Have you ever been in a state where every song it seems that comes on the radio, not only do you relate to it, but it sounds like slit your wrists and cry over the bathtub music? No matter where you turn, internet radio, regular radio, random shuffle of your own personal playlist, other people's playlists and then the cat is being super nice to you like you think you are going to die the cat is being that nice to you nice?
Well that place is real and I am wading through it. I am no longer over my head in it or even knee deep, but my ankles feel like they are in the quicksand part of it and so although I am feeling as if I am weaning myself off of the nasty, I am still stuck, even if only a portion of me, that portion keeps me from moving forward and that has to be the most frustrating part about it.
I just want to take a few steps and not have to worry about music, whether in movies or in my house, haunting me. Damn human emotions and connections. We need to be vastly more unique than we are.
So this weekend, a mess. Clearly as my one friend put it, hand me a bit of alcohol and watch the ride. I actually don't believe that and it actually hurt my feelings a lot since I consume quite a bit of alcohol (no worries I don't attend any meetings) and my rough ups happen to be few and far in between. I think I'm not doing that badly for myself. She would disagree.
I have another hole in my body bringing the number to a whopping you'll have to find out from personal experience. I put another hole in my face though, not something that I condone seeing that I am American and Americans don't particularly care for temple expression. My temple, my expression. That's what I say. My culture doesn't agree.
I still am a firm believer that getting older sucks. I am also a firm believer that sometimes people are not as they appear. How is it that you can be so nice to a person, they smile at you in your face and act as if they are genuine and when all is said and done, at the end of the day they are nasty pleather. Faker than fake. They are the hardest to pick out. Only talking behind your back and unless you have good friends or they slip up, you'll never know. Sounds as if I need a cleansing in my life.
And people wonder why it takes so much to really get in. I can't turn off my expression, but I can limit it and edit it much more effectively, because this right now is placing me in vulnerable states to where songs are messing me up and I am taking things much too personal. Even though I believe everyone has good in them, that doesn't mean that they know how to use it.
And what the hell? Nicest Thing? Kate Nash? Really? Should have never thumbs upped it.
Some people are nasty for nasty's sake. Purge yourself of it. It will only bring nasty into your life because the sweetness will want to run away from you or will only get run over by you and turn nasty too. And stop making things up! Isn't real life not interesting enough? And if not then go out and do something or hell, turn on the Kardashians. You see that mess? There are plenty of places to get your fix without screwing up the details of my existence. Let me alone. More suggestions just in case you get bored and decide that my not-doing-anything-to-you-but-minding-my-own-business-self is a good name to have in your mouth.
1. Bad Girls Club---- examples of who not to be and what not to do, but entertainment nonetheless
2. Friendzone----people embarrass themselves here too, but sometimes you get the lucky one who gets love
3. Housewives of Atlanta, Jersey, NY, wherever--- those women are something else
4. Basketball Wives (either will do)----- they have enough drama to distract you from me- don't they?
So if that isn't enough then maybe you should go for a walk, read a book, take up an instrument, or go do kickboxing or something because clearly you have some misdirected aggression of some sorts that needs some channelling. Just saying.
The Blow, True Affection is on repeat and Blinding by Florence + The Machine keeps ebbing at my insides.
Brain, if you don't want to work as well as other peoples and be super smart to provide me with a distraction, then I am just going to need you to do a complete shut off. Sickness and time away from the desk doesn't help either. Fever is making me loopy and the chill of the winter wind settling in is making my fingers numb and they keep threatening to shatter.
I think I have done enough complaining for one day.
Maybe.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
Classical Music
Usually I am really hyped for my birthday. This year, not so much. I don't know if it was my mood that brought everything else, but this year just wasn't like the rest. Even though I had time off from work and should have been all no stressed and relaxed, the day was just weird and like my mother has always said, I began to realize that birthdays, especially mine, especially now that I am older, are just another day.
The day before my birthday I was going for a run and my brother and mother were getting ready to leave the house. My brother thought it would be a good idea to pick his nose and wipe it on me. It wasn't. So I ran as that was what I was going to do anyways. The problem was when I got to the gate in the driveway. It is a funny bugger that you have to push just right or it won't open and I didn't push it just right and so I knocked my phone out of my hand and the case snapped off, the backing snapped off, and my battery fell somewhere. Everything was scattered in pieces and it just so happened that the bulk of my phone that front part now void of a case, a back, or a battery managed to fall directly into a puddle. Worst part about the entire situation is that I was being entirely dramatic, because by the time I crossed over the threshold of the sliding glass door, my brother was no longer trying to attempt to wipe boogers on me.
So my phone. I didn't think it was so bad, I wiped it out. I had to come inside for that and as I walk in whining about how I dropped my phone into a puddle and how it may be ruined, my brother proceeds to take his booger finger and wipe it across the front of my top. Gross. I now also have a pink spot instead of red and white cross hatchings, so I can never take my phone in and say fix it without them thinking it has water damage, except I now think it may actually have water damage. I didn't think much water got into my phone so after wiping it down, I put the battery back in and it turned on and my music played still, so I went on my run.
