Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Simply T and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day: or why I suck at life.

While at dinner with AC and MP last night, we got to discussing our friend CK's upcoming baby shower. The conversation about babies eventually turned to a discussion about our favorite childhood books.

MP was the first to bring up her favorite childhood book - Gregory, The Terrible Eater. It's a story of a young goat, who's parents want him to eat "like a real goat," including tin cans, boxes, and other garbage. But Gregory is no ordinary goat. He enjoys a diet consisting of fruits, vegetables, fish, spaghetti - you know, real food. Ultimately, Gregory and his parents must come to a compromise - Gregory will eat spaghetti with shoelaces mixed in and other various meals combining real food and trash - a perfect harmony between the diet of a "real goat" and Gregory's personal preference.

The underlying message here - don't be afraid to walk to the beat of your own drummer. And parents? Accept your kids, regardless of their personal lifestyle choices. Very progressive, Reading Rainbow.

Next, AC mentioned her favorite book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. You know this story - a kid has a really crappy day, one thing compounding on the next. He gets gum stuck in his hair, trips on a skateboard and drops his sweater into the sink filled with water. All before leaving the house.

Then at school, his bitch of a teacher, Mrs. Dickens, craps all over Alexander's self esteem - most likely damaging him for good, leading to a lifetime of psychotherapy. Who's gonna pay for that, Mrs. Dickens? Who!? Picasso over here says she doesn't like his drawing of an invisible castle (a blank sheet of paper - give the kid a break, he's creative!), she criticizes him for leaving out number 16 while counting, and tells him he sings too loudly. Like, way to call the kid out in front of his mates, lady. It's called mental abuse, you cruel, heartless wench! Where did you get your teaching degree, anyway?

Anyway, the story goes on - and poor Alexander's day gets progressively worse. Much like my day today. Today was my Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day.

Except that it was just a typical day, because stupid shit happens to me on a daily basis. In fact, if I were to go a whole day without a slap-stick moment (ie: falling in the snow yesterday while shooting my photography assignment. On my ass. Dangerously close to dog poop. What's with me and dog poop?) or something weird or unlucky happening... I'd probably cease to exist.

The wheels were set in motion for my THNGVB Day when I came home from dinner last night. I was very happy parking on our block. I parallel parked my SUV like a pro and got out of the car to walk to my apartment. I was chatting with my dad, so I was somewhat distracted, but I gathered my things anyway and went on my way without a look back. The rest of the night went as usual and this morning started off normal enough - walk the dog, eat breakfast, make coffee, etc.

After my morning routine, I left the house and walked to my car just like any other day, but as I approached my car, I saw some strange blob laying in the black slushy snow in the street next to my car.

"What is that?" I thought. As I got closer, the blob started to look more and more familiar. No. No. No. Please, no. Ugh. Yes.

It's my glove. One of my beautiful Coach gloves my mom gave me for Christmas a few years ago. My leather Coach glove. My white leather Coach glove. With pink stitching! And cashmere lining! Laying there in the black, sludgy, slushy snow next to my car. Since I parked my car last night. 12 hours ago. Ughhhhh.

I wanted to cry, but I picked up my dingy, brown/gray, leather Coach glove anyway and put it on top of the heating vent in attempt to at least dry it some so I could examine the damage and attempt to salvage my poor, innocent glove. I went about my day, annoyed, but ready to put it aside and get the show on the road.

Before driving to work, I needed to stop at the ATM to deposit a check into my bank account. One of those stupid touch screen ATMs (maybe they all are by now, I don't know). Well, apparently my fingers are too fat or something, because I had all kinds of problems accomplishing this simple task.

"Enter PIN number." Check.

"Deposit or withdrawal?" Deposit. Check.

"Primary checking or savings account?" Checking. Check.

"Cash or check?" Check.... Check.

"Please insert check now." Don't mind if I do. Check.

"This ATM could not read the amount listed on the check. Please enter it manually."

