2. If, after the aforementioned incident plus a Bonneville trying to change lanes directly into my car, a Celica attempting to annihilate the Harley in front of me, and a Camry attempting to annihilate the Civic in front of me, you happen to be a stupid middle-aged bitch in a Sonata: it is not a good exercise of your suburbian white-bitch "privilege" to try to force me to come to a screeching, tire-screaming stop in a disappearing merge lane by flooring it when you see me trying to merge into the TWO CARLENGTH SPACE IN FRONT OF YOU. If you do try that, you probably shouldn't be too surprised when I make eye contact with you while swerving violently and directly at you like it's the Dukes of fucking Hazzard. And then ostentatiously flip you the bird after I get in the spot you pussied out of when it turned out your idiot rich-bitch move didn't actually force me to lock up my brakes before my lane ran out after all. Turns out that can happen occasionally when you try to take out your frustrations about your own shitty life on whoever is trying to merge: you shoud probably find another outlet for that.
3. To the slightly chunky girl at karaoke with a voice like Aretha Franklin and Billy Holliday had a love child, with the boyfriend who didn't pay you a lick of attention until I asked you to dance, at which point he suddenly and hurriedly crawled all over you and took you home: you owe me one, girl. I hope you made the most of that shit.
4. To Jen, regarding referring to the dude from several years ago as "my ex-boyfriend" rather than "an ex-boyfriend", as though I never even existed in-between: point scored. Whether you were trying to score a point or not. That smarted. And I really am sorry - me not talking about you online wasn't because you didn't matter, because you damn sure did, and do. It was because I really am getting tired of making a public emo-ass spectacle of my life.
5. Please, read from sheet: "Eye ham... sofa king... we todd did." Ho ho ho ho - you say funny thing.