Murphy's law Monday

I figured that since I haven't posted in a while, that I would get a head start this morning while I'm still riled up. I'm much better at conveying my complete and utter hatred for certain things when I'm angry, so let me ride this infuriated buzz to inspired writing.

Here's a bit of backstory to set up the morning.

VJ had been staying with me all last week. This made me a bit late for work every day, and also made me not fight with my mother in the morning because that's just embarrassing in front of company. Also, last Monday I went to Bed, Bath and Beyond with the Mexican and bought new toothbrushes. Why did I do this? Because for some reason, there are four toothbrushes in the bathroom on the second floor of my house. There are three people who live in my house. One of those people brush their teeth on the third floor. So why, why, why, does my dad ALWAYS use my toothbrush. No matter how many new brushes I buy, or how I try to separate mine, every time I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth the brush is wet. I then, have to get another toothbrush. It's really irritating. REALLY IRRITATING.

So I kept my toothbrush separate. I left it in its little box about 6 inches away from the toothbrush holder thinking "Surely, my father will recognize that this toothbrush is not his, and therefore won't use it."

Well guess whose mother (the third floor brusher) decided to throw away two random toothbrushes, and add mine to the holder. Yup, MINE. And guess what...out of the four toothbrushes left...MY DAD USED MY FUCKING TOOTHBRUSH THIS MORNING.

So not only do I get screamed at from the third floor because I'm not allowed to flush the toilet or use any water while my mother is in the third floor bathroom, I get to deal with a used toothbrush.

I yelled downstairs to my dad. Told him not to use to turquoise fucking toothbrush he used this morning and go lay in my bed for 10 minutes trying to suppress the tears of anger because it's Monday morning and everything is pissing me off.

So my mother comes traipsing down the stairs and yells at me once more saying I can't use the water when she's in the bathroom and I'm going to have to change what time I go into the bathroom in the morning.

No-siree. I WILL NOT FUCKING REORGANIZE MY SCHEDULE, THAT I'VE BEEN FOLLOWING THE WHOLE SUMMER AND BEYOND, JUST BECAUSE IT'S BETTER FOR YOU.

You have two options, Mother. Either you wake up earlier or later, or you deal with the consequences of a goddamn flushed toilet. 

I, of course, yell back at her not to touch the fucking toothbrushes because yet again my father has used mine. And why would she move them in the first place? Furthermore, is she so completely stupid as to not recognize that I separated my toothbrush on purpose that she had to put them together?

At this point, I'm cursing at her and she's telling me it's her house and I have to rework my morning routine. Yelling. Yelling. Yelling. I slam my door and finish getting ready.

I am so far hating this Monday, and because I am furious, I ignore her when she yells up the stairs that I have to move my car

You know what, fuck you and your selfish ass. If you want to get your car out of the driveway, then you might just have to move my car out of the way yourself, because I am NOT helping you.

I finish getting ready and try to sneak out the front door.

This doesn't work. She sees me and tells me to move my goddamn car. I tell her that she's going to have to deal with it on her own. She tells me if she has to move my car, then she's going to leave it in the street. I tell her to go ahead because my dad and I share the car and he's the one who's going to have to deal with it when it gets towed.

Then I give in, because I'm a good person and I don't think my dad should have to deal with the consequences of my mother being a raving lunatic.

I move my car, and have to use every fiber of my being not to play bumper cars and smash her stupid Prius to pieces. She drives past my car, yells something out the window and I just give her the finger. At this point, I am now running 15 minutes late. Now this doesn't seem like a lot, but the difference between 8am and 8:15am when it comes to getting on the subway is major.

MAJOR.

I get to the train station and it's packed. The train takes a while. It's a Q. It's even more packed. I refuse to jam myself on the train, knowing I will have to walk farther because I'll be taking the B train.

The B comes; packed.

Because I have now used up 15 minutes of my time dealing with my mother's bullshit, I'm forced to cram myself onto the train.

There is no place to hold on. People fucking suck. I got broadsided more times than I could count. I was listening to some girl's music because her headphones overpowered mine.

Infuriated.

I try to switch trains at Rockefeller Center. Now get this, the M and F run on the same line until that stop. For WHATEVER reason, they have decided to switch tracks. The F is running on the M line, the M is running on the F line.

WHAT GODDAMN SENSE DOES THAT MAKE? Fuck you MTA.

This little switcheroo causes a lot of confusion and time delay. Add another 10 or so minutes to my trip.

I got to work at 9:15 wanting to kill my mother, a baby and a puppy. Yeah. Welcome to my motherfucking murphy's law monday.

Thank god Mo gets here on Thursday and I'm taking Friday off. I will post later about last week but I needed to get this bullshit off my chest.

Thanks for aiding in my catharsis, blog.