As I take out my headphones when the run is done and try to listen to my music while I shower, the phone is acting all sorts of crazy. I take my shower, figuring it will correct itself. It didn't. I take out the battery when I've finished and there is a puddle IN my phone! Ugh!! Damn you water!! Where did you come from. So the entire time that I am getting dressed, I have my phone apart. Case, back, battery. They can not be friends right now. I attempt to make them get along a few other times over the next two hours, but it is not until nearly twelve that I get her to really work, the only thing is that every time before the and still now you can see condensation collect at the bottom inside of the screen. There is a cloud in my phone. A misty cloud. What the hell. Hate you brother and boogers and dramatic self. I swear I need to channel that energy into something creative. Like scrapbooking or something tedious like that. Then I won't have time for dramatics.
Well fine, the phone works. I am feeling all bummy and basically I have been being nothing but a brat for the past two days. Yes, I admit it, but that all changes when I turn on my car on my way to lunch or work or something, wherever I am going and I am listening to the radio since my phone is acting all haywire funny and it is on the classical radio station because I need some relaxation in my life and so they say call in and win tickets!! So I call in and WIN! I never win anything, but I didn't have to know anything and I got through on the first ring. I think that either no one wanted the tickets, that or no one was listening. Regardless I win and invite my dad to come with me.
As the night should first start out, I thought this was a huge mistake as sometimes my father and I butt heads in a way that you should only see being filmed on hilltops for the discovery channel, that or your local zoo. Things got progressively better though and we managed to make quite a night out of it. The artists were absolutely amazing and captivating. I felt like I was in my own personal concert hall enjoying a night of sweet dreams and relaxation. It is amazing the effect classical music can have on the soul. It is so refreshing and riveting. The connections that are made with the notes and the tone and the rhythm of the music prove your existence and keep you hungry and striving for more. The arts are liberating to say the least and encourage thought and affect to penetrate into every day routines.
That though is not the point of this as I find myself on a tangent. That night my father and I were worried about being dressed appropriately and when we arrived we realized that it was not that type of affair. We were also worried about being on time. Again, not that serious. So we are talking and I look around the room and make a simple observation. I tell my father that we, he and I, are the only colored people in the room. He quips back to me, "Colored? I'm black! I don't know what you are, but I'm black." Thanks dad.
He himself then looks around the room and makes a comment that all white people are beginning to look the same to him. This comment catches me off guard and as I chuckle, the first thing out of my mouth is, "Like asian people?" My father doesn't miss a beat proclaiming through his laughter that they are, "Amazing." He continues with this by saying that at his school there are ten asian students and ten has gone down to five. A student approached him and asked him for something, he gave it to him ranting a bit, probably caught up in the chaos that a classroom can present. A few short minutes later another student approaches and asks my father of something. At this point he is a bit irate and concerned exclaiming, "Weren't you just up here?!" It was another asian student. He then goes on to say how he asked two of the students if they were related. They informed him that other than school, they didn't know one another. My father was flabbergasted. As I am sitting in the concert hall laughing uncontrollably, I now realize what my father meant at they are amazing. He meant it is amazing how they resemble one another. Again, going off the top of my head, I immediately thought that he had been talking about their amazing abilities in math and science.
We were in a fit. We also realized how out of control and stereotypical we sounded and let me be the first to say, it is very unlike us, I think we were just caught up in the moment and I was tired. Lack of sleep can make a person do a lot of uncharacteristic things.
Even though I knew the happenings were out of control, I shared them at my birthday dinner last night. Everyone thought it was funny and out of control, but it was funny to see how stereotypes have such an impression and are so ingrained on our way of thinking sometimes. Needless to say it was wrong. Later that night my best friend and I are talking in the car about this indecent proposal that has come my way. It seems that people really enjoy giving those to me. I wonder sometimes if it says right across my forehead- " I DON'T RESPECT MYSELF. YOU SHOULDN'T EITHER!" Just wondering. But whatever, we are talking about the situation and my friend is saying how this individual talked to me, that shows no respect, she can't believe it, it makes it seem like he doesn't view me as a person, but just a play thing, his play thing and so as incredulous as it is, she manages to one up the situation-nearly- by saying I'm a person and you don't talk to people like that, you talk to hookers (pronounced hook-ahs) like that. She sat there with a sad face while I got a little quizzical and cocked my head.
This is when I had to break the bad news to her. "Hookers are people too."
This was just too much for us and we realized, that stereotypes are everywhere. She was no better than my father and I at the concert. So just remember, everyone thinks that way some time or another whether it be about gender, race, ethnicity, profession, age, whatever. My only thing that makes it halfway ok is 1. if you know it is wrong, that makes it halfway ok, and 2. if you make it funny. Mean true things, not ok. Funny true things with only a hint of fun poking, halfway ok. So remember, know it's wrong and make it funny not mean.
So, sidebar I know, but I just realized, I didn't even get a cake this year. What the hell?! Now I understand why I have been all whiney and bratty. No cake? I always get a cake. The same cake every year since I was old enough to eat cake. My mom didn't make me a cake. The only reason why this really hurts is because she slaved over a cake for my step-dad all the night before his birthday was even here, she had it planned. I'm her kid. How come his birthday isn't just another day? How come he got cake? I feel half my age right now. And yes, I am pouting. I also think I am going to get a pint of ben and jerry's and eat it to my face.
Getting old sucks.
