Thursday, June 16, 2011

Minor Mayhem

     Yesterday I'm guessing it was a good idea to not buy any lottery tickets, because luck just wasn't in my cut of the cards. I managed dragged myself out of bed early to squeeze in a workout before my shift, to find the gym might as well have been pad locked considering the gut wrenching, eardrum exploding, screech of a siren radiating boisterously throughout the building. It was almost unbearable to even overhear the noise while spectating from the sidewalk as the Firemen tried to contain the obnoxious sound waves. After they gave up, the calculated time wasted, plus the time it would take for another service to come fix the problem, equaled twiddling away enough of my afternoon to cut my chances of breaking a sweat, aside from the one already caused by the heat, down to the negatives. In my past, I've only almost cried over spilled milk once, and it was because it was the last of the cartoon and the last of my chocolate mix all at the same time. But today, crying over lost sleep seemed to make much more perfect sense. I didn't let myself cry however, but I really wanted to, out of rage and disappointment, not sorrow. Well. . . . . . . . . only sorry for my skinny jeans at the top of the closet that might not get flaunted for a while.
     I could never reveal anything specific about my job due to confidentially laws, but I can say there was a part of last night that I would like to erase from memory. It wasn't gory-filled or laced with tragedy by any means, but it was an unpleasant circumstance beyond my control that left me with a feeling like I had been kicked back into my teenage years and just been scolded by my father for a wrong doing. The worst part is that if compared to that past reference, I had inadvertently and involuntarily taken the hit on account of an accomplice. {Much like the time I went to spend the night with a friend of mine in High School, and we went to a party where she found herself desperately wasted and dry-heaving over a trash can, slumped over with her head between her knees on a driveway in the pouring rain, on the verge of unconsciousness, despite my earlier warnings to stop drinking. When we brought her home in fear of her health, she and I BOTH took the punishment. Grounded. For the entire summer. At the risk of sounding dramatic, that's almost comparable to a lifetime in the eyes of a teenager! Guilty by association. Lesson learned the hard way.}
     Last night I didn't get myself grounded for the entire summer, or anything close, but I did learn something the hard way, and didn't manage to escape the situation without the feeling of being slapped with a plentiful helping of guilt, and harboring a residual feeling of overall ickyness. Ouch. Stings the nostrils a bit, similar to the way I'd imagine "Sex Panther by Oden" would. "It’s illegal in nine countries… Yep, it’s made with bits of real panther, so you know it’s good." ---------Compliments of Anchorman.----------- I began to feel a nagging sting in my eyes, but only out of pure frustration. I hate anger tears, they make you appear weak on the outside when all you feel on the inside is feisty and mad. Misleading hormones that women posses; no wonder men stay in a state of constant confusion over females.
     The only really good thing that came of the past day was finishing my book "One for the Money" by Janet Evanovich. It was good. Really good. I'd describe it as a sexy, scandalous, mystery murder and drug case packed with humor and suspense by a amateur bounty hunting female who's clumsiness and internal curious mischievousness make it hard to put down. This type of book really challenges my memory because to put the crime together you need to remember the characters names and situations, unlike in a movie where you can just be familiar with their faces. The author does a great job at painting a mental picture for you, down to describing their wardrobe and the scenes based out of a New Jersey neighborhood in what I'm guessing is in the early 1990's, based on the mentioning of a tape deck, spandex, and car phones. I started reading the second book of the series today. "Two for the Dough". I'll let you know if it keeps my attention.
     After a couple of my misfortunes lately, I'm starting to feel like Stephanie Plum (the leading lady of the above book) and I have a few things in common.

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