Wednesday, February 23, 2011

mirror, mirror why'd you fall?

Sooooooo. Guess who has two tits and seven years of back luck, starting today?! !


At the bottom of the stairway from the second to first floor, or vise versa, of the house I share with my friend Katherine, there is a door. It's kind of annoying, but also kind of cool because it's the original wood from when they built the house in 1895. Anywayyyz. Usually said door is propped open with the floor-length mirror. It's not a heavy door, so the mirror serves this purpose just famously- or did, until I caused the little bastard to shatter.


This morning, I, in a mad dash to get out of the door, attempted to carry all the shit I had to take with me in one trip. Usually, I do not mind making more than one trip. I am the kind of person that unloads groceries languidly, not trying to over-exert myself at the task. I don't want to break or bruise any of my purchases or myself now that I've managed to get us all home in one piece.  Quite the contrary is Manfriend. He, come hell or high-water, will be damned if he has to go back out to the car to retrieve the case of bottled water that he couldn't carry with the other eight bags of heavy purchases. I say this is how disasters happen, he says it's a skill he's perfected with time. Tomayto, Tomahto.

I digress.

So I'm carrying all my shit down the stairs because I'm late and I'm in a hurry. I make it to the bottom. Katherine is asleep in her room at the top of the stairs. I silently celebrate the victory of making it from my bedroom to the bottom of the stairs without falling/hurting myself/breaking anything/making any noise.


My ridiculously heavy and overstuffed overnight bag, for my premeditated stay at Manfriend's tonight, just barely kisses the edge of the mirror. And it teeters. And it tips. And it hits the ground and makes a WAY louder sound than I would have though a mirror that that kind could ever muster. And I'm already late, so now I'm officially FUCKED.

This is why I never over exert myself when lugging my belongings around. Disaster strikes!

So I drop everything and don't even let myself look at the clock because I know with every passing second of cleaning up shards of glass in my business casual attire at seven goddamn thirty in the morning, my chances of scoring a croissant breakfast sammy on the way into the office is diminishing. Quickly.

So I finally get this unfortunate broken glass situation taken care of, and scurry out the door.

And then BAD LUCK STRIKES almost immediately.

Because I was all flustered and in a tizzy about my imminent seven-year prolonoged demise and fixating on trying  to remember exactly what I have to do to reverse the bad luck even though I'm really not even a very superstitious* person...I left my phone at home. Just left the house and drove off without it.  And didn't even realize it until I was way past the point of no return.

Normally, not a big deal. I can't talk on my phone at work and texting and whatnot is 'frowned upon,' but I'm really into Words With Friends right now... like slink into the bathroom to hide that I'm playing Scrabble on work time kind of 'into", and I've kind of over-extended myself with current games... aka I have more than several going, and so now my opponents are going to get pissed at me for taking so long to make my next move and/or think I'm intimidated or less intelligent than them... neither of which is the case.

Really, having to go back and retrieve my phone from the house after work is cramping my style.


So, although today is my unlucky day, it is your lucky day, because you're about to get a close look at the interactions that occur between myself and Manfriend, via email.

AAAAAAAnd as a disclaimer, I'm going to go ahead and point out that I know it's weird/disgusting that we call each other Boobie. One time we were driving somewhere and that word came out of my mouth when addressing Manfriend and of course it was hilarious that Sara even had that word in her verbal vernacular yadda yadda yadda, DON'T HASSLE ME. Just know that it's in jest and we're not really those people... if you know what I mean. Okay I'm not really sure where this is going, so without further ado:

From: Sara
To: Manfriend

Hey Boobie.

I'm so annoyed that I left my phone at home this morning. At least I'm assuming it's at home. I was literally tearing through my bags this morning on my way to work, trying to find it while on the interstate. UGH. I just really thought I had it when I left the house.

OH, and get this. I fucking broke that floor-length mirror that props open the door going upstairs this morning. I was trying to carry all of my SHIT downstairs at once because I was running late and seriously needed to stop for a croissant and I fucking knocked it with my duffel bag. Anyway, It fell onto the floor and just shattered. SHATTERED. How weak can a mirror be? It's not like I slammed it to the ground! UGH. So then I had to take MORE TIME to fucking take care of it and get it outside safely so no one cuts themselves going downstairs. I hope I got all the glass. I'm getting worked up just thinking about it.

Anyway, whew. I stopped and got my croissant anyway and everything is fine.

I REALLY WANT TO BE IN A GOOD MOOD TODAY, but motherfuckers wanna mess with me and make demands and treat me like a secretary on the phone and it's making it reaaaaaaally difficult to maintain a good attitude. My favorite is when they demand the cell phone number of the person I was just polite enough to tell them is on vacation instead of just sending them straight to that person's voicemail. It's like 'I'M NOT FUCKING TELLING YOU ASSHOLE, IF THEY WANTED YOU TO KNOW, THEY'D HAVE GIVEN IT TO YOU. Plus, do you really like it when self important assholes call you for insignificant botherances when you're on vacation, probably sleeping in?" Whatevs I'm over it.

SWALLOW IT OR SPIT IT OUT. aaaaaaaaaaah hahahahahaha.

Anyway, I'm bored and I can't play phone Scrabble, so my time-wasting options are limited. So, write me back, like ASAP, STAT. RIGHT NOW.

Okay, I love you, Boo.

X's and O's.

Your nutty GF

From: Manfriend
To: Sara

Hey loverrrr,

Sorr about the bad luck. You need to find a ladder to walk under to reverse it. Pretty sure that will cancel it out.

How was the croissant? I'm hungry. Maybe I'll stop somewhere...oh wait, there is nothing for miles.

I fucking forgot to bring something to spread my PB&J with today, so it's either use my dirty fingers or buy lunch. Or not eat. But I'm hungry now.

Sorry about the dicks on the phone. Just start giving out random numbers. Or give them mine, then email me and tell me who to pretend to be. I'll fuck with them for you. I'll teach them!


That made me laugh. I'm funny. And clever. And modest.

Ok gotta bill this ticket. Love youuuu.



Some people just get me, you know?

Oh, and any advise on how to rid myself of seven years of shitty inconveniences like leaving my phone at home will be welcomed and accepted. Or just remind me that I'm not even mildly superstitious, just bad at managing time and relatively irresponsible. KTHANX. eh. I actually hate it when people say thanks with an 'x.' It's like, okay, thanks for being a total doucher and saving yourself one fucking letter at the cost of coming off totally disingenuous.  Whew, stepping down from soap box. 

Have yourself a wild Wednesday. 

XO Sare 

*But, I do like the idea of superstitions and old ladies throwing salt over their shoulders at every turn and whatnot. I have my palm read twice and both times left a little disappointed, but I think psychics fall into a different demographic than superstitions, but I'm really not up with all that magic and smoke-and-mirrors stuff, so I just lump them all together.

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