I am, in fact alive, and back in LA.
I almost died of shock when I came home and saw my cheap-o local gas station had spiked from 2.39 to 2.69 a gallon for regular while I was gone.
Details of the Chicago trip (and super-cute pictures of Elisa’s baby) to come hopefully tonight, possibly tomorrow.
It’s 2.45 out here now. In Indi-fucking-Ana. There went the only good thing about living in the suburbs.
A month ago, it was 1.70.
That’s okay. It costs me that much to go 5 stops on the Metro.
You’re also not paying $200/month in car insurance on top of gas. You’re still getting the non-shit end of the stick.
Mmmm, how the fuck are they charging you that much insurance?!? It’s like half that for me, and we live in the same town.
You’re married, which substantially drops your rate. And you live in West Hollywood. Apparently the queers are better drivers than the hippies here in Venice.
Oh, also, you don’t have a daily 50-mile roundtrip commute plus 150-400 miles of work driving every week. That’s why they’re charging me that.