I am so incensed, I have not even had the chance to try the 20 dollar vacuum I just purchased. And I was really excited about it, too. But as mentioned, any and all excitement has been eclipsed by my pure unbridled rage.
I went to the WalMart near my new place of residence. It's official. All WalMarts fucking blow. This was the last WalMart on the WalMart frontier,and it was just as terrible, if not terriblerer than the others. Add that to the fact that shopping becomes much less enjoyable when you are actually going to die without doing it. Never really been faced with that before. Not so much fun. Especially when they only sell chilli without beans. What the fuck is up with that.
Enter some complete douchebag Hindu guy while I'm staring at wicker furniture and trying to grasp what could possibly constitute 200 dollars about it. He says hello. I say hi. He tells me I'm very pretty. I say thank you. I can sense that this is going nowhere desirable, but am still wrapped up in my own personal wicker hell. You have a boyfriend? he asks me. Yes, I say. He stares at me.
"Yeah. I'm engaged."
He continues to stare at me. He's forced all thoughts of wicker from my mind.
"How about you come and party with me."
Did I tell you I was a fucking prostitute? Go buy a rifle in the next aisle and kill your fuckin self. If you don't, I will.
But I didn't even get a chance to coordinate any such murder. I got home and saw that once again, Asshole in #225 has got a third of his 1985 Galant in my space. Again. I'm not so lucky as him. I've got a fucking pole next to my space. So what do I do to avoid damaging both our cars? I plow into the pole and bust my mirror in about half a million pieces.
I can only hope whoever this person is falls jugular vein-first in all the glass and bleeds to death. If the note I left doesn't produce results, I'll help him along.
The CD player in my car has stopped playing past the 7th song on all of my CDs. I can't even begin to fathom how annoying that is. I guess I should have seen that coming at the point that it started detaching when I went over speed bumps and knocking my teeth out. If this is how the world is going to repay my attempt at prolonging the format, fuck it. I will never buy another CD again. I'm sorry I tried to support you, starving artists. God.
I've realized that outside of a guy propositioning me at WalMart, I have absolutely no contact with anyone in the outside world, whatsoever. I am spending the evening staring out my blinds, speculating on the whereabouts of Asshole and his Galant. He has not been on the premises since the incident. I still have a large chunk of glass positioned in the sole of my Old Navy flip flop that I am not motivated enough to remove, yet the anxiety over the thought of trying to back out of that space into that pole again has created what I assume is a gaping hole in my stomach. I'm thinking of just ripping all remaining extremities off the car to streamline things.
I spent Saturday evening wandering around Target looking for pillows. I own one pillow with a frog stitched to it. I fell asleep on it the other night and woke up with the frog imprint on my face and its beady button eye in my own cornea.
Outside Target an actual attractive man told me I looked like Sandra Bullock. I said thank you, that's what my Grandma says. She also adds, "I don't care if people say she's ugly" to it. This guy omitted that, if he was thinking it. He then told me he used to own that car of mine, and it was a huge piece of shit. He described its fiery demise in Arizona. I explained that while it had yet to happen to me, I also anticipated being on a deserted highway in a foreign land when it decides to die once and for all. This man did not ask me to "come and party" with him. He disappeared into his minivan and drove off into the night. Blah. I suppose the Astrovan denotes marriage and family anyway.
Asshole is back with his Galant. And he parked like an asshole again. But I was already in the space this time, so he couldn't get the entire ass of his Asshole Galant in my area. The note carried no weight it seems. He must be illiterate in addition to rude, selfish, and a pox on mankind.
My father was kind enough to bestow a futon and beanbag chair upon me. The futon turns into a huge, way more comfortable bed than my own. I've realized that my twin bed and my tiny bathtub just won't accommodate the romantic fantasies I've had about living alone for so long. I can barely fit in either of them. How is someone else supposed to. I tried to take a bubble bath and got hardcore claustrophobic, though my escape was hindered by the fact that I was pretty much stuck in it. If I gain 5 pounds, I will have to be removed from it with a crane. That's really not romantic in the slightest.
I was approached by our new upper management about joining the "revolving sunshine secretary cycle" in which we the secretaries take turns delivering mail, recycling, cleaning the microwave, and driving downtown to run errands." I was so flabbergasted by the string of alliterations she'd uttered that I didn't even have time to comprehend just how extremely fucking pissed off I was about to become. Of course this involves being enrolled in a "defensive driving" class so that I can drive the state car downtown for errands. I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't get me thrown into the very institutions my work is centered around. I write. I formulate responses for a living. I don't clean the fucking microwave. Maybe you clean the microwave, "ladies." I don't. And I'm not driving your fucking shit around. I peeled out of the parking lot and bottomed out on the curb as I left in a rage. I hope that was demonstrative of my defensive driving technique.
My internet is finally on! I learned this only after the power came back on. I wondered what I'd done to get it shut off. I haven't even had the chance to not pay my bills yet. I took this opportunity to be a retard and decide that I'd venture into the laundry room and do laundry whilst the power was out. It didn't occur to me that those particular appliances are not powered by hamsters on wheels. It also didn't strike me to bring the giant bottle of detergent which I later spilled all over the place and then slipped and fell in. No shit. I looked up sitting in the giant puddle of blue soap for a few seconds to see if anyone happened to be around. No. But they were around as I walked back. I now have detergent in areas detergent wasn't meant to be. I'm going to take a bath to remedy the situation, and if I can manage to get back out of it, I'll keep you informed.