FML

Early this morning, I brought the trash out, and to my surprise and delight, found that the weather was absolutely wonderful. I decided I should go on a walk right then, as opposed to waiting until this evening when it got dark. I changed out of my pajamas, and invited my mother to come along with me, being as she is a diabetic and most days fails to get any exercise. She told me we would go in 15 minutes as she had just woken up for the day. Considering her condition, I thought it important that she come with, and waited patiently.

Half an hour later, we finally left, with the intention of visiting the same lake we've walked around for the last 6 years. About halfway there, we pass a rather busy farmers market, which is something of a hazard to pull out of. Today, there was a backup from the entrance to the next light, but I waited behind all of those cars, as I needed to make a right immediately after the entrance to the farmers market. When the last car in front of me pulled in, I continued to pull forward, right blinker on, ready to my make my turn. A man driving a black truck, obviously assuming I was turning into the farmers market, guns it. I honk and slam on the brakes, foreseeing the terrible dent he's going to make in my car. Of course, those visions are always wrong, because normal people brake when they realize they're about to run into someone.

Not today, of course. Man in the black truck smashes into my passenger side door, just behind the wheel. Furious, I park the car right there, jump out, and begin trembling. My mother tells me to move the car into the parking lot so we can exchange insurance information. I refuse, being that I'm too shaken up to drve at the moment, so she moves the car for me. As she backs up, the driver of the truck gets out and says, rather nonchalant and distant, "Sorry."
Under my breath I reply, "Like hell you are, fuckhead."
Car moved, my mother attempts to negotiate the exchange of information and asks me where my insurance card and drivers lisence are. My insurance, of course, is at home, in my wallet, sitting on top of my bookshelf. Which is exactly where it belongs, because who ever anticipates an accident?

Because I'm so mad, I have to take a jog with my dog while my mother continues to talk to this idiot. When I retutrn, they have finished, and she tells me, "He says he wasn't his fault."
LIKE HELL IT WASN'T HIS FAULT.
"He asked who was driving."
WHAT THR FUCK DOES IT MATTER WHO WAS DRIVING?
"He said that you swerved over."
I WAS DRIVING A STRIGHT LINE, AIMED AT THE RIGHT TURN LANE, WHICH IS CLEARLY MARKED, SEEING AS THAT INTERSECTION WAS JUST REPAINTED EARLIER THIS SUMMER.
"Do you just want to go home now?"

I had my mother drive the rest of the way to the lake, concerned for the safety of the rest of humanity if I were to get behind the wheel again in such a condition as I was in. I decided to text my ex-boyfriend, whom I am still very close to, to see if he wouldn't do some body work for me. He responded, "I can only repair and paint things. I know a guy that could repair small dents probably cheap."
Well, there goes that option.

When we returned home, I got on facebook to share my sad news with the rest of the world, and within 20 minutes had half a dozen responses from sympathetic friends. One of them was my ex, who had changed his mind, and was asking to see pictures in case there was something he could for me. After sending them, he told me to just come over, but I turned him down, as I had other plans for the day.

Despite the fact that all was not well, I went about my day as usual, filling out some applications and waiting around to hear from the friend I was planning to hang out with. By 6:00, I had still heard nothing.

At this time, I noticed that my phone was lit up like I had just recieved a text. I excitedly opened it, to find that the screen was black and the phone non-functional. Fed up with the POS, I decided to head to T-Mobile and do one last warranty exchange before my contract is up and I can get a new, simple flip phone for cheap with the new contract.

Construction. All the way there.

When I arrive at the store, the guy I usually talk to isn't working, so I go with the first one that approaches me. He looks up my account, only to inform me that there's nothing they can do--the warranty expired June 6th. But I could just buy a new phone!
"I don't have the money for that," I tell him.
He shrugs. "Sorry, can't help ya."
Dickhead.

Construction everywhere, all the way home. What a waste of a trip.

Its now 7:00 and I haven't heard from the friend I made plans with, so I decided I'll contact another friend, one I've rarely ever hung out with.
He, of course, is busy.

So much for that idea.

Finally, at 7:25, I get a text: "See you at 8?"
Maybe something good could happen yet today.
But I won't be too optimistic.

FML.

Poop Flavored Jellybeans (here's one for the masses)

Sometimes Light poops on the floor outside the bathroon.
Sometimes people step in it.
Sometimes they don't.
On rare occasion they pick it up, even.
On one such occasion, my sister collected the waste in a plastic bag and deposited it on my dresser, to be lost anong a slew of other things.
It was promptly forgotten.

I came into my room and smelled that awful stench. Where could it be? Not by the bookshelf, not behind the door, not under the desk, not in the middle of the floor.
And there it was, a neatly sealed blue newspaper bag, containing a thick pile of excrement, lying on the dresser.
I threw it in the trash and soon thereafter made a trip to the curb.

A few weeks earlier:
"Did you find your Easter basket already?"
"Yeah, it wasn't that hard."
"Yeah, yeah, you knew where it was."
"Did you show her?"
"No! It was so easy."
"Do you like jellybeans?"
"Sure."
"Since when do you not like jellybeans?"
"I never like jellybeans."
"Yes you did. I used to give you mine."
"Yeah, well, that was then."
"Well the Easter bunny didn't know that."
"Oh, yeah, the Easter bunny."
"What? He didn't. Next year he won't give you any."
"He won't give me any, either. I'll still be working on this years."

I thereby came into a rather large collection of generic jellybeans.

Returning to a later date:
The jellybeans had been sitting on my dresser for a few weeks. Only a handful had been consumed, mostly for the fact that chocolate delecacies have always taken precedence.
Those actually sound kind of good it occured to me. A sticky sweet treat as a break from the monotony of homework.
They weren't bad. Maybe an odd combination of flavors at worst--that explains why I have the terrible habit of eating them one at a time.
But then again--maybe it wasn't the combination. It was distinct, this taste, something familiar but just out of reach.
Perhaps licorice, a black bean spoiling the bunch. I hate the black ones.
And yet--no, it wasn't licorice. Something... else.
EPIPHANY
The jellybeans were on the dresser.
Right underneath the--
Oh, no.
Oh, yes.
It had seeped in, flavoring my jellybeans of fecal matter.

I spit them out.
Unfortunately, I don't like the taste of poop flavored jellybeans.