The day before my birthday I was going for a run and my brother and mother were getting ready to leave the house. My brother thought it would be a good idea to pick his nose and wipe it on me. It wasn't. So I ran as that was what I was going to do anyways. The problem was when I got to the gate in the driveway. It is a funny bugger that you have to push just right or it won't open and I didn't push it just right and so I knocked my phone out of my hand and the case snapped off, the backing snapped off, and my battery fell somewhere. Everything was scattered in pieces and it just so happened that the bulk of my phone that front part now void of a case, a back, or a battery managed to fall directly into a puddle. Worst part about the entire situation is that I was being entirely dramatic, because by the time I crossed over the threshold of the sliding glass door, my brother was no longer trying to attempt to wipe boogers on me.
So my phone. I didn't think it was so bad, I wiped it out. I had to come inside for that and as I walk in whining about how I dropped my phone into a puddle and how it may be ruined, my brother proceeds to take his booger finger and wipe it across the front of my top. Gross. I now also have a pink spot instead of red and white cross hatchings, so I can never take my phone in and say fix it without them thinking it has water damage, except I now think it may actually have water damage. I didn't think much water got into my phone so after wiping it down, I put the battery back in and it turned on and my music played still, so I went on my run.
As I take out my headphones when the run is done and try to listen to my music while I shower, the phone is acting all sorts of crazy. I take my shower, figuring it will correct itself. It didn't. I take out the battery when I've finished and there is a puddle IN my phone! Ugh!! Damn you water!! Where did you come from. So the entire time that I am getting dressed, I have my phone apart. Case, back, battery. They can not be friends right now. I attempt to make them get along a few other times over the next two hours, but it is not until nearly twelve that I get her to really work, the only thing is that every time before the and still now you can see condensation collect at the bottom inside of the screen. There is a cloud in my phone. A misty cloud. What the hell. Hate you brother and boogers and dramatic self. I swear I need to channel that energy into something creative. Like scrapbooking or something tedious like that. Then I won't have time for dramatics.
Well fine, the phone works. I am feeling all bummy and basically I have been being nothing but a brat for the past two days. Yes, I admit it, but that all changes when I turn on my car on my way to lunch or work or something, wherever I am going and I am listening to the radio since my phone is acting all haywire funny and it is on the classical radio station because I need some relaxation in my life and so they say call in and win tickets!! So I call in and WIN! I never win anything, but I didn't have to know anything and I got through on the first ring. I think that either no one wanted the tickets, that or no one was listening. Regardless I win and invite my dad to come with me.
As the night should first start out, I thought this was a huge mistake as sometimes my father and I butt heads in a way that you should only see being filmed on hilltops for the discovery channel, that or your local zoo. Things got progressively better though and we managed to make quite a night out of it. The artists were absolutely amazing and captivating. I felt like I was in my own personal concert hall enjoying a night of sweet dreams and relaxation. It is amazing the effect classical music can have on the soul. It is so refreshing and riveting. The connections that are made with the notes and the tone and the rhythm of the music prove your existence and keep you hungry and striving for more. The arts are liberating to say the least and encourage thought and affect to penetrate into every day routines.
That though is not the point of this as I find myself on a tangent. That night my father and I were worried about being dressed appropriately and when we arrived we realized that it was not that type of affair. We were also worried about being on time. Again, not that serious. So we are talking and I look around the room and make a simple observation. I tell my father that we, he and I, are the only colored people in the room. He quips back to me, "Colored? I'm black! I don't know what you are, but I'm black." Thanks dad.
He himself then looks around the room and makes a comment that all white people are beginning to look the same to him. This comment catches me off guard and as I chuckle, the first thing out of my mouth is, "Like asian people?" My father doesn't miss a beat proclaiming through his laughter that they are, "Amazing." He continues with this by saying that at his school there are ten asian students and ten has gone down to five. A student approached him and asked him for something, he gave it to him ranting a bit, probably caught up in the chaos that a classroom can present. A few short minutes later another student approaches and asks my father of something. At this point he is a bit irate and concerned exclaiming, "Weren't you just up here?!" It was another asian student. He then goes on to say how he asked two of the students if they were related. They informed him that other than school, they didn't know one another. My father was flabbergasted. As I am sitting in the concert hall laughing uncontrollably, I now realize what my father meant at they are amazing. He meant it is amazing how they resemble one another. Again, going off the top of my head, I immediately thought that he had been talking about their amazing abilities in math and science.
We were in a fit. We also realized how out of control and stereotypical we sounded and let me be the first to say, it is very unlike us, I think we were just caught up in the moment and I was tired. Lack of sleep can make a person do a lot of uncharacteristic things.
Even though I knew the happenings were out of control, I shared them at my birthday dinner last night. Everyone thought it was funny and out of control, but it was funny to see how stereotypes have such an impression and are so ingrained on our way of thinking sometimes. Needless to say it was wrong. Later that night my best friend and I are talking in the car about this indecent proposal that has come my way. It seems that people really enjoy giving those to me. I wonder sometimes if it says right across my forehead- " I DON'T RESPECT MYSELF. YOU SHOULDN'T EITHER!" Just wondering. But whatever, we are talking about the situation and my friend is saying how this individual talked to me, that shows no respect, she can't believe it, it makes it seem like he doesn't view me as a person, but just a play thing, his play thing and so as incredulous as it is, she manages to one up the situation-nearly- by saying I'm a person and you don't talk to people like that, you talk to hookers (pronounced hook-ahs) like that. She sat there with a sad face while I got a little quizzical and cocked my head.
