Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Crap Circles
A friend of mine left her husband this week for reasons I won't go into. The point is that he'd been acting peculiar for the last few weeks. She mentioned it to me, but she brushed the incidents aside until something really bad happened and the real problem hit her in the face.
I came up with a name for this "in your face but invisible" phenomenon.
Crap circles.
Crap circles are those signs in your life that something has happened or is happening. They’re something to worry about if you can see them. The problem is that when you’re standing in the middle of a crap circle, you can’t see it. It’s only when you step back and get a look at the big picture or take yourself out of the situation that you realize, “Oh yeah, the signs were there. I just didn’t see them.”
An example of a crap circle, was when my now ex-husband came home with grass in his underwear. I was so busy being almost lethally pregnant with what turned out to be our ten-and-a-half-pound son, that it didn’t dawn on me to wonder why vegetation would be in the drawers of a man who worked in an office. I just picked them up, shook them out, and threw them in the laundry. Later when we split up, I put two and two together and confronted him with it. He admitted that he went to the marina after an office party and rolled around in the grass with a female co-worker. Naked. The grass clippings must have gotten stuck on his pasty butt and transferred to his underwear.
Crap circle de-mystified.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Duh
I was at Ross today. They have those annoying carts that have the huge poles on them to keep you from going out the door with the cart. I forgot it was there and SMACK ran right into the top of the door trying to get out. I recovered quickly, backed up, and parked the cart with the other carts. I had just grabbed my bags and purse when one the checkers yelled at me,
"You can't take the carts outside."
I replied,
"Yea, I figured that out when I ran into the door with it."
Duh for me and duh for her.
"You can't take the carts outside."
I replied,
"Yea, I figured that out when I ran into the door with it."
Duh for me and duh for her.
Monday, May 3, 2010
We Are Not Brains In Jars
~
Janet Fitch’s chapter in Writers Workshop in a Book titled Coming to Your Senses resonates with me. She states, “More and more of us are becoming that boy, typing and tapping, viewing the world through screen and windshields, and never noticing what we might be missing.” We are increasingly an indoor society – a virtual society. We see, hear, feel, and experience what others have created for us on TV, in magazines, in games, in books. She uses an example of a Star Trek episode where brains in jars run a world. I remember that episode. I can see her point.
I work at a large university. We post signs to help students find where they need to go for services or information. They don’t read them. They say they don’t notice the large signs with red lettering. I have a theory on this. They have “pop up blindness” from too many years on the Internet. They live in a world of DVRs where they can skip commercials. They don’t take the time to read or pay attention to what’s in front of them. They text people sitting next to them. They talk on the phone or text people when they are physically with other people. They are blind to the non-virtual world.
Fitch keeps sensory notebooks. I believe in this. I’m fortunate that there is an arboretum at the university where I work. At least once a week, I walk to the arboretum and just experience things. I write them in little notebooks and I take pictures and videos. I need to do this because sitting in my office all day makes me numb. It’s like when I had hand surgery a few years ago and they didn’t put me under, they used a tourniquet. They squeezed off sensation. They isolated my arm from my brain. I didn’t feel them cutting into me. I felt a far away sensation of muted touch, but no pain. Technology is a tourniquet. It isolates our brains from life. As Fitch states, it’s too easy to become a brain in a jar.
I put inspirational quotes on the wall behind my writing desk. I added one today: “We are not brains in jars.” The picture pasted above it is a little gory, but hopefully it will help me remember to get up and go outside once in a while. Hopefully, that will give me real sensory information to share through my writing so I won't be writing as a brain in a jar.
~
Janet Fitch’s chapter in Writers Workshop in a Book titled Coming to Your Senses resonates with me. She states, “More and more of us are becoming that boy, typing and tapping, viewing the world through screen and windshields, and never noticing what we might be missing.” We are increasingly an indoor society – a virtual society. We see, hear, feel, and experience what others have created for us on TV, in magazines, in games, in books. She uses an example of a Star Trek episode where brains in jars run a world. I remember that episode. I can see her point.
