If you haven’t caught on already, I’m a bit of a cynic. I have some serious bouts of bad luck. I’m generally somewhat pessimistic. I enjoy sarcasm. I stress and worry like it’s my job because I feel like I’m slacking if I don’t have too much on my plate. And my favorite kind of humor is the kind that thrives on these characteristics. I wouldn’t say I’m a “Debbie Downer,” although some might. I’m rarely “complaining;” instead, I just like to relay my misfortunes in a humorous way. Might as well make something good of it, right? Here’s an example of some things that have happened to me recently:
Today, I woke up cheerful and on the “right” side of the bed (both figuratively and literally). No sarcasm there. I wouldn’t necessarily say I “woke up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy,” which I imagine feels pretty rich and famous. That is, unless P. Diddy regularly wakes up at 8:07 A.M. to the song “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley, which is purposely set as his alarm in an attempt to start the day off in a happy mood. I’m usually quite the morning person — obnoxiously so — and today was no exception. Until I left my apartment.
I was bouncing back from a fail-filled Tuesday. I must not have used up all my bad luck for the day and, unfortunately, that’s the one thing that life will let “roll over” into the next day … or week. Anyway, I finally decided to fill up my car yesterday, taking advantage of the LoafÂ ‘N Jug glitch and getting my usual $.10 off per gallon. I felt so sneaky like I was getting a better deal than everyone else. (You know me and my bargains. <– Or, if you don’t, click that.) By the time I got off work four hours later, the price of gas had dropped $.10. That’s my luck.
But, whatever. I rolled with it and went off to the gym to complete my sad little workout in a continued attempt to get back into shape. So what if I get through it by watching Food Network while on the elliptical? Don’t judge.
After returning home, I figured I’d jump in the shower before my boyfriend, Chris, picks me up on his new moped (*swoon*) for dinner and drinks. (Sarcasm aside, it is pretty fun to ride.) But, if I shower with my contacts in, they turn into a dry, papery film over my eyes by about 9 o’clock. Comfortable and attractive. So I have my left contact lens (which I just changed for the month that morning) inches away from safety in its lens case when it decides to kamikaze dive off my finger.
I hear the faint crunch of something contact lens-sized hitting the bag in my wastebasket. I immediately dive for my glasses so I’m not the blind girl searching for a clear contact, and tear apart the contents of my garbage can — which I haven’t emptied in a couple of weeks. (Hey, I live alone — I don’t produce that much garbage. But, yeah, it was still gross.) Nothing. I thoroughly searched the inside and outside of the bag and can as well as the surrounding area. I individually inspected the contents of the garbage can. Twice. I even made Chris look for it when he came to pick me up. I still haven’t found the stupid thing, and I’ve given up hope. Thank God I had one lens left as a backup.
And that came in handy today when sorting thousands of tiny Lego pieces into their proper kits at my job at UND’s Computer Science Department. They put on week-long summer Lego robotics camps for kids, and student employees like me get to help reorganize all the kits in preparation for the next camp. Besides the company of my friend and fellow coworker, the only thing keeping me awake was the steady dose of caffeine I was slurping from my thermos between deciding which tiny Lego piece was half a centimeter longer than the other tiny Lego piece. That is, until I spilled my precious coffee everywhere. Imagine: The table is covered with countless tiny loose Lego pieces and at least 30 or more containers holding the sorted pieces. My liquid energy reached the other end of the table and got underneath most of the scores of containers. It took, no lie, at least 40 paper towels to clean up, and the entire room still reeks of coffee.
Watch the BP spills Coffee video on YouTube. (<– I’ve linked to it here, since it won’t let me embed it.) That’s what it was like.
Speaking of things that reek, did you know flour tortillas can get stale? I do now, the hard way. I’ll leave it at that.
I also know that whoever lived in my apartment before me never cleaned, and my rental company’s cleaning crew somehow “missed” my unit before I moved in, so I spent over six hours overhauling the place on moving day. I still find bits of nasties. Like this happy little nugget — I was jamming condiments into the shelf on the inside of the door one day when all of a sudden, something flat and brown pokes up from behind the piece of plastic that keeps everything from sliding from the door into the fridge when you open it. I picked it up and realized it was a Wheat Thin — with a lot of extra gunk on it. #1: I have never purchased Wheat Thins while living in this building. #2: If I did have Wheat Thins, I would never put them in the fridge. I mean, what the heck?!
Apparently all of this must have made me make the tension/worry, frowny face a lot because, while I was at work this afternoon, I looked up at myself in the bathroom mirror to find I had a GIANT deep wrinkle right in the middle of my forehead. Not one week over 21, and I get my first wrinkle — a worry line, of course. Touche, life. Very fitting.