2003-09-12 - 2:17 p.m.
Bwaahahahah! I scoff at life! Come on, you piece of crap, throw something else at me! I dare you!
This morning, per normal, I walked out to the car, keys and coffee in hand--only to find that my trunk was open. Hmm. Wait, the door is also open. And the passenger's rear...wait a second, someone broke into the car! And then I flashed to yesterday, late afternoon; I saw myself dragging load after load of groceries and important stuff like toilet paper into the house. I saw myself cooking for about three hours. I remember being on my knees cleaning the kitchen floor. But one thing I do not remember doing is locking the car.
To make this story shorter, let's just say that the little bastards didn't get anything important. There were a handful of CDs in the car, mostly They Might Be Giants (there's some irony here, but I can't quite see it yet). No sunglasses, no credit card slips. They did, however, snatch my extensive supply of takeout menus and parking tickets. Enjoy my teriyaki chicken coupons, you jerks. They still managed to screw me, however, by leaving the trunk light and the overhead light on all stupid night.
So now I had a dead battery. Visualize me hefting the 40-pound battery out of its nest, fitting it into my bike basket, and trying to bike the 10 miles to a Napa Auto Parts. Have you ever tried to steer a bike with 40 pounds of extra weight on the front tire? Now picture me having a hissyfit in the middle of a busy road (without, might I add, a bike lane). I rode home and started calling people. Both of my parents live in different cities. All of my friends, save one, have 8-5 jobs. I called the one friend who I knew was free. The little git, safely hidden at her new boyfriend's apartment, never picked up her cell. For an hour. I'll leave out the rest of the details; there's an ugly situation involving my car insurance, which is better forgotten as soon as possible. Eventually I got hold of Miss Beek, who used her lunch hour to rescue my sorry self. I drove the newly rehabbed car to work.
You know, other people can leave their cars unlocked for one night and nothing will happen. Who was I in a former life? Was I some pissy Chinese warlord, raping and pillaging my way across Mongolia that I have this karmic debt? 'Cause it seems like *every week* there's something to deal with. Is this crap normal; is this adulthood? If so, I'd like a refund, please.
Here's what I picture happening at 5:00 p.m.: I drive home. I light every candle in the house. Sade goes onto the stereo. I pour myself a 64-ounce glass of sangria. I drink it steadily, without stopping, until my guests arrive.
Or I'll take the sangria intravenously. Whatever.
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