to the car to head to Ft. Lauderdale.

Uh-oh. What were all the glass shards, plastic and shattered fiberglass behind my car? And why was it jettisoned three feet from where I'd parked it the night before?

Yes, dear ones, you have all guessed it.... my poor baby was a victim of a hit and run, back-end smashing worthy of the Pats' defensive line.

Damn, damn, damn.

Later that night it was still sitting askew when I ran into my irreverent gay neighbor on the street.

"Oh, boy, I saw your car this morning, sweetie," he exclaimed, patting me on the shoulder. "I knew you were going to be so PISSED. I went right back upstairs and told Zach that your car took it up the ass!"

"It sure f--king did," I replied, "But man-- no drinks, no dinner and no lube!"

So now, if you'll excuse me, I'm on my way to Allstate to see just how much they're going to f--k me. I can guarantee you it won't be a screaming O.

O well.