I work at a large university. We post signs to help students find where they need to go for services or information. They don’t read them. They say they don’t notice the large signs with red lettering. I have a theory on this. They have “pop up blindness” from too many years on the Internet. They live in a world of DVRs where they can skip commercials. They don’t take the time to read or pay attention to what’s in front of them. They text people sitting next to them. They talk on the phone or text people when they are physically with other people. They are blind to the non-virtual world.
Fitch keeps sensory notebooks. I believe in this. I’m fortunate that there is an arboretum at the university where I work. At least once a week, I walk to the arboretum and just experience things. I write them in little notebooks and I take pictures and videos. I need to do this because sitting in my office all day makes me numb. It’s like when I had hand surgery a few years ago and they didn’t put me under, they used a tourniquet. They squeezed off sensation. They isolated my arm from my brain. I didn’t feel them cutting into me. I felt a far away sensation of muted touch, but no pain. Technology is a tourniquet. It isolates our brains from life. As Fitch states, it’s too easy to become a brain in a jar.
I put inspirational quotes on the wall behind my writing desk. I added one today: “We are not brains in jars.” The picture pasted above it is a little gory, but hopefully it will help me remember to get up and go outside once in a while. Hopefully, that will give me real sensory information to share through my writing so I won't be writing as a brain in a jar.
~
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Growl Swoosh Onomatopoeia
~
Onomatopoeia is using words that sound like the noise they represent. Here is an exercise in using onomatopoeia.
His snores rattle pictures on walls. Great bellowing growls on inhale. Swooshing steam escapes on exhale. Mesmerizing in rhythm -- growl, swoosh, growl, swoosh -- the raucous rocking boat of sleep, vibrating twilight hours into morning.
Growl, swoosh, growl, swoosh, SNOP!
A break in beat.
The house holds its breath.
The hall clock pauses.
All matter in the universe
outside these walls hangs
in limbo,
motionless,
without purpose.
Snop, snop, snop… growl, swoosh…
time begins again and the house exhales.
This is the music of my childhood, the assurance that my father is there. In his absence, there is only the metallic ticking of the clock to fill the night. Snapping the seconds away – snap, tick, snap, tick. Pinging echoes careening like radar against every sharp corner of the house, amplifying the void. Snap, tick mocks his absence and invites the night to darken. Growl, swoosh spins the world and keeps the demons away.
~
Onomatopoeia is using words that sound like the noise they represent. Here is an exercise in using onomatopoeia.
His snores rattle pictures on walls. Great bellowing growls on inhale. Swooshing steam escapes on exhale. Mesmerizing in rhythm -- growl, swoosh, growl, swoosh -- the raucous rocking boat of sleep, vibrating twilight hours into morning.
Growl, swoosh, growl, swoosh, SNOP!
A break in beat.
The house holds its breath.
The hall clock pauses.
All matter in the universe
outside these walls hangs
in limbo,
motionless,
without purpose.
Snop, snop, snop… growl, swoosh…
time begins again and the house exhales.
This is the music of my childhood, the assurance that my father is there. In his absence, there is only the metallic ticking of the clock to fill the night. Snapping the seconds away – snap, tick, snap, tick. Pinging echoes careening like radar against every sharp corner of the house, amplifying the void. Snap, tick mocks his absence and invites the night to darken. Growl, swoosh spins the world and keeps the demons away.
~
Saturday, March 27, 2010
aaa What's a Black Hole of Luck Memoir?
~
I used to love those "soup" books with all their warm fuzzy stories, but after a while they got a little mundane. Besides, life isn't really like that for me. My life is not warm or fuzzy most of the time. Most of the time really weird things happen to me. There are no books for stories that would be a part of my life. My life is just too dysfunctional.
So one day, when a man was on the hood of my car while I was on a busy boulevard and I had 911 on my cell phone trying to get someone to come and take him off, I came up with the idea of "The Black Hole of Luck Memoirs." (The term Black Hole of Luck had actually been given to me by my brother-in-law years earlier in Vegas - but that's a whole other story.) These are stories of weirdness that happens in my life. I hope you enjoy them.
