BLEH

Today may be the most disgusting day in the history of the universe.

1. This morning, my coworker, Holly, talked about a time she got a sunburn and went to the gym two days later and exercised so hard she had sweat bubbles UNDER HER SKIN.
2. Then someone threw up in the trashcans outside of our office.
3. Finally, our environmentally conscious study abroad coordinator was eating her organic local broccolli today and found THREE grubs/larval creatures in it. One LOOKED LIKE BROCCOLI.

I need to go home.

CAR-rap...

Or: "The Saga of My Car Trying to Make Me Lose My Goddamn Mind." (And, apparently, sapping my desire to blog.)

Ok, so I mentioned last time that my car was having transmission issues, right? Which sucked ass. So I found out eventually that getting the transmission rebuilt would be the cheapest option, at the bargain price of $1300. Bah. So through a divine intervention (read: startlingly large loan from someone who was very kind, and who had no reason to help me, thank you, good Karma I've managed to amass!) I was able to get that done. The car place that rebuilt the transmission does very good work, but they're also quite slow. So it took ten days from the time they got my car to have it ready for me, which was already two and a half weeks after it already died. Bumming rides is actually terribly degrading after a while, or at least very frustrating.

So, last Thursday, they finally called and said it was all done and I could come get my car, and so I did, with much triumph. And Friday, I triumphantly drove my car into work, where it triumphantly began spewing white smoke and the temperature guage shot up to high. My direct quote? "Oh, you mother fucker." (Pardon my French.) An hour and a half later, I drove my "cooled off" car down to the car place, where it proceeded to overheat again, and then froze up and would not start. BLEH. The nice car guys picked me up and drove me home, where they told me that my radiator had a hole in it, that likely was started back when I rear-ended that dude on the shitty birthday of doom. So much for having my car for that weekend.

But Monday evening, they called again. You're all set, come get your car, that'll be a hundred bucks. Tuesday morning? Car wouldn't start. Lovely car place? Jumped it, and after letting it charge/warm up for a few minutes, I drove myself to school, where the battery proceeded to die again. I called my dad, cussing a blue streak, and ready to Thelma and Louise my freaking car off the nearest available cliff, and was informed that it would most likely be an alternator. GAH. So at that point, I had the car towed to the other garage I use. The good news? The car was fixed in six hours. The bad news? $300.

Mind you, I paid $3000 for the car, which I do love. But if anything else breaks on it? I'm giving that bitch the Mythbusters treatment.

And the icing on the crap cake? I've been driving with a suspended license (I know, I suck) for an unpaid (so they say) ticket for... well, way too long. So no license, expired plates, every time I saw a cop car, I'd basically say a Hail Mary and hope for the best. This morning, a mile and a half from school? Pulled over by a cop. I was practically crying before he could even get to the car. But the cop was actually really nice, gave me the cheapest ticket he was allowed to do, just for the expired plates, and totally gave me the giant kick in the ass to get to the BMV and get stuff straightened out. So at the other end of the story, I emerge triumphant, with a running car with valid plates and a valid license, and all's well that ends well. Expensively, but well.

But I'm going to a b&b tomorrow with Jon, so that makes up for most of it. Well, if not, I'll at least forget it for a few hours!

DVR and CBS-enemies?

Dear CBS:

I don't know what was wrong with your network timing AGAIN this week, but this is the second time in four weeks that I've DVRd The Amazing Race only to have it not start at the appropriate time. I missed the last half of the episode, you douchewads! Get with the program!

HATE you,
Angie

Fun with ADHD!

I love and hate having ADHD. I love it because it means I'm quick, funny, creative, a good problem solver, passionate, [insert additional wordage that indicates good things.]

The thing I hate is that I have the attention span of a fucking gnat. To wit, I'm working on this paper about Scrubs and gendered humor. I only manage to write about ten minutes before I start doing shit like this. Which, on the one hand is fine, and I know I can overcome it because I have in a lot of circumstances, especially when crunch time hits. But on the other hand, I really just want to get the paper done, but at the same time don't want to work on it.

Blargh!

Still hate my life, but calmer

Paper's still gone. Car's still banged up. Good humor has been restored, though, so that's something at least.

Which is a good thing, because it looks very likely that I'm going to need to take math AGAIN. I bombed the final, which took me to failing. If anyone wants to come pretend to be me and take this fucking class for me that'd be greeeeeaaaaaaat. But I do have good friends, because my friend Kara said she'd take it with me.

Blargh. Life can be a pain in the ass.

asdlr;rkjasasdgajkerawhatemylife

My life has become a frigging comedy of errors that is not funny. This is not a PG-13 entry, if you don't like bad language, bye-bye, please.

Today is my 25th birthday. Hooray. Here is what I am doing to celebrate so far:

• I rear-ended a dude on the way to work. He didn't want to call anyone or exchange insurance, which I guess is my birthday present considering I can barely afford my insurance as it is. I must have hit my chest on the wheel or something, though, because it hurts.
• I spent three hours at school last night getting myself to the point where I felt I only had another two hours of paper left to write. Somehow, I did something that caused the paper not to be saved fucking anywhere. So every word I wrote last night is fucking gone. Just gone. This is for a class I have an incomplete in, that is frankly so far overdue as to be fucking ridiculous. I now get to spend tonight and tomorrow getting this goddamn thing done, which is great, considering I hate it so much now I can't stand to look at it.
• My parents are going to court today to decide whether my mother should get spousal support. I have a feeling it is going to be very bad.