Crap. I don't know what the exact amount is, and the tiny image on the screen isn't clear enough for me to read it. I have no other choice. Cancel Transaction.

The machine returns my check and I note the amount.

The prompt on the screen now reads, "You have canceled the transaction. What would you like to do? Start Over or Return Card."

Start Over. Let's try it again.

"Deposit or withdrawal?" Deposit. Check.

"Checking or Savings?" Checking. Or at least - I thought I was pressing the area of the screen corresponding to "Checking." Apparently not. It goes to savings. Crap.


"You have canceled the transaction. What would you like to do?"

Start Over.

The frickin' machine selects "Return Card" and it spits my ATM card back at me! WTF!

Frustrated, I jam my card back in and go through the process, being extra careful to press only in the exact spot that I need. Except that half the time it doesn't even register that I'm touching the screen, so I end up looking like a crazy person jabbing at the screen, swearing up a storm.

And now there's someone else waiting to use the ATM. And they are standing way too close. Step off, lady! It's called "personal space!"

I finally get the damn check deposited, get back in my car and head to work. On my way, I needed to make a call to clarify an issue with Madison Gas and Electric. I look at my email on my iPhone with all the information I needed, including their phone number. Ok. Memorize this number.... 608.... 252.... 7222... (That's MG&E's actual number if you want to call them, ha.) I try to keep the number in my head as I switch over to the keypad to dial.

608. 522...7222...

"Your call cannot be completed as dialed. The number you have dialed.... blah blah blah."

What? I look back at the email. Apparently I'm ADD and dyslexic. It's 252, not 522. I re-memorize the number and dial again. It rings. Success? Not quite.

Someone picks up, "Hello?"

Suspecting I have not reached Madison Gas and Electric I reply, "Um. Hello?"


Ohhhkayyyy... I look back at my dialed calls. Apparently my too fat fingers pressed "605" instead of "608." So I'm the asshole who called someone in Aberdeen, SD. Ugh. I guess touch-screens are not my friend today.

Third time's a try, right? I carefully press each number, double checking it before I hit "Send."

"Thank you for calling Madison Gas and Electric. For starting or stopping service, press 1..."

Finally. I make my choices on the automated system and I am placed on hold so I can listen to that lame muzak for about 5 minutes while waiting for my call to be answered.

"Calls will be answered in the order in which they were received. Please do not hang up and dial again, as this will cause further delay." Yeah, yeah, I know.

Waiting. Waiting. Beep beep beep. What? I look down at the screen - "Call Failed" Are you serious?

I call again and listen to more muzak for another 5 minutes before my call is answered and I finally resolve the issue.

I arrive at my destination and park my car on the street. I need to make a few more phone calls and review some paper work before heading inside to see my client, so I stay in my nice warm car, wearing my wet glove on my left hand held in front of the vent while making calls with my right hand. Someone in another car pulls up next to me and reverses, attempting to parallel park in the space in front of me. This guy is a shitty parallel parker though, so I just sit in my car watching in amusement. Until he bumps my car.

Now, I'm not so much worried about the aesthetics of my front bumper, since after an encounter with a crazy cab driver downtown, my front end already has a few scratches and bumps on it. So it's not the actual bump that annoyed me, it's the lack of acknowledgement on this guy's part. Um. Hi? I'm sitting right here. I saw you bump me. Do you not get that?

Funny part is, this is not the first time that this has happened to me. One day it happened to me twice in a row while I sat in my car. And interestingly enough, both times in Hyde Park, about 2 blocks away from each other. Hyde Park drivers: learn how to parallel park, please. My bumper thanks you. The first person tried backing into the space, bumping me, then realizing they couldn't fit into the small spot driving off without a wave or anything. Five minutes later, another person comes along and manages to squeeze into the space, but not without bumping me 2 times in the process. And again - I'm sitting right here, people! Nothing? Not even an "Oh, I'm sorry!" I don't want your insurance information, I just want some recognition of your shitty parking.