This is when I had to break the bad news to her. "Hookers are people too."
This was just too much for us and we realized, that stereotypes are everywhere. She was no better than my father and I at the concert. So just remember, everyone thinks that way some time or another whether it be about gender, race, ethnicity, profession, age, whatever. My only thing that makes it halfway ok is 1. if you know it is wrong, that makes it halfway ok, and 2. if you make it funny. Mean true things, not ok. Funny true things with only a hint of fun poking, halfway ok. So remember, know it's wrong and make it funny not mean.
So, sidebar I know, but I just realized, I didn't even get a cake this year. What the hell?! Now I understand why I have been all whiney and bratty. No cake? I always get a cake. The same cake every year since I was old enough to eat cake. My mom didn't make me a cake. The only reason why this really hurts is because she slaved over a cake for my step-dad all the night before his birthday was even here, she had it planned. I'm her kid. How come his birthday isn't just another day? How come he got cake? I feel half my age right now. And yes, I am pouting. I also think I am going to get a pint of ben and jerry's and eat it to my face.
Getting old sucks.
The Price of Convenience
Mondays just shouldn't exist. Whoever invented them should be shot.
That is how I began to write last week about Mondays. Then Tuesday came and then Wednesday soon followed. Last week was literally the week from hell.
So Monday rolls around and as usual I am running a little behind. My car is parked on the street and during the time it took me to get ready, I checked on it about three times. Why check on my car you ask? Well they had been doing construction and I knew they would start again that morning as the wonderful sounds of screeching trucks replaced chirpy birds as my wake up call that morning. I also knew that because of this that it was more likely than not that they would be ticketing and that I was not interested in a ticket of any sort.
During the course of getting ready, I manage to check on my car two or three times. The final time, there is a ticket and so I figure at this point, why bother rushing any longer? I already have the ticket. Thankfully even though I was no longer in a rush, I was only five minutes away from walking out of the door as all I needed to do was brush my teeth.
Teeth brushed. Feeling clean. I don't check on my car again. Why would I need to? I walk out of my door and I walk out to a bare street. No car. My car is no longer there. Where the hell is my car? What the hell?! Seeing that I am always running behind, I need to be to work in five minutes and it will take me ten and now my car is gone!!! What the hell?! This is not the way to start off the week. Not at all. So my car has been ticketed and towed. Great.
So, I am freaking out, I see the guy down the street towing other cars and I am thinking oh how people must hate you tow truck man towing people's cars before ten. How does he sleep with himself at night? And why is it that plumbers and tow truck drivers never especially as stereotype would have it, and even from my limited experience with them, they are always unattractive with too big bellies and greased up hair and the crack that smiles back. Always with the crack hanging out daunting you, because this is the man who has taken you car away and you can't help but think about his personal hygiene and how disgusting that crack must be on the inside. How is it that not only do you have misfortune to have your car towed, but then it must also be by a Nasty McNast? Why is the tow truck driver never some hot guy or smoking chick? Pretty people can tow cars too. Can't they?
Nonetheless, I go up to my grease ball tow man and I feel bad talking poorly about him, because as my memory serves me, he was quite nice to me. He informed me that my car was not really towed, but that it was just around the corner. The story I told work, aka I did not go, was much better. That story had me running around, stuck at a friend's house, calling downtown for my car that they claimed to not have and then eventually I found out that it was around the corner, but honestly, if that man had not been out there towing other cars around the corner, then I would have gone through all those things. Instead, I went to the local convenience store, made a purchase walked outside, called my coworker and told him my story, minus the locating of the missing vehicle part and then proceeded to drive home.
I should have gone to work. That day was entirely unproductive. I didn't even nap. Television just mesmerized me. Stupid mush machine.
So Tuesday comes. I'm not thinking anything. I'm home. Haven't left since I got there the day after retrieving my car from around the corner. So I need to pick some things up from work before I make the commute that I hate to Niagara Falls. I make it to our Buffalo site and I'm late as usual, basically I won't be making it to Niagara Falls until closer to ten. I am supposed to be there around 8:30/9:00 a.m. How I'm not fired, I'm not quite sure, but am grateful for the confusion. Anyways. As I am leaving the Buffalo office and hop on the express way, all of a sudden I hear this noise that sounds like trouble and money falling out of my pocket into someone else's. So I drive to the nearest gas station and see that yes I do have a flat tire. God! Really? Again all before ten. What is happening? What am I being punished for? I don't even think I really did it!! You've got the wrong person!! '
As I try to put air in my tire, I realize that it is not only flat, but just ripped. The tire is old and worn like the elastic in a 5 year old pair of panties that happen to not only be aged, but your favorite as well. The tire is done. Really done. I am nearly in tears. Here we go. Luckily, I stopped at a gas station that was also a garage so I was able to get my tire fixed, but I know that this is going to cost me and now I am stranded. I want to go home and so I call my coworker. Instead of going home though, I figure that it is important for me to go to work and get some work done. I hate work. I hate that this is day two of car shenanigans. My car is not supposed to participate in shenans, just simply be witness to them. She is disappointing me.
