getting a jump.

So yesterday, when the SM went out to drive to work (inventory day!), his car wouldn’t start up (AGAIN) and came back up to the bedroom and drug me out of my unconscious state to drive him to work.  At 6:53.  That wasn’t exactly how I wanted to start my day. 

After some carpooling shenanigans, a quick dinner and some TV watching, it was time to try to jump his car so he could drive it today.  We got the jumper cables out, hooked up the rides and cranked my pimp ride up.  I had my window down to discuss the process and after about 5-10 minutes, hs car was cranked and he left to drive it around and get the battery juiced enough to star the next day.  I ran back upstairs to get by my phone in case the car stalled out on his ride.  He got back fine and the car was running well. 

This morning, once again in my unconscious state, he kissed my forehead and went downstairs to his car.  He didn’t come back.  Thank Goodness!  I got up, late as usual, got ready and went down to start my 25 miles pilgrimage to hell (aka: my drive to work) and when I got to my door, I realized by window was still down.  YEP.  I never put it back up. 

Thankfully nothing was missing.  Evidently, big scary robber men don’t like Sara Bareilles or Vera Bradley bags.  Maybe they just felt sorry for my taste in music.  Either way, I was not burglarized and was able to make my trip to work, thievery free.

UPDATE:  When I said to the SM “Robbers must not like Sara Bareilles…” he said, “Robbers have good taste.”  Meanie.

wit’s end.

I know I tend to write a lot of these apocalypic type posts pretty often but this time, I’m serious.  With the SM’s car breaking down again, our softball team (one source of fun and joy) in complete disarray, my credit in jeopardy over some college debt that went unpaid and wanting to literally pull my hair out over my miserable God forsaken job that i could seriously give less than two shits about - I am just about ready to check the fuck out. 

Sometimes, I am at a complete loss as to what to do.  There are so many terrible, lame chiches -  like “When it rains it pours”, “A lot of people have it a lot worse than you,” and “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle”….blah blah blah. Right this minute, in this very second, I don’t want to handle anything; I think if the phone rang, I’d lose my shit.  Pouring is an understatement; I’m drenched.  How everybody else is dealing with their own miserable, sad lives is irrelevant to my situation right now.  I spend a lot of time listening and sympathizing so please, give me this time to be a whiny, selfish bitch.  Ninety-nine times out of 100, I’m making jokes out of the mishaps in my life, so give me this one out of 100 to be an asshole about it. 

I walked in this morning being told that I would have to help take calls because one coworker is out and one can’t do his job right because he can’t multitask (breathing and his heart beating is dificult enough to coordinate).  Now the creepy bastard is nowhere to be found when he was scheduled to report at 10.  I have no access to his information so I can’t help with the job he can’t finish. Customers are going unserviced.

Mind you, I was hired to do this company’s website.  Now I look on eBay, make t-shirts for people’s brother’s home construction company, fix typos in word documents and check to see if the toll-free numbers we want are available for purchase.  Seriously.  They pay me to look on eBay. For vacuums.  I am mind-numbingly bored, the brass walks around the office quiet and coordinating closed-door meetings and no information never gets down to the grunts in the trenches.  I have zero motivation anymore to try to fashion his sad excuse for a job into a career.  I drank the Kool-Aid long enough.  I am not getting in on the ground floor of something revolutionary.  Now I am burned out, jaded and gasping for air.

I texted the SM with my frustration to which he replied, “Just think, later you can watch your hot guy play ball.”

My response:  “You better play naked after this shit.  And bang me afterwards.”

piece of shit car.

Dear Pontiac,  Thanks for ruining our lives.  xoxo, the Pashes.

So i just got a call from the SM.  His piece of shit car, a 1999 Pontiac Grand Prix, broke down, YET AGAIN, about two miles from the apartment.  We have officially reached our last MFin’ straw.  We have dropped so much money into this piece of crap that it is about time for a trade-in.  The radio doesn’t work, the air conditioner doesn’t work, the brakes, the alternator, the battery….now our sanity.

Please Jesus, help us have the credit to finance something else for the SM to drive.  I don’t mind carpooling on occasion, but with him being in charge of three stores now, me losing my shit at my current place of employment and actively pursuing other avenues that might not have such convenient hours for us right now, this is just shoving us off down shit creek without our proverbial paddles.  Say a little prayer for us.  We are going to need all the patience, grace and faith we can get.

i don’t know what it is…

…but today I just want to straight strangle some bitches.  I am pretty confident that my cycle of menstruation is on the very near horizon, but it also seems that people are being especially, uncharacteristically stupid and rude today too. I was trying to make a U-turn at a light and I was edging out, waiting for others and I got honked at.  Everyone I email for work doesn’t give me any of the answers I need until I ask twice.  MySpace comments weren’t working for me.  My tits hurt.  I feel like a fucking cow in these pants since I washed them last.  I hate dieting and I am starving like an Ethiopian child in the middle of August.

We did finally get the SM’s car in working order at least for a while until we determine what is wrong with it again.  It’s running at it’s regular speed (it was maxing out at around 40 mph - sweet!) but now there is this shake and rumble when it idles at stop lights.  The SM tends to think it might be the muffler.  He is going to have someone else look at it again and see if it’s worth switching out one more part, or trading in the whole hunk of metal for something else entirely.  At this point, if it can get him to and from work for a little while, I am happy.  The carpooling was getting on my nerves a little more than I care to admit. 

Just a few more hours of procrastination…I mean work…and I can leave.  Right now, all I have on my plate is trying to not throw up in my mouth from how weird and creepy my one coworker is.  He just exudes…weirdness.  Like a special kind of mom’s basement, stuffed animals, secret stash of priest porn brand of creepy.  I think his laugh kills kittens.  In fact,. I KNOW it does.

I also need to focus on anything other than how badly I require chocolate cake right now.  Please God.  Make me strong.  Two more hours.