If any of you have a "Black Hole of Luck" tale, feel free to post it here. I'm thinking about creating a book of these stories one day, so if you'd like for your story to be considered, put your email address in the post. I moderate my posts, so I'll make sure to record your email address and name, but I'll take it out before I post it to the blog to protect your privacy.
What constitutes a "Black Hole of Luck" tale? Something that happened to you or someone you know that is so darn weird or unlucky that it is funny. No one can get killed in your story or permanently maimed. Read some of my tales, and I think you'll get the idea.
You'll recognize the Black Hole of Luck tales on this blog because their titles start with Black Hole of Luck Memoirs. I'll be adding more as I get a chance, so keep checking back.
Thanks for reading!
Pam D.
~
I used to love those "soup" books with all their warm fuzzy stories, but after a while they got a little mundane. Besides, life isn't really like that for me. My life is not warm or fuzzy most of the time. Most of the time really weird things happen to me. There are no books for stories that would be a part of my life. My life is just too dysfunctional.
So one day, when a man was on the hood of my car while I was on a busy boulevard and I had 911 on my cell phone trying to get someone to come and take him off, I came up with the idea of "The Black Hole of Luck Memoirs." (The term Black Hole of Luck had actually been given to me by my brother-in-law years earlier in Vegas - but that's a whole other story.) These are stories of weirdness that happens in my life. I hope you enjoy them.
If any of you have a "Black Hole of Luck" tale, feel free to post it here. I'm thinking about creating a book of these stories one day, so if you'd like for your story to be considered, put your email address in the post. I moderate my posts, so I'll make sure to record your email address and name, but I'll take it out before I post it to the blog to protect your privacy.
What constitutes a "Black Hole of Luck" tale? Something that happened to you or someone you know that is so darn weird or unlucky that it is funny. No one can get killed in your story or permanently maimed. Read some of my tales, and I think you'll get the idea.
You'll recognize the Black Hole of Luck tales on this blog because their titles start with Black Hole of Luck Memoirs. I'll be adding more as I get a chance, so keep checking back.
Thanks for reading!
Pam D.
~
BLACK HOLE OF LUCK MEMOIR - The Man on My Hood
~
The Man on My Hood
I was driving home one day after work. I stopped at a red light between a local college and a high school. I was about 5 cars back in my 2 month old red SUV. I noticed a very old Asian man on the sidewalk wringing his hands in a state of obvious agitation. I looked over at him, he made eye contact, and I looked back forward waiting for the light to change. My car shook and I realized in horror that the little old man was trying to open my car door (thankfully locked – the Black Hole of Luck is very paranoid). After failing to open the door, he climbed onto the hood of my car. He was yelling something in his native dialect. I am horribly mono-lingual, so not only did I not know what he was saying I had no idea what language he even was speaking. It just kind of sounded like, “Aye Aye Aye!!!”
Being the ex-Girl Scout that I am, my first reaction was to ask the man very loudly if he needed help, should I call 911, was he in pain? He stopped for a second, looked at me like I had lost my mind and then proceeded to bang on my windshield and continue to yell (still not in English – that would have been too easy).
The light was green now, for all the good it did me. I did not want to move the car for fear of throwing the frail looking old man into traffic which was now flowing past me – well except for the drivers in the cars stuck behind me who where honking at me and flipping me off. People were driving past me yelling obscenities.
I yelled at one guy, “What the heck am I supposed to do? I have Mr. Fricking Miyagi on my hood!”
I called 911. When the operator answered I had to shout over the old man’s voice. Boy that old guy had some pipes!
“911, what is your emergency?”
“An old Asian man has crawled onto the hood of my car. I can’t get him off.”
“Yes ma’am. Where are you?”
I told her the intersection.
“Are you in the parking structure?”
“No, I’m sitting on the Lemon Avenue.” (Later the irony of the street name would sink in.)
“Your car is in traffic?”
“Yep.”
“And the man is on your hood?”
“Yep. Can you please have someone come take him off? Wait, hold on a sec…”
Mr. Miyagi (okay sorry that’s who I thought of when I saw him and the name just stuck in my head) had started pulling on my side mirror. The fear of killing him in traffic was becoming slightly overshadowed by the love of my new SUV.
