water bottles and staplers

So my day is going along just fine. I've done the laundry, packed for our trip to Grayling, applied to NMU in case I decide to take summer classes, filled out my FAFSA...a very productive day I must say.

In an effort to have everything ready to go when Joe gets home, I decided to pack us a couple of sandwiches and stuff for the road and get everything put into the impala. Once in the impala I was going to head to the bank, although I can't remember why anymore (other than for money).

So I head out to the impala with our bag, two jackets, my purse, two books, our packed snacks, my keys, some mail for the mail box, and two water bottles. Of course it's raining, but I'm still feeling pretty good about the day, so it's not a big deal. Then the bag got caught in the door and I (inevitably, it would seem) dropped one of the water bottles.

It's weird when you drop something and you kind of see it falling in slow motion as you say to yourself "please don't break" or "please don't spill" or whatever over and over again. In this specific case, my thought was "please don't fall into the gutter" (as in the deep little pit in front of the basement windows). And of course, as usually is the case, that's exactly what it did.

So now I'm a little annoyed because I was excited to have to car perfectly packed, but nothing I can't get over, ya know? Deep breath and all that stuff. So I start walking to the car as the rain suddenly started coming down much faster. I fumbled the keys, dropped them into the mud, and then saw that I was going to have to wade through a puddle to get to the back door of the car to put our stuff in there.

At this point, I'm pretty much miffed. I got out stuff in the car and climbed into the drivers seat to head to the bank. As I'm sitting behind the wheel it dawns on me that I really have no reason to go to the bank. At all. Perfect, now I can relax and chill out after the unfortunate series of events that had just taken place.

I'm going to go ahead and throw the obvious pun out there - when it rains, it pours. I still have to get the stuff to the mailbox, but I've decided that a little rain is no big deal. So I jog over to put the item into the box. Earlier in the day I'd put some other important stuff in there for the post-person to get, but it hadn't been picked up yet. So I opened the already flag-up box to put the extra item in.

It should be noted that our mailbox has a slight "I've been hit by a baseball bat" look to it. And hey, I'm totally cool with mailboxes building character so what do I care?

I'll tell you why I care. I care because a bent mailbox doesn't close properly. And when a mailbox doesn't close properly it lets rain in. It rained today. So all of the shit I'd put in there earlier (i.e. my app to NMU, some documentation for our FSA, etc) was wet. My frustration is growing, no matter how hard I'm try to curb it. I took it out on the mailbox a little bit, but I swear it was only because it NEEDED to be bent a different way. Seriously, true story.

Ok, the bags are in the car, the mail is in the mailbox, I don't need to go to the bank...so all that's left is getting that water bottle out of the mud hole it fell into. Immediately I note that it's in an area that will put me directly beneath all of those huge drops/streams of water that come off the roof when it's raining. Absolutely no way around them, as if I'm not wet enough. But I can't leave it in there, so I went in.

I must mention something seemingly unrelated at this point. I only own two pairs of jeans. Well, that's not entirely correct, but let's just say I only own two wearable pairs of jeans The rest have stubbornly decided that they do not want to be worn on hips of my size, discriminating bastards. Obviously, I'm wearing one of these pairs. In fact, it's my favorite pair.

Back to the story. The only way to get to the water bottle is to get into the hole, nothing I can do about that. So I carefully lowered one leg into the whole as the other went into the squat position. And that's when it happened.

As soon as I heard the sound I knew it wasn't going to be some little tear. Without having to look I knew that I was dealing with a gargantuan hole. Further inspection proved me right - my favorite jeans had ripped from seam to seam on the inside of my thigh about 3 inches from my crotch.

I have my limits people.

This was the last straw.

I had no choice but to set the building on fire. Red stapler and all.


(Truthfully I just ended up coming inside, going directly to the computer and ordering new jeans...same ones, same color, same size. But setting the building on fire was a much better ending.)