Oh My Gawd Sodagirl!
What a shitty great day.

January 26, 2007

Yes, I realize Christmas has passed and the next one is pretty far away but I wanted a “crappy” picture to show my “crappy” mood, so I searched for a “crappy picture” and this is what came up. So I’m goin’ with it.

My nerves are so frazzled with all this house business, both with having to keep my house (that we rent) spotless 24/7, so the realtors can show it (it’s for sale), leaving the house and trying to come up with things to do while I’m out, like get drunk shopping, worrying about whether we can swing buying the fugly pink (we’ll eventually renovate) house we want and now my van. It’s basically a piece of shit metal on wheels. I might as be driving around on an actual piece of poo with attached wheels. I think I’ve said crap, shit and poo like a million times already, so I wonder what kind of CRAP searches I’ll get today? Hmmmm. Should be interesting.

I decided to drive my daughter to school this morning since it was cold, I’m fighting a lingering migraine and honestly, I just felt like it. Well I dropped her off, waited until the bell rang and then went back to my van to leave and it wouldn’t start. There’s a loose wire thingy attached to the battery thingy that you apparently have to beat or wiggle or some such bullSHIT. As you can tell, I know nothing about vehicles other than THEY’RE. SUPPOSED. TO. START. WHEN. YOU. TURN. THE. KEY.

I called my husband to see if by some miracle he was still in our neighbourhood but no, no he wasn’t. He told me to lift the hood and hit the cable going to the battery.

The battery?

Yes, the battery.

I don’t know what it looks like? Like a Duracell?

No. You’ll see it when you open the hood, it’s on the passenger side.

Ah huh. Right. Does it say ‘battery’ on it?


Well I can freakin’ guarantee I will not know what or where it is.

I get the hood open and just as I suspected I had no clue which dirty, blackish, dusty, metal thing it was. He explained and I eventually spotted it. He told me to move the cable a bit or hit it with something. Works like a charm for him everytime.

You want me to hit? With what?

I don’t know, there must be something in the van.

No. There’s yesterday’s mail. Should I beat it with our power bill?

Sure. No, there must be something, a wrench, something.

No, I’m looking and I see nothing.

Did you open the back door of the van? There should be something there.

Fine, I’ll check.

I find a trowel thingy for spreading crack fill. Oh this should TOTALLY WORK.

So there I am, beating my battery with a trowel. It’s NOT WORKING. My husband is assuring me that eventually it will. No, it won’t. I’m trying, my hands are now black/brown/dusty/crappy and I must look like some kind of circus sideshow pounding on the inside of my van’s hoody thingy. My husband tells me to just walk home and he’ll be over later. Sure. So I grab my book and lock the door and start walking home, cursing the world, my van, my frost bitten hands, Oprah, The Pillsbury Doughboy and anyone/thing I can think of. So there I am, walking down the sidewalk, bawling like a 2 year old, the stresses of the last few weeks finally coming to a head. Great time to have a breakdown. My makeup’s sliding off my face, tears pooling on my jacket, snot most likely starting to drip from my nose and then I begin to hyperventalate and have an asthma attack. Gee, did I happen to bring my inhaler, you know that thing I need incase I STOP BREATHING? No, no I did not. So I’m walking as fast as I can, which doesn’t help when you’re fighting for air, wiping my face off with my jacket sleeve, which is not a great idea because my jacket is brown and my makeup is white seeing as I’m a pasty person, mix that with some snot and tears and you have a jacket that really needs to be WASHED. Oh and I’m trying NOT TO DIE from lack of oxygen in my lungs.

I finally make it home, stumble with the key in the lock because of the lockbox on the door handle and the fact that my once pasty white hands are now red/purple from being so cold. I get in and go on a search for my inhaler, find it, take a few puffs to get some much needed air in my chest, and then fall on the couch to continue my breakdown. I sat up a few minutes later and went to take a look in the mirror, which cracked from the horror show displayed on my face. Let’s just say I WILL be redoing my makeup.

Anyway, now that my little cry fest is over for now, I think I’ll go bitchslap my neighbour’s dog that won’t shut it’s yap. Might as well get this funky mood out and what better way than to beat a small yappy dog? I can’t think of a thing! Happy Friday.

Posted by Sassy @ 11:22 amI want to Punch You in the Neck,Nonsense5 comments  

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5 Responses to “What a shitty great day.”

  1. Hugs. house hunting is stressfull enough without adding car troubles.

  2. I wanna scoop you up, wrap you in an afghan and rock you in my rocking chair. HUGS!

  3. Awww thank you! And Karen, how sweet and by sweet, I mean CREEPY. ahahahahahahhaa

  4. OH! That sucks SOOOOOO much. Although, I will admit, the picture of you hitting the battery with a trowel kinda made giggle. It should be illegal for Fridays to be that bad! (((((Sassy))))

  5. Sooo there with you on the house thing – I’m about to have a nervous breakdown ovah heyah!

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