“No, No,” I shouted through the glass, “No touchy mirror! No touchy mirror!”
Back to the 911 operator now, “Okay, I’m back. Sorry, he was yanking on my side mirror.”
“Did he stop when you told him no touchy mirror?”
“Yes.”
The operator giggled.
“Can you please send someone to take him off my car?”
“Yes ma’am, a car is on the way. Stay with me and answer a few more questions for the officer. Do you know this man?”
“No.”
“Do you know why this man might be on your hood?”
“Because I’m a FREAK MAGNET and things like this happen to me. Can you PLEASE have the officer hurry up? --- Hey, I said NO TOUCHY MIRROR!”
Giggle – “Did he stop again?”
Sigh “Yes.”
She was now giggling harder, and I heard her tell someone, “She says she’s a freak magnet and things like this just happen to her. She shouts with an Asian accent at the man and tells him no touchy mirror and he stops.”
Had I been speaking with an Asian accent? How embarrassing, I guess I had. Sigh...
On the phone there is now giggling in the background.
Double sigh. “Is the police car close? HEY, drive around! CAN YOU NOT SEE I HAVE AN OLD MAN ON MY HOOD? YEAH? WELL RIGHT BACK AT YOU BUDDY!”
She’s laughing on the phone now. Who knew 911 operators had such a well honed sense of humor?
The police car finally comes around the corner. The policewoman has to go down the street a ways and flip a U-ey to get back to me. Just then a nurse in the standard white nursey uniform comes running down the street. She gets to my car and peels the old man off my hood and waves and me and says thank you.
Thank you? What the heck? I roll down my window about 2 inches. I keep my hand on the button in case Miyagi gets loose.
“Oh no no no,” I say shaking my head, “You don’t go anywhere until you talk to the police.” I did not just sit in traffic getting cussed at so she could smile and wave at me like she knew me.
A red SUV much like mine parks across the street and a youngish thin beautiful Asian woman with black hair cut in a bob which look a lot like my dark brown hair also cut in a bob jumps out and starts talking whatever-dialect-that-was to the old man. He instantly stops struggling and looks to me in bewilderment. The policewoman gets there, asks me if I’m okay, tells me to stay put, then goes to talk to the three people on the sidewalk.
When she finishes with them she comes to tell me that the man had escaped from an Alzheimer’s facility right up the street when his daughter (the woman in the red SUV) had come to pick him up and had left him outside the front door of the facility to go bring her car around. The man wandered down the street and thought big white me was his daughter. I guess he’s almost blind too.
Like I said Freak Magnet a.k.a. Black Hole of Luck. Yep that’s me.
~
The Man on My Hood
I was driving home one day after work. I stopped at a red light between a local college and a high school. I was about 5 cars back in my 2 month old red SUV. I noticed a very old Asian man on the sidewalk wringing his hands in a state of obvious agitation. I looked over at him, he made eye contact, and I looked back forward waiting for the light to change. My car shook and I realized in horror that the little old man was trying to open my car door (thankfully locked – the Black Hole of Luck is very paranoid). After failing to open the door, he climbed onto the hood of my car. He was yelling something in his native dialect. I am horribly mono-lingual, so not only did I not know what he was saying I had no idea what language he even was speaking. It just kind of sounded like, “Aye Aye Aye!!!”
Being the ex-Girl Scout that I am, my first reaction was to ask the man very loudly if he needed help, should I call 911, was he in pain? He stopped for a second, looked at me like I had lost my mind and then proceeded to bang on my windshield and continue to yell (still not in English – that would have been too easy).
The light was green now, for all the good it did me. I did not want to move the car for fear of throwing the frail looking old man into traffic which was now flowing past me – well except for the drivers in the cars stuck behind me who where honking at me and flipping me off. People were driving past me yelling obscenities.
I yelled at one guy, “What the heck am I supposed to do? I have Mr. Fricking Miyagi on my hood!”
I called 911. When the operator answered I had to shout over the old man’s voice. Boy that old guy had some pipes!
“911, what is your emergency?”
