Thursday, August 16, 2007

Oh, for F*ck's Sake

Someone broke into Joel's car AGAIN yesterday by throwing a rock through the window. We finally figured out what they stole last time (his iPod) even though they left the GPS device. This time they took a plastic cup (Dunkin Donuts or similar) full of loose change. He was like, "Well, at least I have quarters for the vacuum this time... Oh for crying out loud."

The guy at the chop shop where he went for the replacement window the first time laughed at him.

Also? I set my work cell phone (the expensive one that replaced the original that I accidentally got doused with Diet Coke during the SATC tour with Tara and Shannon) on the counter of a deli. In the time it took me to turn around to grab an ice tea out of the refrigerator, the woman ahead of me in line grabbed my phone thinking it was hers.

I didn't notice until two hours later. I called it until it died, tore the car and camera/laptop/video gear bags apart. Luckily, the woman sheepishly brought it back to the deli later that day, but they had no way of figuring out whose it was because it was dead. I got it back, but the whole experience made me want to punch myself in the head repeatedly.

Hate that we're like this. HATE IT. Do you know what I would give to have just one week, just one day, to be normal? I mean, I'll never be NORMAL. I know that. I've made my peace with that.

For instance, this morning Joel asked me what time he should set the alarm for, and I kept answering, "Mr. Salman Rushdie."

Joel: "Listen to me. That is not a time. I need you to tell me a time you want to wake up."


I don't mind being quirky. That said, I don't actually want to wake up at Salman Rushdie O'Clock. For one thing, the ayatollah would be very displeased. I just want to buy iced tea without losing another damn cell phone.

5 comments:

shannon said...

Doh. I think the universe must enjoy playing with the two of you.
Hope this weekend goes smoother.
(And Salman Rushdie O'Clock cracks me up)

Cara said...

I'm sorry. I do feel your pain. If it helps at all, you're not alone--honestly, I have days and weeks like this all the time. Like totalling the car the day before the wedding, one month to the day after ending up in the hospital with the blood clots, etc. It's like a chain reaction in my world--once one thing goes wrong, I know I should give up and go to bed for the rest of the day with the covers over my head, because if I just stepped in dog poop then *obviously* the ceiling is going to cave in soon or I'm going to cut my finger in half when opening a can of cat food. Hopefully next week will be better than this week!

Carl said...

Remember that time when you called for Scott but he wasn't home so you blathered at me whilst you were shopping for bread and (I think) toilet paper? You enjoyed yourself in a dorky way then. I know this because you explained "koochie snorcher" to me. I didn't know this term (of endearment?) prior to that discussion with you.

Recall, if you will, that the discussion was partly in regard to your visit to the Russian discount Ob-Gyn that smelled, nay -- he reaked, of pastrami or some other salted, cured meat product. Your life around the time of that discussion probably wasn't that different from what it is now. You had car issues then, you were concerned about your job, you had to go see some quack that smelled like a kosher lunch, yadda yadda yadda. There's always SOMETHING.

Minor mishaps occur and you could make light of them if you choose to do so. You still have your camera, your man and your animals and your coochie snorcher probably still resides properly where it belongs (the reason, no doubt, that you still have your man). You still have all the important stuff so life is as good as it's ever been. You've only maybe stopped laughing about some varieties of minor disasters and there's no reason that loss shouldn't merely be temporary.

Chunky Photojournalist Barbie said...

Thanks, Carl. I appreciate the encouraging words.


The thing is, I haven't stopped laughing about the weirdness. Maybe it's hard to decipher from the tone of the written words, but that's actually the whole point about recording them here... so I can laugh about them and make others laugh.

The only difference between Miami and now is that I happen to be in a wonderful loving relationship with a man who is exactly like me: idiosyncratic and funny and a magnet for weird bad luck. If I sound more exasperated now or like I'm not coping with the crap-o-la as well as I did then, it's only because the "Angie Factor" is slightly more overwhelming when it's multiplied by the power of Joel.

In a way we're perfect for each other, because no one gets that it's just not your fault that this shit happens better than someone whose car was broken into twice in a week.

Chunky Photojournalist Barbie said...

Oh, and in case anyone is wondering what on Earth Carl is talking about regarding the pastrami and my coochie snorcher, he's referring to my visit to a truly frightening health clinic in Miami described in an entry written on September 27, 2002.

http://leafygreen.blogspot.com/2002_09_02_archive.html