Last night was less than good. Cachinnatees, I will level with you - get personal if you will: I'm a chubby bastard. Between full-time work and seminary, I have spent the better part of the past few years since leaving New York sitting on my butt. I've gotten soft. Damn you Bush's Chicken!!!

So last night after putting Beeki to bed, (as I do every night; I'm a night owl, she's an early bird), I was veeeeeeery hungry. I got mad. Mad, I say! I resolved to go to HEB and purchase a few low-fat yet satisfying snacks to stave off the late night munchies. I mean, come on, I've got to get this weight thing under control!

So I hop in the car and head out. My iPod is being repaired, which apparently takes the evil morons of Best Buy and Apple four years, but with the recent birthday, I had a few great CD's in the car. I had my recent purchases of Angels and Airwaves, Mute Math, and Matisyahu. Angels and Airwaves' The Adventure is playing, the night is beautiful, and the moon is bright. I roll down the windows and decide to cruise up and down the Valley. (That's Valley Mills Drive for those of you who are unfamiliar with Waco.) A few short miles down the street, the car starts acting funny. I'm not sure what it is, but I know something's not right. So I pull over to check it out. I turn it off, give it a sec, then turn the key to restart it. Nothing. The car is dead. It's now about 12:30am. I had pulled in to the Whataburger. It was slightly scary. Being the only thing open, there's an unsettling mix of wannabe gangstas and brainless high schoolers who think Whataburger at midnight is the way to celebrate being out of class. I try again to start it for a bit, but I get no response. The battery is fine, but it will not start. My knowledge of automobiles is woefully behind my knowledge of other subjects such as art, theology, and lip balm. I’m going nowhere fast.

What do I do? I can't call Beeki; she has work early the next morning and I don't want to wake her. All my friends who might still be awake are out of town. I called my insurance company and then called a cab.

Now Waco is not exactly a booming metropolis. But apparently the city has only two taxis. It took them AN HOUR AND A HALF to pick me up. I could have walked to Austin in the time it took them to get me! And the worst part is that while I was there, I was so depressed that I got a vanilla malt! How's that for sick irony? I've been watching My Name is Earl a lot lately, and I think the universe is out to get me. I've just got to figure out why...