“An old Asian man has crawled onto the hood of my car. I can’t get him off.”
“Yes ma’am. Where are you?”
I told her the intersection.
“Are you in the parking structure?”
“No, I’m sitting on the Lemon Avenue.” (Later the irony of the street name would sink in.)
“Your car is in traffic?”
“Yep.”
“And the man is on your hood?”
“Yep. Can you please have someone come take him off? Wait, hold on a sec…”
Mr. Miyagi (okay sorry that’s who I thought of when I saw him and the name just stuck in my head) had started pulling on my side mirror. The fear of killing him in traffic was becoming slightly overshadowed by the love of my new SUV.
“No, No,” I shouted through the glass, “No touchy mirror! No touchy mirror!”
Back to the 911 operator now, “Okay, I’m back. Sorry, he was yanking on my side mirror.”
“Did he stop when you told him no touchy mirror?”
“Yes.”
The operator giggled.
“Can you please send someone to take him off my car?”
“Yes ma’am, a car is on the way. Stay with me and answer a few more questions for the officer. Do you know this man?”
“No.”
“Do you know why this man might be on your hood?”
“Because I’m a FREAK MAGNET and things like this happen to me. Can you PLEASE have the officer hurry up? --- Hey, I said NO TOUCHY MIRROR!”
Giggle – “Did he stop again?”
Sigh “Yes.”
She was now giggling harder, and I heard her tell someone, “She says she’s a freak magnet and things like this just happen to her. She shouts with an Asian accent at the man and tells him no touchy mirror and he stops.”
Had I been speaking with an Asian accent? How embarrassing, I guess I had. Sigh...
On the phone there is now giggling in the background.
Double sigh. “Is the police car close? HEY, drive around! CAN YOU NOT SEE I HAVE AN OLD MAN ON MY HOOD? YEAH? WELL RIGHT BACK AT YOU BUDDY!”
She’s laughing on the phone now. Who knew 911 operators had such a well honed sense of humor?
The police car finally comes around the corner. The policewoman has to go down the street a ways and flip a U-ey to get back to me. Just then a nurse in the standard white nursey uniform comes running down the street. She gets to my car and peels the old man off my hood and waves and me and says thank you.
Thank you? What the heck? I roll down my window about 2 inches. I keep my hand on the button in case Miyagi gets loose.
“Oh no no no,” I say shaking my head, “You don’t go anywhere until you talk to the police.” I did not just sit in traffic getting cussed at so she could smile and wave at me like she knew me.
A red SUV much like mine parks across the street and a youngish thin beautiful Asian woman with black hair cut in a bob which look a lot like my dark brown hair also cut in a bob jumps out and starts talking whatever-dialect-that-was to the old man. He instantly stops struggling and looks to me in bewilderment. The policewoman gets there, asks me if I’m okay, tells me to stay put, then goes to talk to the three people on the sidewalk.
When she finishes with them she comes to tell me that the man had escaped from an Alzheimer’s facility right up the street when his daughter (the woman in the red SUV) had come to pick him up and had left him outside the front door of the facility to go bring her car around. The man wandered down the street and thought big white me was his daughter. I guess he’s almost blind too.
Like I said Freak Magnet a.k.a. Black Hole of Luck. Yep that’s me.
~
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Black Hole of Luck Memoir - The Very Bad Day
~
Have you ever had a day go drastically wrong -- so wrong that it was amusing (day’s later)?
Here is a series of emails that I sent to my supervisor, Irma, and my coworker, Joyce, on just such a bad day in 2005 . . .
First email after I called and said I wouldn’t be in that morning because my home’s plumbing was backed up:
********** FIRST EMAIL **********
Hi there Irma & Joyce:
Well, the plumber hasn't called yet.
I checked with two of my neighbors and they aren't having any problems with their plumbing (of course they haven't spent a couple thousand dollars replacing their old lines like we have). I took the cap off the new outside cleanout between the house and the street, and air and sewage shot out for about 5 minutes - but hey, the water in the tubs and sinks went down!
