Hi! I’m blogging from the road. Technology!
Yesterday was more stressful than I had hoped for. Seriously, it was like the universe is conspiring against me to prevent me from getting my car road-trip ready.
First was the snafu at the mechanic’s. Did I mention that I missed my first appointment with them? The key debacle was actually my second stab at greater highway safety. I bet they keep a list of crazy/flaky people to never take seriously AND I’M ON IT.
Okay, at least I’m going to fix my windshield.
Zeb doesn’t believe in replacing windshields which is why his looks like a spiderweb. Me? I don’t like looking like a hillbilly. So when I was at the carwash for my pre-roadtrip deep-douche and the oh-so-helpful guy working there asked me if I wanted to replace my windshield, I was like, “It is written!”
He put me on the schedule for the day before we leave and I congratulated myself for being so extra-efficient as to get my windshield fixed in my driveway while I went about my packing business. Multi-tasking!
It rained all yesterday, incase you didn’t know. I got a call saying that someone would be at my place at 9am. Around 11 I got a call from the dispatcher saying the tech was in the Emergency Room all night.
Oh my God! That’s terrible! I hate being in the ER! I was in it just the other day so I should know. I mean, if you call being in my bed with the pillow over my head because I’m hung over as hell and I’m trying to block out all light/sound so I can either go back to sleep or die in peace the ER.
“Can we reschedule?”
“Well, the thing is, I’m kinda driving 29 hours across country tomorrow and would like to be able to see out my windshield.”
“I’ll get someone right out.”
“I thought so.”
A couple hours later the tech shows and informs me that he can’t do the work because – surprise – it’s raining. Well, drizzling. More like misting. Okaaaay. So what do you want to do?
“Do you have a carwash nearby? We could do it in the bay.” Oooh. That sounds so dirty! Which is how I ended up sitting in the backseat of my minivan at the carwash while my windshield was being replaced … and not packing the car.
Stress levels. Elevating.
Obviously it got done but at one point, as I was taking my thousandth trip to the car, I asked myself, “Isn’t this a man’s job?” Packing the car, I mean. Isn’t it some hallowed male ritual? Fuckit. It’s done.
Now we’re on the road and something I read from TeenyBikini reminded of the time when someone I know threw up all over my couch and never owned it.
It was one of those bad break-up situations and I was heading out of town for a family camping trip. She needed a place to crash and I said sure, I’ll leave the door unlocked … which is why I don’t leave the door unlocked anymore.
We got home after a long weekend and beelined straight for bed. The next morning I walked by the living room to see Scrotus sitting on the couch. Two things were strange. One – the sheepskin throw was folded up and on the floor in an unfamiliar way. Two – There were strange streaks on the couch. At first I thought it was mud, probably from Scrote’s shoes.
We got off the couch and I examined the streaks. What the fuck? And the sheepskin was folded up to obscure a red and green chunky matter smeared on it.
OH MY GOD, IT’S BARF!!!!! EWWWWWWWWW!!!!
Long story short, someone vomited on the couch and did the shittiest job ever of cleaning it up, if you call squeegying the vomit into the cracks of my BRAND NEW COUCH cleaning. It was dried on so I had to rehydrate the vomit to get it to come off, after I took the couch apart to get deep into the crevices. I came to the conclusion that the vomit was about 60% red wine, 20% spinach and 20% chunky paste. It was also on my sheepskin. Thanks for folding it up. That totally took care of it.
Was there a note? An apology? Maybe some money or a promise to pay for professional cleaning? AHAHAHAHAHA!
Since the door was unlocked it could have been anyone, but could it possibly have been my “friend” who said she’s be staying at my house.
I coyly sent her an email.
“How did the weekend go?”
“I ended not staying at your place. I went to my parents’ house instead.”
She became rather distant at that point, avoiding me at the gym, looking kinda shifty. It’s the guilty conscience.
But you know what? I’ve been divorced, I know what it feels like to be in that hole and it sucks worse than anything so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I did some pretty irresponsible stuff when I was in it deep, though not quite like that, but I had sympathy for her.
And maybe she didn’t do it, we’ve had drunk people pass out in our living room before. Or maybe she did but was too hungover
in the ER to face the nasty job. I chalked it up to trappings of my “artistic” lifestyle.
… until I ran into her at the park a couple years later. She’s over the period of intense pain and suffering and was looking good and happy. We caught up and she she said that her daughter still talks about when she stayed at our house during that horrible weekend.
AHA! J’ACCUSE! SHE ADMITTED STAYING AT MY HOUSE!
This is when I waited for an apology for the whole barf thing but she got that distant look in her eyes and changed the subject. Me, being the super confrontational person that I am said nothing. But I am blogging about it.
BTW, this is low on the visuals and full of typos because I had to upload at a truck-stop. Better technology is coming.