I finished up with the client and my next mission was to go to the post office. I had 2 packages - the snowboarding jacket I got R for Xmas, which I was exchanging for another size, and a sweater I bought from Victoria's Secret, which I needed to return because it fit really awkwardly. I had a prepaid return label for my VS package, but I needed to pay postage on the jacket. As I'm standing in line, I happen to glance down at the VS package. UPS ground. Ugh. I could have sworn it said USPS. And the last time I needed to return something using the prepaid return label, I went to UPS only to be informed that it was a USPS label! Crap! Whatever, now I have another stop to add. I pay the postage for the jacket and look up a nearby UPS store to drop off the sweater.

Items shipped, I arrive at home and immediately search our linen closet for one of my 10,000 bottles of leather cleaner/conditioner that I have for many different pairs of boots and Coach purses. I found this foaming spray cleaner and decide to give it a try on my glove. If it doesn't work, the glove is ruined anyway, right?

So, I sit down on the couch with my dirty glove, leather cleaner, and a clean wash cloth. I spray the glove all over with the foaming cleanser. Then I look over to my left. What is that all over my MacBook Pro? Is it snowing in my living room? Nope. I just covered my entire keyboard in foaming leather cleaner. I didn't think for one second about the fact that my MacBook was directly in the line of fire while I was spraying my glove. And is my MacBook Pro made of leather? No. It is not. Sadly, this has is not the first time I have done something like this. Ask me about the time I tried to Febreeze the hood of my jacket (while wearing it) and sprayed myself in the face in the process. Actually, don't ask, that's pretty much the whole story.

My lappy was not damaged, but it now smells faintly of leather cleaner. I spent about 25 minutes trying to clean my glove... I'll keep you updated on the results. It's still drying out.

Today is a perfect example of why I say I'm not allowed to own expensive things. I lose, break, soil or destroy anything nice and expensive I own. The numbers never lie, so let's examine:

Pairs of Chanel Earrings broken: 1 ; Cost: Unsure, they were a gift, but I'd estimate $200.
Pairs of designer sunglasses broken, smashed, lost/stolen: 2; Cost: $300 each.
Pairs of Coach gloves ruined (possibly): 1; Cost: $100.
Laptops broken (See - White Girls Can't Dance) 1 - 3 separate times; Cost: About $1100 including repairs
Digital Cameras lost/stolen: 2; Cost: about $200 each, $400 in total.
Ipod lost: 1; Cost: $150

And countless others. My brain is too tired to process it all right now. But, go ahead and add those up. $2250 in lost, stolen, or broken expensive toys. And this all happened in the last 4-5 years. Add that up in a lifetime? I'm just too expensive to maintain.

So, like Alexander, today I am having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Excuse me, where's the "Start Over" button?

Let's see what I was up to in '95...