I ran the garden hose down the cleanout and it hit something about 10 feet out (the line measures about 25 feet from the house to the sidewalk). I turned on the hose and water and sewage ran out of the cleanout, but the clog didn't clear.
So, well, the plumber hasn't called yet.
I never thought I'd say this, but I'd rather be at work doing reconciliations.
I'll keep you posted.
I love my job, I love my plumbing, I love my job, I love my plumbing . . .
(When I’m having a bad day at work, I chant, “I love my job. I love my job.” It makes everyone laugh and their laughter cheers me up.)
Oh, and did I tell you about all the ants that are invading my house because the ground is flooded from all this torrential rain????? At least the ant spray smell is covering up the sewage smell!
I love my job, I love my plumbing, I love my job, I love my plumbing . . .
********** SECOND EMAIL **********
Right about now, I'm thinking my horoscope for today is full of #&$*(%
Libra
(Sept. 23-Oct. 22)
Taking the analytical approach just won't work. You'd rather be part of what's happening instead of being removed from it by definitions and categories. You'll always look back on these few days as a fun time.
While I was waiting for the plumber to call, I smelled something that was a little stronger than the sewer smell. I traced it to the craft room and realized the automatic-scooping cat litter box had jammed. I cleaned it out and got it running again, and I decided to vacuum the little rug I have it on. The vacuum (that I just bought in October) started smoking. The belt broke and jammed up inside the stupid thing. I got it apart and yanked the belt out. The up side: the room now smells like burnt rubber instead of cat poopy.
Just then the plumber called. He'll be out "sometime today, hopefully this morning." Okay, that's better than nothing. He said, "Hey didn't we just put all new lines in your house?" I said yes through gritted teeth. When I hung up the phone, I noticed that the digital screen on the phone is broken.
My husband called (still no display on the stupid phone even though I plugged it into the reprogram port of the "mother ship" phone base that runs all the phones in the house) and he said he'd take me out to dinner at the Outback tonight. I said, "Hmmmm, they have alcohol. Okay, I'll go."
Can I please come to work and do reconciliations now?
No, no, I must stay and wait for the plumber. Good thing for him there aren't any weapons in the house . . .
********** THIRD EMAIL **********
I hate plumbers. They're like little dictators with wrenches. He still hasn't shown up. Supposedly, I'm next on the list. Yeah, right. They're on my list too.
The pool guy came by and he actually had good news. We are the only house they are working on right now that isn't knee deep in mud. Our yard is mostly sandy soil, so even now when you walk on it you just get wet sand on your shoes and not mud. He's going to send a crew out tomorrow to put up our block wall and start grading - whaa hooo! He told me that the gunite shell that we have right now doesn't hold water. The reason the pool is half filled with water is because our water table is that high in the ground right now! It's level with the street outside. It won't get any higher because we're 3 feet above grade. So basically all the houses in our city are sitting on a great big dirt water bed right now. Nice!
After the pool guy left, I thought my day was finally turning around, then my neighbor, MaryBeth, called and said her dad was in intensive care. He fell and hit his head and he's in a coma with blood on his brain. She called to tell me that she's leaving for the hospital but she's leaving her bedroom sliding glass door open so I can still use her bathroom. I hope I didn't pass the bad mojo whammy off on her when I was over there.
Oh well, at this rate, I'm not sure if I'm going to make it in. At this rate, I'm not sure I want to risk driving. No telling if my car's engine or transmission could handle it!
I'll keep you posted. Heck, what else can I do? I can't leave. I can't vacuum. I can't take a shower. I can't do dishes. I can't go to the bathroom (at least without crossing the street). That cat box is looking pretty handy right now. Good thing I fixed it.
********** FOURTH EMAIL **********
After the last email, I realized I had a very bad stomach ache (because I didn't want to go #2 at the neighbor's house). So I put on my big ugly sweatpants to relieve the pressure. It was THEN that the plumber showed up and they sent the CUTE guy. Here I am in my black sweatpants with 4 pounds of cat hair on them. So he cleared the clog in about 15 minutes and charged me $150.
It’s after 2pm, so I’m just not going to come in today.
