Meaning, I've already listened to J.P. three times at the loudest possible volume today in an effort not to snap and punch a hole through a wall. Not that I could punch a hole through anything if I tried. I don't even think I could punch through a spread out piece of saran wrap since a) I have ratty little carny hands that I'm convinced are purely decorative; b) I have the upper body strength of a 4-year-old; and c) I have no aim. If you were standing RIGHT in front of me and I tried to punch you, I would for sure miss and most likely end up punching myself in the face somehow. Don't ask. Well if you must, ask my brother. He had many a stomach cramp in our youth from laughing hysterically at my bitter attempts to punch him anywhere on his person. Did I mention he's three years younger and I was bigger than him for like 15 years? Cool.
Ooh except this ONE time I totally punched him in the face. It was awesome!!! We were on a family trip that involved a lot of driving (I don't understand why any family thinks this is a good idea) and the boy and I were sitting in the back seat. He kept holding his hand right in front of my face, or stretching his fingers out so they were almost touching the side of my head, and saying over and over "Not touching! Can't get mad! Not touching! Can't get mad!" I would reply, "if you don't STOP THAT SHIT RIGHT NOW I'm going to punch you in the face!" This went on for a solid 10 minutes, wherein I threatened to punch him at least 10 times. Finally I lost it and just nailed him right between the eyes. Clearly, he starts scream-crying and demanding justice from my parents. Their response: "She TOLD you if you didn't stop she would punch you!" Amazing.
Anynosepunch, where was I. Ah yes. It's a trip-Jurass day.
Observe my morning:
Around 8 am, I found myself miraculously on time in terms of being awake and showered and generally alive. I was casually getting ready and thought: "I'll make myself a lovely cup of coffee here at home and enjoy it while I'm getting ready!" Great idea, no? Apparently the universe begged to differ.
I get up to my room with the full steaming mug and attempt to place it on top of my dresser. OK, I should explain the layout of my room. It's about the size of a king size bed. That's it. It's supposed to be either a walk-in closet or a tiny joke-office, but my roommates and I, being the geniuses (genii?) that we are, thought it would make a fine little room for little me (think of the rent-splitting possibilities!). There's pretty much nothing but bed (and a giant mirror hanging down from the top of the wall facing the bed - yes) so it's pretty conducive to sleeping / boning. And really, that's all you need in a room, no? Unless you want room to actually stand / get ready / move around. Details.
So you have my double bed, and two horizontal shelves at thigh-level on the wall right at the foot of the bed. Between the two shelves I have a stereo, under the shelves I have several pairs of shoes, and on top of the shelf there is my lap top and other assorted technology and what have you. Making use of space! To the left of the shelves, kitty corner (ha!) from the bed, is my dresser. So between the bed, dresser and shelves, there's about a foot of space to....well, nothing. There's nothing you can do in a foot of space but stand perfectly erect and still and check your email on the aforementioned lap top, or trip and fall back onto the bed.
So I'm standing perfectly erect and still in said space attempting to check my email with my right arm and reaching up to place the coffee on the dresser with my left arm. I miss. Big surprise. Only half of the mug makes it to the shelf.
It proceeds to fall directly onto the floor in front of my bed / under my shelf. Needless to say it falls from so high and it's so full that when it makes contact with the floor, it obviously SOAKS my white carpet and a huge chunk of my white duvet. It's great really, because I was looking to add a certain failed abortion / diarrhea spill look to my room, so that's done.
It doesn't stop there. The impact of the crash allows the burning liquid to slap me right in the shins (mmm, scaldy), and also splatters (I'm not joking) over the 6 pairs of shoes (!) I have on the ground under my shelf, all over the shelf and wall, on my stereo (!!), phone (!!!) and LAPTOP (!!#(*$(!*), and my white curtains!!
I just stood there in horror for a minute, and then the tears came. It took me 25 GD minutes to clean it all up! Awesome. But wait! It gets better.
You all know how I love the streetcar on the best of days....shudder. I'm totally feeling like this kid by the time I get to my stop:
Actually he doesn't quite have the same blood lust and savage vengeance in his eyes as I did, but you get the point. On a side note I totally wish I had dino-jammies like those!
When I finally got on the streetcar (late), I shit you not, fifteen SCREAMING 8-year-olds got on with their teachers at the next stop. Fifteen. Think about how unbearably annoying ONE kid is. You know, when some poor haggard mother gets on the streetcar with her wench child and the kid's all "mom!? MOM! What's that? Is this our stop? Why is that man talking to himself? What are we eating for dinner?? Mom! I like shells. mom! what's...um...mom? Is Mrs. Johnson nice? Mommmmm! Watch me kick this stone!" Shudder.
As we approached the stop, it literally sounded like there was picketing /protesting going on outside! I turned to look out the window thinking "ooh, what are we pissed about today, community?" and to my horror, the brat-pack piles on. People literally gasped with disgust. They were ON FIRE. Their group chorus went a little something like this: "street-CAR! street-CAR! aaaah!!!!! WE'RE ON A STREETCAR!!!! YAAAAHHH! Streetcaaaaar! Hey! Look! People walking outside! I wanna sit! Why won't anyone let us sit? yaaaah! We're on a streeeeetcaaar!" as they ran up and down the aisles. I sort of feared for my life since I was sitting pretty close to the front and could see the driver sweating and swallowing hard, white knuckles clenching the wheel. I was just waiting for him to jerk if off the track and jump out the doors.
This is where J-Park came in. I tried blasting it, much to the future horror of my delicate ear drums, to drown out these little broken condom rats. My efforts were in vain. Even John Williams couldn't mask their shrill voices. I should have videotaped the scene with my phone camera and sent it in to some ad agency to be a commercial for birth control. I could have made millions!
And p.s. since I was late, I didn't have time to go to Starbs, so I'm drinking the chalky semen office coffee. If anyone wants to come here and slit my throat, I will welcome you with open arms.