Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Spinning the Wheel of Fate


It goes a little something like this: I'll tell you what happened this morning, and YOU get to make the decision as to whether I graciously thank the fates for their blessings, or just go stick my head in my neighbor's gas oven and, at long last, end it all.

We set the scene.
It's Tuesday, which I hate with a fury like none other. (Except, perhaps, for the fury I reserve for those people who drive those stupid little motorized carts around Wal-Mart with no good reason other than the fact that they are lazy, blocking the aisles and asking me to hand them things they can't reach. If you have a handicap, FINE. Drive your cart. If you are just a damn slacker, get your ass up and get your own fucking can of spaghetti sauce.) Anyway. So, it's Tuesday and it looks like it's about to storm and the humidity outside is already a bitch, despite the fact that it's only May. I have a list of things to do, and it's my mother-in-law's birthday, so I have to get them all done and get back home in time for Sutton to take a decent nap and for us to get ready for dinner at their house tonight.

The Glitches Begin.
There's a funny smell (like dirty socks) in the bedroom that I cannot locate. I've checked the air vents. I've checked under the bed. I've checked pretty much everything. It's only in certain areas of the room, and it's inconsistent. Being a girl to whom scent is important (as I do not care for smelly things and will Febreeze them within an inch of their lives if necessary), this is a huge deal. So I spend the morning searching, yet again, for the mysterious odor. Eventually, I give up (for now). I make the decision that I will either force Blaker to locate the smell, like the slave driver I am, or I will just stay drunk enough anytime I am in my bedroom that I won't even notice the smell. It is my belief that Blaker will opt for the drunkenness, as alcohol tends to lead to me either taking off my clothes or putting on something trashy and dancing. Either way, it's probably better for him than having to crawl up in the attic and make sure nothing weird has begun to decompose over our bedroom.

With that settled, I go to dress Sutton. And spend about twenty minutes chasing him around the house (a fun, fun game) before I finally closeline his punkass and, while he's gasping for air, wrangle him into his shorts and t-shirt. There. Done. Loading everything into the car, I check our "To Do" list to see where all we need to go. Library. Gym. Target. We head out. In an unprecedented decision, we stop at the library first, which is very close to my house. (Normally, I save the library for last as an "I survived shopping and working out with Sutton, and now I deserve a few minutes of quiet" reward.) Why did we make this decision? Who knows. We go in. We have very little luck finding anything interesting, but still pick out a few things and leave.

Lighting Strikes
I chase Sutton through the parking lot, sit on him while I strap him in, load 9 books into the car, realize I have lost my library card, unstrap Sutt, trek back through the parking lot to see if I have dropped it, locate said card, repin Sutt, restrap Sutt, am informed that he needs to go potty, unstrap him again and take him in to potty, re-chase him through the parking lot, re-sit on him while I strap him in, treat a low blood sugar with jellybeans, and insert the key into the ignition.

My car won't start.

It won't turn over. It won't make a funny nose. It growl or sputter or heave. It just won't do anything.

I load up the kid, the books, my purse, my jellybean stash, and we walk home.

Points to Ponder

Lucky points:
It wasn't storming yet, although it was close.
I got stranded at the library, which is within walking distance when I COULD have gotten stuck at any of the other places on my list, which are NOT within walking distance.
I have enough alcohol to keep me drunk enough to not notice the smell for approximately a year.
Sutt did not obtain any permanent damages from the clotheslining.

Unlucky points:
My car is...um...dead. (And I present my amazing mechanical knowledge and automobile terminology.)
I had to walk home with 9 books and a 3-year-old who thinks he's a space ranger and who was wearing flip flops.
I'm kind of screwed as far as running my errands.
When I first wake up in the morning, I will (most likely) be sober and be able to smell the funny smell if I don't locate and eradicate it.
Child Protective Services will most likely arrest me for clotheslining my son if they read this.

So there you have it. Optimist? Pessimist? (Or, like me, a Realist?)

1 comment:

Dan said...

Until the next time, viewers:

Where was the smell coming from?

Did the car really die, or is it playing dead for a cruel joke?

Did Haley tour with the WWE for a period of time in an earlier life?

Did the fucking penguin finally execute his evil plan?

Tune in next week to find out!

(I will lean towards the lucky on this one, simply because it gave me something very entertaining to read).