********** FIFTH EMAIL **********
Hi - Update --
I went to the place where I've bought all my vacuum cleaner parts for the last 18 years and it's been sold to a guy who doesn’t know anything about vacuums and didn't have my vacuum cleaner belt. He’s turning the janitorial supply into a janitorial supply AND printing business. I left in disgust and went to get my shoulder xray I need for my appointment with the orthopaedic surgeon tomorrow. I made it through that okay except for the fact that the 90 year old guy that sat next to me (there were no other seats and about a 1/2 hour wait) threw up in a trash can the whole time (when he wasn't hocking things into tissue).
On the way home (I figured I should go home and hide), my windshield had spots on it from the tree I had parked under, so I pushed the button for the squirter. It sprayed for about two seconds then the squirter nozzle flew over my car and the rest of the windshield fluid splatted onto my windshield. This is the car that I just bought new last year.
My husband and I went to the Outback last night we stopped by Sears (where I bought the cursed vacuum cleaner) but they don't have the belt either. It's a special order and could take a few weeks.
What the heck was I thinking? Of course, it couldn't be simple. Not with the way the rest of the day went.
Pam
********** EPILOGUE **********
I went to lunch with Linda, my friend who happens to be a psychiatrist. I told her about my day (see drama above). She said she’d love to do my astrological chart because I have “amazing shit clusters” in my life. I asked her what that was and she said that my life goes along very happy and wonderful for a long time then all of a sudden a cluster of bad shit happens at once. Like my karma saves it all up and unloads it at once. I asked her if “shit cluster” was a real-life psychiatric term, and she said, “It is now. I just made it up.”
“Shit Cluster” is an amazing phrase! It’s so appropriate for me.
~
Have you ever had a day go drastically wrong -- so wrong that it was amusing (day’s later)?
Here is a series of emails that I sent to my supervisor, Irma, and my coworker, Joyce, on just such a bad day in 2005 . . .
First email after I called and said I wouldn’t be in that morning because my home’s plumbing was backed up:
********** FIRST EMAIL **********
Hi there Irma & Joyce:
Well, the plumber hasn't called yet.
I checked with two of my neighbors and they aren't having any problems with their plumbing (of course they haven't spent a couple thousand dollars replacing their old lines like we have). I took the cap off the new outside cleanout between the house and the street, and air and sewage shot out for about 5 minutes - but hey, the water in the tubs and sinks went down!
I ran the garden hose down the cleanout and it hit something about 10 feet out (the line measures about 25 feet from the house to the sidewalk). I turned on the hose and water and sewage ran out of the cleanout, but the clog didn't clear.
So, well, the plumber hasn't called yet.
I never thought I'd say this, but I'd rather be at work doing reconciliations.
I'll keep you posted.
I love my job, I love my plumbing, I love my job, I love my plumbing . . .
(When I’m having a bad day at work, I chant, “I love my job. I love my job.” It makes everyone laugh and their laughter cheers me up.)
Oh, and did I tell you about all the ants that are invading my house because the ground is flooded from all this torrential rain????? At least the ant spray smell is covering up the sewage smell!
I love my job, I love my plumbing, I love my job, I love my plumbing . . .
********** SECOND EMAIL **********
Right about now, I'm thinking my horoscope for today is full of #&$*(%
Libra
(Sept. 23-Oct. 22)
Taking the analytical approach just won't work. You'd rather be part of what's happening instead of being removed from it by definitions and categories. You'll always look back on these few days as a fun time.
While I was waiting for the plumber to call, I smelled something that was a little stronger than the sewer smell. I traced it to the craft room and realized the automatic-scooping cat litter box had jammed. I cleaned it out and got it running again, and I decided to vacuum the little rug I have it on. The vacuum (that I just bought in October) started smoking. The belt broke and jammed up inside the stupid thing. I got it apart and yanked the belt out. The up side: the room now smells like burnt rubber instead of cat poopy.
Just then the plumber called. He'll be out "sometime today, hopefully this morning." Okay, that's better than nothing. He said, "Hey didn't we just put all new lines in your house?" I said yes through gritted teeth. When I hung up the phone, I noticed that the digital screen on the phone is broken.
