There is a Costa Vida in Oregon.

Dear Gentry,

Thank you for pointing out the gaping flaw on my blog. I didn't mean to snub Hillsboro.

Long live Costa Vida.

Finally...they can laugh.

Yesterday, I jumped out of a moving car.

It gives me such pleasure to be able to make this statement factually.

Why, you ask?

Well, it’s a funny story. And it’s one that I hesitate to tell because I want to keep you wondering.

Our old roommate, Joni (This is great that I can say that sentence with commas because it is a non-restricted clause, not essential information: she’s our only old roommate. We have lived together for less than a semester and we already have an old roommate.), had a small housewarming party for her new house. We (my roommates and I) decided to go in Beth’s car. I had a car too but it had a bunch of crap on the seat from my brother’s work. She knew that she was low on gas but we hoped we’d make it to Joni’s. Cars can sometimes go a long way on empty.

We picked up Andrea first and were on our way when Beth ran out of gas. Her car lost power but continued to coast, continually dropping speed. We quickly came to the conclusion inside that it would be easier to push it home if we had the momentum of its movement already.

And lately I’ve been thinking I should be more proactive. Not just pointing out problems, but maybe trying to do something about them.

Everybody said the car was going too fast, but I didn’t think it was going that fast. I decided to jump out. I didn’t anticipate the consequences. The car, apparently, was going faster than I thought. I lost my shoe and fell down. I didn’t remember it, but my roommates (my witnesses) said that I rolled.

I guess you’re wondering why I don’t remember it. I am pretty sure that I didn’t lose consciousness. All I remember is the pavement under my feet, my shoe coming off my foot, an awareness of the fact that I was wearing nylon stockings, the fact that I was on the ground, and looking back at the car continuing to roll down the street, away from me, laying on the middle of the street somewhere between 6th and 5th north and 2nd east.

It didn’t hurt at all. I got up, got my shoe back on my foot, and started running back to the car to help push it. There was a guy who saw Elizabeth and I pushing and ran over to offer his help. We were two blocks away from the apartment and I couldn’t keep up for very long. I’m pretty out of shape I guess.

Elizabeth and the random Samaritan named Cody pushed the car into the driveway . It was a Sunday and we were in a hurry to get to Joni’s because it was already late, so we didn’t go to a gas station (there is a 7-11 pretty close by).

By the way, when did “pretty” start becoming a modifier equivalent to “approximately”? Weird.

On Sunday, we received Spotlight sheets to fill out. It asked what our favorite candy bar is and I wrote that I didn’t like candy. That wasn’t the joke.

There were also a couple of things, like “Birthday,” and “Name.”

That also wasn’t the joke. But what I wrote on the part for name was somewhat amusing. “Amanda ‘the Awkward’ Stoddard.” And I am not going to lie, “Awkward Stoddard” has kind of a nice ring to it. Also, under favorites, I wrote, “1. Gushman. Everything else is secondary.” (If you don’t know who Gushman is, see Facebook--or the photo on the left. He’s my favorite stuffed friend.) And then, “i.e. pumpkin rolls, making pumpkin rolls, and cream cheese frosting.” I turned it in that way. Too bad more people aren’t acquainted with Gushman Bones.