So there is an even that we have to go to that day anyways and so my coworker drives us. Thank God that I didn't have to stay in the office. The day got even better when I gorged myself on this pizza that tasted like it was delivered straight from heaven. Yum. So the day is going better, until we leave of course. The battery life on my phone sucks and since I was on it all morning making phone calls and trying to play games to pass my time in the cold waiting for my ride, the battery is low. Luckily, there is an outlet relatively close to our table that we have. The unlucky news is that we make it all the way out to the car before I realize that I have left it plugged in. Genius.
I run back up the stairs, not even five minutes has passed and when I go to retrieve my buddy, my life, no where to be found. What the hell?! Not again. This happened to me once in London and by the grace of God, I managed to find it sitting on the railing of our apartments after it had rained and been sitting there for something like 2-3 days. That was seriously a blessing, but this, we are on a inner city college campus and if I saw a phone, well, no I wouldn't. That is just rude. People have everything in their phones. I'd turn it in. Whatever. I come downstairs and again frantically check my bag and the work bag for my missing phone. No dice. I tell my coworker to just take me home. We get two exits away from my house and there is a call. They found my phone!! Yay!!!
People, stop moving my things just around the corner! I am never going to look for them there. A lady saw my coworker leave our table and got nervous about my phone and handed it in to the directors of the event. Thank you for being so conscientious, but next time, just don't touch it! I will remember eventually.
So great. I am stuck at home again and because my car is at the shop, I have to leave when my mother leaves to get it. She leaves the house when I am just waking up. Not impressed with the way that things are going so far, but I manage and so I pay the people at the shop, he gives me a really good tire with a lifetime warranty- God knows I need it and so I am thinking good. Things are going to get better, but at the same time, I am thinking what is going to happen today. Monday and Tuesday were shit, what does Wednesday have in store?
I jinxed myself. I managed to get to work, get through the day, but the moment that I got into my car to go home that is when the trouble started. I thought it was all a joke. Nothing could possible go wrong three days in a row. Oh how I was mistaken. I didn't even go half a block, I was only able to make it out of the parking lot and past the first corner just before the expressway, my ticket home before my car started cussing me because of the monster under the hood eating away at her parts. I swear it was like the metal eating version of cookie monster going to town on the insides of my baby.
I am stuck on the side of the road in a high traffic area, five old men have come and tried to look at my car, my mother wants to leave me stranded and I am supposed to pick someone up from the airport in half an hour. I just don't' have time for this. I really really don't. So my mother comes, she is a bit cranky, I blame the school children she has to tame from 8:30-3 Mon-Fri. It is a thankless job. So she ends up leaving me in the end because this time my car is being towed, on purpose, and they need someone there when the tow truck comes to sign for the charges or whatever nonsense.
I am sitting in my car twiddling my thumbs, when a good friend calls, hears my situation, scoops me, takes me to the airport, drives both of us back to her place where we get a call from the tow driver about where am I, how long and he needs to take my car. Really? I know you do. She can't move on her own. So we throw stuff in her car and speed over to my baby and the guy isn't even done yet. So I sign my car away and realize that I am once again for the second time this week without a car. And it is only Wednesday. Oh the joys of car ownership.
The next day I took a personal mental health day. It was either that or kill myself. I decided sleeping in was better than sleeping forever.
That is how I began to write last week about Mondays. Then Tuesday came and then Wednesday soon followed. Last week was literally the week from hell.
So Monday rolls around and as usual I am running a little behind. My car is parked on the street and during the time it took me to get ready, I checked on it about three times. Why check on my car you ask? Well they had been doing construction and I knew they would start again that morning as the wonderful sounds of screeching trucks replaced chirpy birds as my wake up call that morning. I also knew that because of this that it was more likely than not that they would be ticketing and that I was not interested in a ticket of any sort.
During the course of getting ready, I manage to check on my car two or three times. The final time, there is a ticket and so I figure at this point, why bother rushing any longer? I already have the ticket. Thankfully even though I was no longer in a rush, I was only five minutes away from walking out of the door as all I needed to do was brush my teeth.
Teeth brushed. Feeling clean. I don't check on my car again. Why would I need to? I walk out of my door and I walk out to a bare street. No car. My car is no longer there. Where the hell is my car? What the hell?! Seeing that I am always running behind, I need to be to work in five minutes and it will take me ten and now my car is gone!!! What the hell?! This is not the way to start off the week. Not at all. So my car has been ticketed and towed. Great.
So, I am freaking out, I see the guy down the street towing other cars and I am thinking oh how people must hate you tow truck man towing people's cars before ten. How does he sleep with himself at night? And why is it that plumbers and tow truck drivers never especially as stereotype would have it, and even from my limited experience with them, they are always unattractive with too big bellies and greased up hair and the crack that smiles back. Always with the crack hanging out daunting you, because this is the man who has taken you car away and you can't help but think about his personal hygiene and how disgusting that crack must be on the inside. How is it that not only do you have misfortune to have your car towed, but then it must also be by a Nasty McNast? Why is the tow truck driver never some hot guy or smoking chick? Pretty people can tow cars too. Can't they?
Nonetheless, I go up to my grease ball tow man and I feel bad talking poorly about him, because as my memory serves me, he was quite nice to me. He informed me that my car was not really towed, but that it was just around the corner. The story I told work, aka I did not go, was much better. That story had me running around, stuck at a friend's house, calling downtown for my car that they claimed to not have and then eventually I found out that it was around the corner, but honestly, if that man had not been out there towing other cars around the corner, then I would have gone through all those things. Instead, I went to the local convenience store, made a purchase walked outside, called my coworker and told him my story, minus the locating of the missing vehicle part and then proceeded to drive home.