My husband called (still no display on the stupid phone even though I plugged it into the reprogram port of the "mother ship" phone base that runs all the phones in the house) and he said he'd take me out to dinner at the Outback tonight. I said, "Hmmmm, they have alcohol. Okay, I'll go."
Can I please come to work and do reconciliations now?
No, no, I must stay and wait for the plumber. Good thing for him there aren't any weapons in the house . . .
********** THIRD EMAIL **********
I hate plumbers. They're like little dictators with wrenches. He still hasn't shown up. Supposedly, I'm next on the list. Yeah, right. They're on my list too.
The pool guy came by and he actually had good news. We are the only house they are working on right now that isn't knee deep in mud. Our yard is mostly sandy soil, so even now when you walk on it you just get wet sand on your shoes and not mud. He's going to send a crew out tomorrow to put up our block wall and start grading - whaa hooo! He told me that the gunite shell that we have right now doesn't hold water. The reason the pool is half filled with water is because our water table is that high in the ground right now! It's level with the street outside. It won't get any higher because we're 3 feet above grade. So basically all the houses in our city are sitting on a great big dirt water bed right now. Nice!
After the pool guy left, I thought my day was finally turning around, then my neighbor, MaryBeth, called and said her dad was in intensive care. He fell and hit his head and he's in a coma with blood on his brain. She called to tell me that she's leaving for the hospital but she's leaving her bedroom sliding glass door open so I can still use her bathroom. I hope I didn't pass the bad mojo whammy off on her when I was over there.
Oh well, at this rate, I'm not sure if I'm going to make it in. At this rate, I'm not sure I want to risk driving. No telling if my car's engine or transmission could handle it!
I'll keep you posted. Heck, what else can I do? I can't leave. I can't vacuum. I can't take a shower. I can't do dishes. I can't go to the bathroom (at least without crossing the street). That cat box is looking pretty handy right now. Good thing I fixed it.
********** FOURTH EMAIL **********
After the last email, I realized I had a very bad stomach ache (because I didn't want to go #2 at the neighbor's house). So I put on my big ugly sweatpants to relieve the pressure. It was THEN that the plumber showed up and they sent the CUTE guy. Here I am in my black sweatpants with 4 pounds of cat hair on them. So he cleared the clog in about 15 minutes and charged me $150.
It’s after 2pm, so I’m just not going to come in today.
********** FIFTH EMAIL **********
Hi - Update --
I went to the place where I've bought all my vacuum cleaner parts for the last 18 years and it's been sold to a guy who doesn’t know anything about vacuums and didn't have my vacuum cleaner belt. He’s turning the janitorial supply into a janitorial supply AND printing business. I left in disgust and went to get my shoulder xray I need for my appointment with the orthopaedic surgeon tomorrow. I made it through that okay except for the fact that the 90 year old guy that sat next to me (there were no other seats and about a 1/2 hour wait) threw up in a trash can the whole time (when he wasn't hocking things into tissue).
On the way home (I figured I should go home and hide), my windshield had spots on it from the tree I had parked under, so I pushed the button for the squirter. It sprayed for about two seconds then the squirter nozzle flew over my car and the rest of the windshield fluid splatted onto my windshield. This is the car that I just bought new last year.
My husband and I went to the Outback last night we stopped by Sears (where I bought the cursed vacuum cleaner) but they don't have the belt either. It's a special order and could take a few weeks.
What the heck was I thinking? Of course, it couldn't be simple. Not with the way the rest of the day went.
Pam
********** EPILOGUE **********
I went to lunch with Linda, my friend who happens to be a psychiatrist. I told her about my day (see drama above). She said she’d love to do my astrological chart because I have “amazing shit clusters” in my life. I asked her what that was and she said that my life goes along very happy and wonderful for a long time then all of a sudden a cluster of bad shit happens at once. Like my karma saves it all up and unloads it at once. I asked her if “shit cluster” was a real-life psychiatric term, and she said, “It is now. I just made it up.”
“Shit Cluster” is an amazing phrase! It’s so appropriate for me.
~
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