So, okay, I am completely uninspired this week. It has been a week from hell, people.
The last day of Memorial Day Weekend. It’s raining. To quote No N, “Washington happened.” The boat wouldn’t start. It wasn’t nice out. It sucked. After waiting at No N’s for two hours while we tried to figure out what was wrong, I went home in defeat. What did I do with the rest of my evening? I vacuumed. I’m becoming domesticated. The world is ending. I’m not joking.
First day back at work from a long weekend plus a day. Work is boring. I do write a fairly entertaining blog towards the end of the day, which is a bonus. I write another one using forwarded material that I thought was hilariously funny, but it appears that it may not have been original like I thought. Oh well.
The frickin’ cap on an ugly, ugly week. It even needs two paragraphs. I make a huge, royal, very visible fuck up at work. And I’m not talking like, a mistake I can excuse by saying I didn’t know, or that it was an accident. I’m saying, I was careless and I made a stupid, stupid mistake that earned me 1 phone call from the vice president and 1 abjectly confessionatory (?) email to the entire department. I just fucking love it when I do that.
I leave work early to go pick up the Kid. I’m making a side trip to give Meeps a ride home, and I frickin’ roll my car into some chick’s crappy ass car’s back end. From a complete stop. I was looking left, I thought I saw her start to move, and I let my foot off the brake. No gas. No first gear, no propelled forward motion. My license plate hit her bumper. Her car apparently was not moving, and so we ended up pulled over in a Chevron parking lot, and I’m scribbling my insurance information on a corner of an envelope I found in my glove box. I’m late to pick up Meeps. The girl calls me seven times that night, verifying my insurance policy number. I can just hear my premiums rising. I haven’t been in an accident in ten years. Unbeleivable.
To cap the night off, I try to cook something for dinner and end up feeling like I just tried to feed McDonalds to the Queen of England. I am not a gourmet chef, people. I spent the night wallowing in a morass of self-pity, insecurity, and just plain feeling like a dumbass. Okay, three paragraphs.
The dog thinks it’s funny to run off now when I let him out for a potty break. The Kid was in the house going to the bathroom and the Dog takes off down the alley. I hobble after him on the gravel in my high heels, shouting at him. A guy at the end of the block pets him but won’t grab his freaking collar, he thinks it’s cute how the Dog is checking everything out, and before I can get close enough, the Dog takes off again. He’s running in the street, I’m screaming at him like some kind of cracked out hooker shouting at her pimp (I need a fucking cheeseburger, maaan!), and before I finally catch up with the little shit, we’re on the other side of the block from my house, and all I can think about is how I left my son at home alone while he was going to the bathroom. I’m crying and cursing at the stupid dog and ready to turn him into cat food without a second thought. I can hear my son calling for me. I cut through someone’s yard and emerge back in the alley where my son is standing in the back yard, very indignant at being left home alone. I can just hear the story he’s going to tell to the daycare people. “My mom left me home by myself today! I was scared! I was calling for her! She didn’t answer!” Fuckin’ rad.
Somehow, I make it to work. I can’t think of a frickin’ storyline on the LFB topic. I’m feeling completely uninspired. My insurance company calls to tell me that the girl I ‘got in an accident with’ (which by the way, I really really hate calling it that) is filing a claim. Super. I take pictures of my absolutely pristine bumper. She says I broke her trunk. Interesting. The VP answers my email to the whole team with a congrats on my accountability. I’m starting to think that possibly, I might retain my employment for one more day at least. I post my LFB blog (concept inspired by Vi), thinking that it’s an okay take on it, I comment on a few blogs, and go take a nap. I wake up late, go out with No N, Tina, Don, and Brian (I’m the DD) and manage to secure a t-shirt, a beaker, beads, and keychain flashlight. Awesome. Things are getting a little better.
I completely snooze myself right into 8:45 AM. Shit. Late. I get ready in record time, and fly out the door (after trying briefly to find my LFB blog in the rankings, I can’t by page 5 and I give up). I make it to work, I go to get a coffee, and I don’t have my debit card on me. I have a sudden, freaky flashback to setting it on top of the gas pump during yesterday’s pit stop on the way to work. I feel sick.
I manage to keep myself busy, entertained on IM and email. I get another call from the insurance company, they’re checking out the chick’s car on Monday. I told them that I thought the trunk was already broken, her car was a frickin’ piece of crap. I can tell the woman has heard this story a million times. Whatever.
I leave work. I come home and try one more time to search for my blog, it appears that it was yanked. So it contained something offensive? Profanity? Discussing my funeral? I don’t know.
I do read a bunch of awesome blogs, and I comment wildly, but I’m a little lonely and I have a muscle in my ass that is totally spazzing out (been doing that all day) and I keep thinking it’s my cell phone on vibrate, which I’ve been hoping will ring all evening, and it’s not and it hasn’t. So all in all, I think I shall go to bed and hope that when I wake up tomorrow, I will be able to forget this entire week ever happened, and that I will have a ton of comments that I can happily reply back to.
Cheer me up! I need it! Sheesh!