I should have gone to work. That day was entirely unproductive. I didn't even nap. Television just mesmerized me. Stupid mush machine.
So Tuesday comes. I'm not thinking anything. I'm home. Haven't left since I got there the day after retrieving my car from around the corner. So I need to pick some things up from work before I make the commute that I hate to Niagara Falls. I make it to our Buffalo site and I'm late as usual, basically I won't be making it to Niagara Falls until closer to ten. I am supposed to be there around 8:30/9:00 a.m. How I'm not fired, I'm not quite sure, but am grateful for the confusion. Anyways. As I am leaving the Buffalo office and hop on the express way, all of a sudden I hear this noise that sounds like trouble and money falling out of my pocket into someone else's. So I drive to the nearest gas station and see that yes I do have a flat tire. God! Really? Again all before ten. What is happening? What am I being punished for? I don't even think I really did it!! You've got the wrong person!! '
As I try to put air in my tire, I realize that it is not only flat, but just ripped. The tire is old and worn like the elastic in a 5 year old pair of panties that happen to not only be aged, but your favorite as well. The tire is done. Really done. I am nearly in tears. Here we go. Luckily, I stopped at a gas station that was also a garage so I was able to get my tire fixed, but I know that this is going to cost me and now I am stranded. I want to go home and so I call my coworker. Instead of going home though, I figure that it is important for me to go to work and get some work done. I hate work. I hate that this is day two of car shenanigans. My car is not supposed to participate in shenans, just simply be witness to them. She is disappointing me.
So there is an even that we have to go to that day anyways and so my coworker drives us. Thank God that I didn't have to stay in the office. The day got even better when I gorged myself on this pizza that tasted like it was delivered straight from heaven. Yum. So the day is going better, until we leave of course. The battery life on my phone sucks and since I was on it all morning making phone calls and trying to play games to pass my time in the cold waiting for my ride, the battery is low. Luckily, there is an outlet relatively close to our table that we have. The unlucky news is that we make it all the way out to the car before I realize that I have left it plugged in. Genius.
I run back up the stairs, not even five minutes has passed and when I go to retrieve my buddy, my life, no where to be found. What the hell?! Not again. This happened to me once in London and by the grace of God, I managed to find it sitting on the railing of our apartments after it had rained and been sitting there for something like 2-3 days. That was seriously a blessing, but this, we are on a inner city college campus and if I saw a phone, well, no I wouldn't. That is just rude. People have everything in their phones. I'd turn it in. Whatever. I come downstairs and again frantically check my bag and the work bag for my missing phone. No dice. I tell my coworker to just take me home. We get two exits away from my house and there is a call. They found my phone!! Yay!!!
People, stop moving my things just around the corner! I am never going to look for them there. A lady saw my coworker leave our table and got nervous about my phone and handed it in to the directors of the event. Thank you for being so conscientious, but next time, just don't touch it! I will remember eventually.
So great. I am stuck at home again and because my car is at the shop, I have to leave when my mother leaves to get it. She leaves the house when I am just waking up. Not impressed with the way that things are going so far, but I manage and so I pay the people at the shop, he gives me a really good tire with a lifetime warranty- God knows I need it and so I am thinking good. Things are going to get better, but at the same time, I am thinking what is going to happen today. Monday and Tuesday were shit, what does Wednesday have in store?
I jinxed myself. I managed to get to work, get through the day, but the moment that I got into my car to go home that is when the trouble started. I thought it was all a joke. Nothing could possible go wrong three days in a row. Oh how I was mistaken. I didn't even go half a block, I was only able to make it out of the parking lot and past the first corner just before the expressway, my ticket home before my car started cussing me because of the monster under the hood eating away at her parts. I swear it was like the metal eating version of cookie monster going to town on the insides of my baby.
I am stuck on the side of the road in a high traffic area, five old men have come and tried to look at my car, my mother wants to leave me stranded and I am supposed to pick someone up from the airport in half an hour. I just don't' have time for this. I really really don't. So my mother comes, she is a bit cranky, I blame the school children she has to tame from 8:30-3 Mon-Fri. It is a thankless job. So she ends up leaving me in the end because this time my car is being towed, on purpose, and they need someone there when the tow truck comes to sign for the charges or whatever nonsense.
I am sitting in my car twiddling my thumbs, when a good friend calls, hears my situation, scoops me, takes me to the airport, drives both of us back to her place where we get a call from the tow driver about where am I, how long and he needs to take my car. Really? I know you do. She can't move on her own. So we throw stuff in her car and speed over to my baby and the guy isn't even done yet. So I sign my car away and realize that I am once again for the second time this week without a car. And it is only Wednesday. Oh the joys of car ownership.
The next day I took a personal mental health day. It was either that or kill myself. I decided sleeping in was better than sleeping forever.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
5-0
I have been pulled over by the police twice in the month of October. Collectively that is more than most people get stopped in 5 years. It appears that there is a fundamental wrong happening with my life.
