Holy motherfucking shitballs FUCK!!!
That was actually going to be the title of this post, but I didn't want anyone's Google Reader to explode from the excess of profanity.
That is also the phrase that has been cycling through my head like a mantra for approximately the last hour.
I was going to spare you kids, I wasn't going to blog until I got my head out of this craptacular state of crabbiness that I've been in for the last day or so... but no dice. I tried to call Slater to vent, thereby inflicting my rage on one set of ears instead of multiple sets of eyes, but alas, he was not home.
So you can blame him for this mess.
This... has been one of those days where I just. can't. fucking. win.
We'll start with my absolute loathing for every national delivery service.
First, FedEx decided to fuck with me. Today, it was UPS. Apparently "Out For Delivery" on a tracking notice no longer means "on the truck heading to its destination." For that matter, "Arrival Scan" also doesn't mean "package has actually arrived at the facility!!"
Instead, "Arrival Scan" = "Someone Told The Facility That The Package Is Going To Come" and "Out For Delivery" = "En Route To The Facility."
It also seems that the only person in the entire UPS organization who KNOWS this is the guy I talked to on the phone after staying at work an hour and a half late waiting for the fucking thing to show up.
Oh, and that "Status: On Time" and "Scheduled for Delivery on 3/6"? That's apparently just for shits and giggles.
I sent the following text message to Slater at 5:36pm as I sat on the M1 bus headed downtown.
The ice cold venom flowing through my veins for UPS at this moment knows no bounds. If I happen to come across any WMDs before i find myself a cupcake it will be a dark dark day in the history of the shipping industry.
So I was sitting there on the bus planning my own personal jihad against UPS, which could only be prevented by a heavy dose of buttercream frosting--because cupcakes, while being the apparent universal cure for all ills, are also the key to world peace--when the following scene took place.
As the bus pulled up to the stop at 17th St, an old man worked his way to the front, bumping into some lady's bag that was way out in the aisle, and asked the bus driver if this was 14th Street.
"No," says the bus driver, "14th is next."
Clearly the old man's hearing wasn't so good, and he said "Thank you" and started to disembark.
"No," repeated the bus driver, "14th is next."
"Oh, thank you" said the old man and sat down next to me.
There were two old ladies sitting across from me, and as the poor old guy shuffled to his seat, one of them began to rant.
"Schmuck! Should shut up and mind his own business! Kicks that lady's bag and doesn't even know where he's going!" and on, and on...
"Excuse me?" Asks the old guy.
"I'm not talking to you!" She shouts. "Shut up and mind your own business!" And continues to mumble under her breath.
"I'm sorry," was his meek response as he proceed to stare at his shoes for the next three blocks.
As the bus slowed to a halt, I wanted to say something, anything, a simple "This is 14th Street, Sir." Something to let him know I was on his side... but the weight of the day was heavy on my shoulders and I felt certain that whatever I said would come out wrong.
The old man disembarked, thanking the bus driver as his tormenter pulled a bag of something out of her coat and began to eat, still grumbling to herself.
As the bus began to roll away, a young woman stepped forward from a few seats back.
"Excuse me," she began, "are you the one who was yelling at that man?"
"So what if I am?!" She spat forth, spewing the crumbs that were crusted to her lips. "He should mind his own business! You should mind your own business!"
"That's terrible!" The old man's champion responded. "You hurt his feelings!"
I wanted to stand up and applaud.
The argument continued. The other old lady sitting across from me chimed in, but I found it difficult to tell whose side she was on. Something about the tormentor saying "Bless you" to everyone.
The Champion returned to her seat, point made, but falling on deaf ears.
The old lady continued to bitch loudly to anyone within earshot.
I bit my tongue. I clenched my fists. It was an unwinnable battle, yet every fiber of my being cried out to say something, anything to this horrid, horrid individual sitting before me.
I did not.
I feared that should she provoke me, after the day I had had, I might haul off and hit her. Mind you, I've never seriously hit anyone in my life, nor have I ever imagined myself doing so, but this woman... this woman...
This woman got off at my stop. As she oh... so... S-L-O-W-L-Y disembarked, impeding my progress towards my light, my salvation, the Crumbs bakery two blocks away, I imagined what would happen if I so much as brushed her with the hem of my coat as I passed, the fracas that would most certainly ensue...
And bit my lip, took a deep breath, and waited.
Finally I was past her! Free! I lit a cigarette and plodded resolutely around the corner. Nothing... NOTHING... was going to get between me and sugary bliss.
I bought cupcakes.
I proceeded to the building where I always kill time before class.
I had purchased two "mini" (read, normal sized, like you remember from elementary school) cupcakes, with an eye to eating one before class and saving one for later.
I inhaled both in a matter of minutes.
They were glorious.
I was starting to feel better.
I had a little chat with another girl, also in the class to which I was soon headed. I learned that we, in fact, have a paper due next week, which I thought was due much later, and as such have been completely neglecting the book which is the topic of said paper to make way for other, more pressing (or so I thought) matters.
My mood sank. Just a bit.
But I took another deep breath. The class to which I was headed was one which I always leave in a better mood than that in which I arrived. It's the class where I got to roll around with cute boy (who maybe, just maybe is showing a bit of interest... but after the last time I made such an assumption, I'm treading verrrrry carefully). It's a class that is extremely physical and serves to get me out of my head for a little under 2 hours.
It is lovely.
And it was lovely.
And by the time class had ended I was feeling much, much better. I had potentially enlisted Cute Boy to be the final actor for my directing piece (which has proven a *nightmare* to cast). I was relaxed. I was feeling less stressed about my insane workload and less pissed about the outlandish fuckwittery of UPS.
One of the last to leave, I went to get bundled up for the great outdoors... and realized that my hat--which I love--was missing. I looked everywhere, even went back to the building where I'd been before class.
Like I said...