Jan. 5, '95

Sorry I couldn't talk to you for a while. Anyway I don't have to use a paperclip to open you. No, I didn't find your key but I'll tell you what I did get in a half hour. I gotta go eat dinner. (maybe half an hour later) Was that half an hour? More? Less? Anyway Diary let me tell you about alot of things and ask you a couple of things too. About the lock I bought another book order diary with the same lock and key as yours don't worry diary It won't replace you for a long time youve still got alot of pages left. Next subject. I think since Anne Frank called her diary "kitty" and Zlata called her diary "Mimmy" I should call you something. How about Piggy o.k., well nah! How about Sassafrass. yeah! I like it o.k. Sassafrass next subject up for discussion I just got over the Chicken pox for the second time! Can you believe it! I got it on Christmas. Major bummer. I stayed in most of the time except I wasn't contagious anymore so mommy took me to the museum of science and industry. Next subject I'm swimming in money I've got $43.60 in my piggy bank that I got for Christmas. I got a piccolo (yay!) I got a nightie, teddy bear, a calendar, some hair things from mommy and P I got a piggy bank with shamrocks on it, a locket with the Irish sign on it, and an Irish music tape from daddy and from M I got three Irish music tapes from m I got a barbie doll gymnast barbie from my Kris Kringle in school I got a pen a figure of a reindeer some candy a reindeer piggy bank filled with 6 flavors of lip smackers. next subject I'm getting writers cramp and a kink in my neck. Next subject that was pointless and so is writing this as a subject. Next subject Cassie's being a little nicer Alicia won't go near me she thinks I'm still contagious. Next, Raul is a Jerk!!! He told me to get some clearasil for my pimples it's just the scabs from my chicken pox. Next subject Russell Thompson left three days after he came (yay!) Next subject Alex is still cute and so is Zachary. You don't think I could ever go through a diary entry without talking about cute guys do you? If you think so you're crazy! Next subject I can't wait till 8:00 p.m. on Martin Luther Kings day you know why? I've got tickets to see a concert of........... Nine inch Nails! Yesss! On the Main floor! Yesss! We ordered them yesterday but usually you'd have to order them months in advance. But we got Main floor tickets yesss! It's so awesome! It's at Rosemont horizon. I fill you in on all the details after the concert. Anyway thanks for listening Sassafrass. Don't let anyone read you like a book (no pun intended) except me! Bye Sassafrass! Nine inch Nail tickets. I can't believe it! Wow! Huh! Well what about that!

Hahaha, I barely know where to start with this one. First, did I really have to tell my diary that I had to eat dinner and that I'd be back in half an hour? It's not like anyone would have known. Hint - I started this blog entry this afternoon, left the house for a few hours, then came back home to finish it. Shhhh! Oh no, my secret's out!

Next subject - what was the deal with me telling my diary "next subject" before I talked about something different? And wasn't just like me to write two "subjects" about writers cramp and the uselessness of making a whole subject for that? Brevity has never been my strong point.

And my, my my, what an ego on this kid! Comparing my diary to that of Anne Frank and Zlata Filipovic? Not really in the same league, kiddo. But it did inspire me to name my diary. And I chose the name "Sassafrass." I wish I could tell you why, but I honestly can't remember. And the original name I came up with, Piggy? Not only did I quickly veto that one, "ok, well nah!" but I also proceeded to triple underline the word piggy every time I used it in the remainder of the entry. Which ended up being 3 times. Who uses the word "piggy" that much?Also? The name Sassafrass stuck, all the way through high school. For serious.

And you probably wondered why I got a million Irish themed things and a shit-load of Irish music tapes for Christmas. No? Just me? Fine. But I'm telling you anyway. At that age I decided to take up Irish Dance - yes, just like Michael Flatley. I went the whole she-bang - I participated in competitions, I had my very own competition Feis dress. I would play my Irish music tapes in my room and practice my jigs - "Point and knee hop 1,2,3,4!" I gave it up shortly (I think maybe 2 years) just like everything else I tried as a kid - basketball, soccer, gymnastics, softball etc.

Lastly. Nine Inch Nails? Really, parents? The very same Nine Inch Nails that have lyrics such as "I want to f*ck you like an animal?" Yes, the very same. This was the first concert I ever went to. My step dad took me. I was into the "grunge" look then, so I remember wearing a flannel shirt open over a t-shirt and jeans, Wayne's World style. We were on the main floor (not sure if you got that from the entry... but we were on the main floor) and someone from the balcony above us SPIT ON MY HEAD. Hahaha. Apparently a little black cloud was following me around, even at that young age. Some experience for my first concert, eh? I tell you what, I never experienced anything like that at a Hanson concert! Yeah, I've been to a Hanson concert, you wanna fight about it?

And I have to say - I really did enjoy all of my exclamations at the close of the entry. It just shows how much of a dork I was. Hilarious.

Okay! Bye readers! Wow. My very own blog! I can't believe it! Huh! How about that!


In my world I ROCK said...

Jesus your blogs crack me UP.
Everyone has those days, some more then others. But on the bright side, it makes for good blog material! No? :\

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