So, when I was driving back from Atlanta, I forgot to mention that I was pulled over by the Pennsylvania police. So I suppose I should mention this as well then. While I was in London, like seriously my fourth day there, I can check back in my journal to verify, I lost my enhanced drivers license. An enhanced is a step down from your passport. There is a chip inside of it and people can steal your identity. I hope they tried and realized that my credit was shit. So, yes my identity is floating around London somewhere. Hopefully not though, hopefully it is just in the garbage or something. Who knows. You would hope that they would send it through the mail, but considering that was over 8 months ago, nearly 9, I'm pretty sure I am just S.O.L. So with that said, since I have been back in the Americas, I either show my passport as identification or I use an old expired drivers license.
When we are pulled over in Pennsylvania, all I can think is that all I have is my old expired driver's license. Eff. We're going to jail. Not to mention that in the back of the vehicle we have open bottles and possibly some other contraband.
So the cop pulls us over and is shining flashlights in our faces and all I can think about is my expired license that is over seas. On top of not having a current one on my being, I also don't know specifically where it is. All I know is that it is somewhere in my huge huge bag along with an open bottle of Malibu. Not a good look. So registration is being handed over while the cop is shining the light on me along with the interior light of the car as I am searching through my big bag thinking why the hell do I even have such a big bag all while trying not to make anything clink against the bottle in addition to successfully keeping it hidden.
I am having trouble. After about a good five minutes I finally uncover my expired license and sheepishly hand it over. I'm sure that my ears are on fire and I have a flush of red across my face. Dead give away that ish is not up to par aka we're all going to jail huh? Great. Canadians and a lone American. Who do you think they are going the hardest on? It's a toss up.
I forget to mention that the one officer was talking to us, asking us if we know why we were pulled over-which was for doing 74 in a 65, that is only 9 over, he also asks where we are coming from, where we are going. So I tell him, that since the car is Canadian, it is difficult for me to read the odometer since it is in kilometers instead of mph. He takes it into consideration. He also seems to find it quite interesting that we were just in Atlanta for Pride weekend. Apparently he was just down there. Oh how nice. I'm sorry we don't really care. Just run my license, see that I really have one and let's go. I'm over this right now. My hearts all pumping and what not.
So the cop finally leaves. Everyone in the vehicle is talking. Poor passenger friend had to be woken up and is a little upset. Everyone is on edge. I have been driving for like 10/11 hours straight maybe less, probably less, but this incident makes it appear that I have no control over the vehicle any longer. I think there is going to be a switch. But, on top of that awareness, the back-seaters are furiously trying to hide some things by pushing and kicking the items under the seat. All I know is that it has to stop because from the outside it looks like we are either trying to hide things or have spontaneously burst into an all out orgy aka the car is rocking. That makes me nervous, especially since the cops haven't come back yet.
So they finally do come back. They hand me my expired license, tell us to be careful because there have been a lot of accidents due to speeding and send us on our merry way. We can't wait to get to a gas station.
Now about two and a half weeks later I am in the state of New York, in Buffalo and I am learning to drive stick. Oh the joys. I decide that I am not ready to drive on the road yet, but that a big empty parking lot will do. Seeing that it is a Sunday the parking lot at my job seems utterly perfect. Clearly I forgot about the hospital campus police.
So we drive over to the parking lot. We switch seats. I am doing fine with shifting gears and since I seem to have that down pat, it is coming out of first gear that I need to work on since stopping and then starting seems to be the most challenging thing. I go up and down the empty parking lot, stopping and shifting and going and stopping and shifting and going and stopping and shifting and going and although it has been nearly 4 years since the last time that I drove a stick, I haven't stalled once. Because of this, I begin to feel myself getting extra super confident and so I decide that I want to come out of the parking lot into the adjacent one forcing me to have to stop and make some turns instead of only being able to go straight.
This seemed like a good idea until I realized the hospital was in front of me and there was going to be traffic and people and I am clutching in just at the thought of it and stressing out and realizing that this was a mistake and how am I going to make a U turn in this thing. Basically I am stressing out. I see there are cars behind me, but at this moment in time that doesn't matter, at all. I am just thinking about not hitting anything and being able to make full stops and not stall and ... yup. I stall. Great. I also happen to stall right in front of the hospital police who put their lights on and it was just as I had gotten going again so I have to clutch in, brake and eff, this means I need to go into first again.
The officers come over and all I can think is oh my God, please don't smell the eggnog I drank 20 minutes ago. It wasn't even a mugful, but oh my God. Window's down and I get the look. The cop look and the question comes, "So what's going on here." Again sheepishly, I respond that I am learning to drive stick and that I work right there and so I knew the parking lot would be empty and then I got confident and so I thought I could drive down here, but forgot that the hospital was there and...
I clearly sound as if I have been drinking eggnog. Why does he need my life story? All I can think is oh my goodness, stop rambling. Thankfully the guy laughs, probably because he thinks a laugh will calm my nerves and shut me up. He was wrong. Although I shut it, my nerves were frayed. He lets us go, but then I know I have to get the car moving again and I have to turn it around and I'm not sure I can manage.
Now that the police, hospital police at that, have pulled me over, my confidence is shot to hell and I am no longer feeling myself. I stall the car 3 more times and essentially quit, but then I give myself a talking to, sit back down-as I had removed myself from the driver seat-and manage to pull out some good turns and clutch ins and shiftings. Driving stick, not as fun as drag racing makes it seem.
I wonder if November will be this exciting.
