Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?

I don't consider myself to be a particularly loving person. When it comes to other people, (of course, llamas, kitties, puppies, OMG PONIES!!1!, hamsters, goatersons, etc. are not included in the rage-making) I find that I am, more often than not, filled with unbridled rage. (Thanks, Paris! Oh, and P.S. HA HA you're going to JAIL!)

So when my stone cold heart is moved by someone, it usually takes me by surprise and I'm all "WTF? Should I call an ambulance? Do I have any Zantac?"

Saturday I had a talk with my mechanic, who is the most fantastic man on the entire planet (Sorry, Santa Claus!) not only because he knows everything I don't about cars, but also because he is honest. He assured me that the $600 "scheduled maintenance" on my car was mostly a scare tactic and he'd let me know what (if anything) my car does need. That's basically what I thought, but since I don't know crap about fixing/maintaining cars, it's reassuring to hear it from someone who does. Especially since I just recently had to actually use the Extended Warranty thing to get my computer fixed which I had convinced myself was a waste of $100 when I bought it 2 years ago. Turns out it was worth it. The $129.99 they tried to charge me to reinstall Windows, however, would have been a waste of money since i am perfectly capable of inserting a CD and hitting enter a few times.

Later that evening I watched Calvin Borel win the Kentucky Derby on Street Sense and after hearing him talk in THE MOST ADORABLE CAJUN ACCENT I felt that unfamiliar twinge of emotion inside and wanted more than anything to scoop him up and put him in my jacket pocket. OMG PONIES!!1!! I dare you to read this guy's story and not get a little emotional.*

*No mint juleps were consumed during the writing of this blog.**

**Goddammit.