A few days ago, horsemanure got the car of her backseat lovin' dreams. After a thorough discussion of her little red used golf cast down from heaven, we decided we should name our cars, not unlike the practice of men naming their penises (eg unclebob referring to his breadstick as "Lil' Chubby".) So a slew of candidates were thrown back and forth and included the following creations of wit: Grand Masta Sexay, Scottie too Hottie, The Tampon, Judge Judy, etc. My personal favourite, a nickname I came up with which I felt demonstrated my friend's love for both the WWF's The Rock and rampant jizz-filled sex, was embraced and chosen by horsemanure. Thus, with the smashing of the finest bottle of champagne (we could afford -- ten dollars) over the front bumper, horsemanure's new/used car was christened the "Poontangmobile". Unfortunately, I felt none of horsemanure's suggestions suited neither my little blue toyota corolla nor my personality. If you have any brilliant or even mediocre ideas, please let me know.

In other news... I had a splendid reading break (despite the day a bitch ass little bird decided to shit on my shirt as I left my house). It was over a week ago but I was too overwrought with the valentine blues that I failed to write anything during my mini-vacation. I did absolutely no work, which I guess isn't any different from what I do or rather don't do during school, but this time I was purposely on strike, not just through some cruel act of Baal, the overlord of procrastination. I watched a couple movies, went shopping, had lunch and late night coffee dates with friends, worked on the Human Powered Helicopter (yeah, I know, I'm a huge nerd. But I need some good shit to put down on my resume so I can up my chances of getting a Co-op engineering job. Plus it's fun.), and went to a delightful little drunken apartment warming held by Karen and Adrienne. I didn't drink any and believe me, the tears were a rollin down my face when I realized I was the designated driver, but I still had a really good time. There was this one guy (I won't mention names b/c when he reads this, he may be pissed) whose face turned supa red and was plastered after half a shot. Yes, half a shot, not bottle. I told him he was so sad that I might actually start crying and Tim was mocking his itty bitty liver. Perhaps Mr. 1/2 Shot should become friends with horsemanure, the other cheapest drunk I know. They could alcohol-pool and split the drinks cost $2.50/$2.50.

Another thing I liked about the party -- me. I was in tha zone, I was on fiyah! (er fire), I had folks laughing left and right. Of course, the fact that most of them were falling over themselves drunk may have played a slight role. I wish I was more consistently funny. A lot of the time I'm lame, and I'm sure most people think I'm a boring little twit, and rightly so. Other times I'm slightly amusing, ie when I'm drunk. It also depends on who you are. To most, I am completely uninteresting, but there are others around whom my funny gene kicks in. Frida's one of them (props chica). When we talk, I get hyperventilating asthmatic laughter out of her for almost every word I say. Mam also shows me the appreciative laughter when I get self-deprecating. Move over Martin Lawrence, here comes Amber! By the way, don't bother perusing my older entries for evidence of this aforementioned "humour", b/c you won't find it. Like I said, I'm usually painfully unfunny. Although my funny gene may have made a brief appearance in this entry, but don't build your hopes up.