So, when I was driving back from Atlanta, I forgot to mention that I was pulled over by the Pennsylvania police. So I suppose I should mention this as well then. While I was in London, like seriously my fourth day there, I can check back in my journal to verify, I lost my enhanced drivers license. An enhanced is a step down from your passport. There is a chip inside of it and people can steal your identity. I hope they tried and realized that my credit was shit. So, yes my identity is floating around London somewhere. Hopefully not though, hopefully it is just in the garbage or something. Who knows. You would hope that they would send it through the mail, but considering that was over 8 months ago, nearly 9, I'm pretty sure I am just S.O.L. So with that said, since I have been back in the Americas, I either show my passport as identification or I use an old expired drivers license.
When we are pulled over in Pennsylvania, all I can think is that all I have is my old expired driver's license. Eff. We're going to jail. Not to mention that in the back of the vehicle we have open bottles and possibly some other contraband.
So the cop pulls us over and is shining flashlights in our faces and all I can think about is my expired license that is over seas. On top of not having a current one on my being, I also don't know specifically where it is. All I know is that it is somewhere in my huge huge bag along with an open bottle of Malibu. Not a good look. So registration is being handed over while the cop is shining the light on me along with the interior light of the car as I am searching through my big bag thinking why the hell do I even have such a big bag all while trying not to make anything clink against the bottle in addition to successfully keeping it hidden.
I am having trouble. After about a good five minutes I finally uncover my expired license and sheepishly hand it over. I'm sure that my ears are on fire and I have a flush of red across my face. Dead give away that ish is not up to par aka we're all going to jail huh? Great. Canadians and a lone American. Who do you think they are going the hardest on? It's a toss up.
I forget to mention that the one officer was talking to us, asking us if we know why we were pulled over-which was for doing 74 in a 65, that is only 9 over, he also asks where we are coming from, where we are going. So I tell him, that since the car is Canadian, it is difficult for me to read the odometer since it is in kilometers instead of mph. He takes it into consideration. He also seems to find it quite interesting that we were just in Atlanta for Pride weekend. Apparently he was just down there. Oh how nice. I'm sorry we don't really care. Just run my license, see that I really have one and let's go. I'm over this right now. My hearts all pumping and what not.
So the cop finally leaves. Everyone in the vehicle is talking. Poor passenger friend had to be woken up and is a little upset. Everyone is on edge. I have been driving for like 10/11 hours straight maybe less, probably less, but this incident makes it appear that I have no control over the vehicle any longer. I think there is going to be a switch. But, on top of that awareness, the back-seaters are furiously trying to hide some things by pushing and kicking the items under the seat. All I know is that it has to stop because from the outside it looks like we are either trying to hide things or have spontaneously burst into an all out orgy aka the car is rocking. That makes me nervous, especially since the cops haven't come back yet.
So they finally do come back. They hand me my expired license, tell us to be careful because there have been a lot of accidents due to speeding and send us on our merry way. We can't wait to get to a gas station.
Now about two and a half weeks later I am in the state of New York, in Buffalo and I am learning to drive stick. Oh the joys. I decide that I am not ready to drive on the road yet, but that a big empty parking lot will do. Seeing that it is a Sunday the parking lot at my job seems utterly perfect. Clearly I forgot about the hospital campus police.
So we drive over to the parking lot. We switch seats. I am doing fine with shifting gears and since I seem to have that down pat, it is coming out of first gear that I need to work on since stopping and then starting seems to be the most challenging thing. I go up and down the empty parking lot, stopping and shifting and going and stopping and shifting and going and stopping and shifting and going and although it has been nearly 4 years since the last time that I drove a stick, I haven't stalled once. Because of this, I begin to feel myself getting extra super confident and so I decide that I want to come out of the parking lot into the adjacent one forcing me to have to stop and make some turns instead of only being able to go straight.
This seemed like a good idea until I realized the hospital was in front of me and there was going to be traffic and people and I am clutching in just at the thought of it and stressing out and realizing that this was a mistake and how am I going to make a U turn in this thing. Basically I am stressing out. I see there are cars behind me, but at this moment in time that doesn't matter, at all. I am just thinking about not hitting anything and being able to make full stops and not stall and ... yup. I stall. Great. I also happen to stall right in front of the hospital police who put their lights on and it was just as I had gotten going again so I have to clutch in, brake and eff, this means I need to go into first again.
The officers come over and all I can think is oh my God, please don't smell the eggnog I drank 20 minutes ago. It wasn't even a mugful, but oh my God. Window's down and I get the look. The cop look and the question comes, "So what's going on here." Again sheepishly, I respond that I am learning to drive stick and that I work right there and so I knew the parking lot would be empty and then I got confident and so I thought I could drive down here, but forgot that the hospital was there and...
I clearly sound as if I have been drinking eggnog. Why does he need my life story? All I can think is oh my goodness, stop rambling. Thankfully the guy laughs, probably because he thinks a laugh will calm my nerves and shut me up. He was wrong. Although I shut it, my nerves were frayed. He lets us go, but then I know I have to get the car moving again and I have to turn it around and I'm not sure I can manage.
Now that the police, hospital police at that, have pulled me over, my confidence is shot to hell and I am no longer feeling myself. I stall the car 3 more times and essentially quit, but then I give myself a talking to, sit back down-as I had removed myself from the driver seat-and manage to pull out some good turns and clutch ins and shiftings. Driving stick, not as fun as drag racing makes it seem.
I wonder if November will be this exciting.
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