I am so overwhelmingly unhappy at the moment I can't even try to be cute.

You know what sucks?

Having the stomach flu during your finals week when you need to be cramming for math and writing a paper. Suck it, life. Suck it long, suck it hard.

Requests

Dear Starbucks,

As you probably can tell by the amount of money I have fed you in the past couple of years, I am a big fan of your work. Your coffees are delicious, your caramel apple cider is almost criminal, and you even have a damn tasty tuna sandwich. But your biggest hold over me is the Iced Venti Soy Chai, and we both know it.

Oh, Starbucks, this drink is so delicious, so refreshing. I could have one every day from now until I die, and I would still find your beverage to be divinity in a large, clear plastic cup. So imagine my surprise this morning when my delicious, icy beverage was served with a side of rage. This rage, Starbucks, is because in the cup, along with my 2/3 chai 1/3 ice ratio (don’t think I don’t notice that, barista-types. I would yell, but I like my drink cold.) was about half an inch of air.

Starbucks, this is not acceptable. As you are aware, I allow you to rape me at least weekly for the four odd dollars it costs to procure my wonderous beverage. I will not have you short-changing me out of what has to be at least a good ounce or two of delicious drink. I’m not kidding, I was so irritated by it I wanted to chuck the drink at the barista’s head. And why? Why should you do this to me, your loyal and humble bitch? Please don’t hurt me like this again. Ice should touch lid, mmkay?

Fill it up,
Angie


Dear Warm Weather,

Please don’t get me wrong. I do appreciate and enjoy you, and the daily walks have been endlessly pleasant. However, it’s March. It shouldn’t feel like mid-May. My sinuses are confused. Could you please crank it back to the 60s? Just briefly? I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but if you could work that out, it would be great.

Go Away Global Warming,Angie

Dear Functions and Logarithms,

You are all that is between my degree and I. Don’t screw this up for me. I just. Need. To pass.

Then You Can Go With Global Warming,Angie

Oh crap, I'm old

Seriously, I would never have thought that 24 was old. I mean, mid-twenties! Sure, I've had my joking moments, like at the N*Sync concert (shut up, I went with a friend and didn't pay for the ticket and DON'T JUDGE ME) and the kids in front of us didn't know who "Deborah" Gibson was. That sort of stuff. But what sealed it for me was about two hours ago when Alex, the kid I babysit for said the following: "That Lego set you got me for my birthday is tight." What the hell?! You're 8! The only things that should be "tight" are your pants because of growth spurts. But that's not the worst part, oh no. Alex was flinging himself about the room like a spaz, which is fine, and I said, "Kid, you have lost your MARBLES!" He looked down, and I said, "What? You're crazy!" Alex said "Well, I have marbles there, too, with my penis." Ohmygod you're 8! Why would that even occur to you? Why are you saying the word "penis"? I'm 24 and I still giggle half the time I say it. The word butthole sends you into convulsions! Don't say that word, even if it is anatomically correct! Sweet god, you're freaking me out!

And that, my friends, is the tragic tale of how I got old.

First

The interesting thing about breaking up with someone is the number of firsts that come with it. When you first start dating someone, there are all these firsts: first date, first kiss, first time you sleep together, first fight, first “I love you”. And you want to remember them all because they seem so precious and amazing, and like they’re all going to be so important, and that there will be an infinite number of them. And I don’t really think you run out of them so much as I think there comes a point when you don’t notice them as much. Comfort sets in over the adrenaline of the new. And that consistency is just as wonderful as the new because there’s a lot to be said for the expected. Knowing how late someone generally sleeps in on Sundays and what kind of breakfast they like when they get up. Knowing the kinds of jokes that will make them laugh and being able to guess what will be on the TV when you walk into the room just based on what time it is. And all of that begins to feel so permanent even as you know somewhere in your mind that it’s precarious that you just assume that it’s going to keep being there even when you’re wondering if you should be getting out.

And then the split happens, and you’re back to the firsts: first full day of not calling him, then the first week. First time something excellent happens and you can’t tell him about it. First time something shitty happens and you can’t tell him about it. First holidays apart, first trips to a restaurant you both loved (I haven’t been brave enough to do too many of those yet). First time watching movies you watched together. First phone calls to friends that went different ways in the break-up. First time you hear about the dates he’s going on, or you run across his profile on a dating site. And what still surprises me is almost seven months out I’m still running into firsts around every corner, just when I think I’m starting to run out of them and can settle into the comfortable period. And right now I can’t help but wonder, when’s the first day that I don’t still miss him going to be?

Dear

Dear Canker Sore,

Hello there. I've noticed that you moved into my lower lip about a week ago. I appreciate that you find me to be a hospitable host, and hope you've enjoyed yourself.

But.

You are roughly the size of a pea. You hurt. Excessively. You don't seem to be getting better so much as you seem to be getting more comfortable. Normally, I'm able to ignore this sort of thing and let bygones be bygones until you go away, but you're making chewing hurt. You make licking my lips hurt, which is unfortunate, because when I have a cold, I lick my lips approximately three hundred times an hour, and I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm getting over a cold. So I could do without your aggravation. So if you wouldn't mind, I don't know, buggering off, that would be great.

Thanks,
Angie