Uh. Hi. I feel a little raw and exposed after my last post. More than that, though, I feel honored that so many of you shared your stories and let me know I wasn’t alone. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
So. *clap, clap* I’m feeling much better now! How about you?
Actually I’m feeling better about the whole “bad day” thing from yesterday (oh alright, the past 2 1/2 years), but in the last 48 hours I’ve somehow managed to break three different pieces of machinery and I’m feeling rather irritated.
Maybe it’s my magnetism that causes these things to break? Am I giving off some sort of “break right now you silly machine” vibe?
1. Washing machine. Broke. Full of water and towels. Couldn’t be drained. I tried putting it on the spin cycle just so it would drain. I did! I tried.
Washing machine repairman walked in, turned the dial to the spin cycle and it drained. He looked at me like I was a DUMBASS.
“I, uh, DID that. It didn’t drain for me.”
He looked at me again like I was a dumbass. “It would have drained.”
“But it didn’t.”
“It would have.”
I’d have kicked him in the family jewels for arguing with me like a three-year-old, but I really wanted him to fix my washing machine. He fixed it, costing less than I’d expected.
I felt smug.
“HA! You can’t get me Universe! I win.”
Just a mere four hours later…
2. Laptop. Broken. Wouldn’t even turn on. Went to sleep mode and didn’t wake up.
Universe? Suck it.
Without a computer, I’m cut-off from the world. I don’t even HAVE a phone book to look up a number for a computer repair person.
Nearly 24 hours after going into a coma, it miraculously starts. I’m now too afraid to let it go asleep again. Thank God for blogs and Twitter, they’ll keep my computer’s brain waves from flatlining.
“Universe? What’s going on?”
Just this morning…
3. Computer printer at BMV. Suddenly broken. Working fine until I sit down to request to take the driver’s exam to get an Indiana driver’s license.
One child is screaming in her stroller. The other child just took a poop and I forgot to bring wipes.
“Keep smiling at the BMV worker,” I tell myself. “Don’t scream at her to PLEASE OH PLEASE HURRY and just print the test at a different computer. Oh yeah, Universe? Leave. Me. Alone. I’m NOT talking to you.”
The BMV worker calls another BMV office to try to figure out the printer’s major malfunction. Answers the same question several times. Turns printer off and on and on and off. Over and over and over.
Printer still not working.
I keep smiling. I’m not smiling on the inside, in fact I’m gagging a little from the stench coming from the boy child’s ass.
Eventually an angel appears from another printer with my test. I sing Hallelujah and thank Carson for helping speed up the process.
(If you don’t hear from me for several days, you’ll know the computer is on the fritz. Or that my magnetism broke some more appliances/electronics/machines.)