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.

"It could be lifethreatening..."

"But then again, all surgeries are."

That's just not what you say to people whose loved ones are in recovery. At least, that's not what you say to my dad. He remained calm, but definitely held onto that phrase and repeated it back to me as we discussed my mother's prognosis.

I tend to pretend that people aren't sick. I pretend that I'm not sick, when I clearly am. I pretend that my dad, even though he had all of the symptoms of the beginning Guillane-Barre syndrome after getting the flu shot last year, was fine and that his dozen trips to Neurologists were normal. I pretend that excruciating abdominal pain doesn't exist, even if I want to break out into tears randomly from pain. I pretend that I don't need 25 stitches when I slip and fall on the sidewalk and tear open my knee. I pretend that having a bowel obstruction is perfectly normal and that my mother's surgery last year was a success and routine. I pretend that everything is going to be ok, because it is. I pretend that life is fair, because it has to be.

I pretend.

Why do I pretend? Because I cannot, and will not, imagine my life without either of my parents. I refuse to believe that either of them will not be there for my wedding, for the birth of my first child (and however many I have after that). I refuse to believe that my parents won't see me become everything they've ever expected of me and wanted for me. I refuse to believe that they will not be there when my children learn to swim, or graduate from high school. I refuse to believe that my life as I know it could all be over in a split second. I refuse to have my chest tighten and tears flow from my eyes just from thinking about these impossibilities.

I refuse.

So as I pretend that my mother is perfectly healthy and this is just a minor bump in the road, and I refuse to believe that there is any way this can get worse, I hope that pretending and refusals can fabricate the reality that I need to exist.

She is fine. She will be fine. I love her too much for her not to be. I need her too much for her not to be.

Get FIT (Food, Injuries and Traveling)

My favorite store called me yesterday to say I had a $40 coupon to use before next Wednesday, so what did I do? I went shopping after work. I bought 5 shirts that I didn't need for a grand total of $49, which is typically what some of their shirts cost by themselves. I'm pretty excited about this. I also might be returning one of the shirts because I realized when I got home that I already have that shirt - it was the only full price item that I bought (so basically I will have spent $10 on 4 quality shirts - that I might not need, but love anyway). 

After treating myself to my shopping indulgence, the night just got better. 

I'm pretty sure by this point you have deduced that I love food. I've really been trying to eat as much delicious food as I can in the past two weeks. Yesterday was no different. Not only did I take myself to classy lunch, but I also went to classy dinner (this next section is for you Maxwell)

Some of the foods that I crave, not all the time, but often, are grilled octopus, red meat cooked on the rare side of medium rare, and rice pudding (usually with a touch of cardamom). So, when perusing the restaurant week menus of the places on the Upper East Side by my job, I was pleasantly surprised to see Persephone on the list. It's a restaurant I knew nothing about, but walked past 2-3 times a week on my way to the train from my gym. Guess what was on their menu.

Yup, my perfect craving indulging meal. After trying to go to two other restaurants in the area and realizing they were way too classy for my bermuda shorts and no reservation, I found myself at Persephone, and I was not disappointed AT ALL. The maitre'd was wonderful. I wanted to have a quick meal, and it worked out perfectly because she said she could seat me, but the table had a prior reservation in an hour. NO problem. I could get out of there in less than an hour and not feel like I was eating too fast to be classy - because they needed the table. It was like the planets aligned.

They had wonderful EVOO on the table for me to eat my delicious crusty bread with before starting my meal. They had a special of suckling pig, that had it not been restaurant week, I would've jumped all over. However, my intense craving for red meat helped me to stick with the prix fixe and I was not disappointed.

The grilled octopus was probably the best I've ever had. It was the perfect texture, soft with a little bit of tension but not chewy. My teeth just cut through it, not quite like butter - but maybe a well refrigerator stick of butter (although I've never done this before). The citrusy sauce was perfect and yet still creamy and smooth. The suction cups added texture because they were a little crispier from the grill. I was in HEAVEN.

I wish this picture could better convey the delicousness

For the main meal I was a little worried, because as some know, skirt steak can be a little touch and go. Typically found more in Mexican food, it is often overcooked and I definitely prefer rare to well done. When it came, the israeli couscous made me happy and made me think of my mom. the spring vegetables were chunked, cooked but not mushy, they still had a crisp to them. I love texture! So the couscous was soft and the vegetables added crunch. I was pleased and then I tried the skirt steak. They had actually rolled different pieces of steak and so I got to unroll them and see how perfectly purple/pink they were on the inside. It was brilliant. Add some grilled onion and a delicious sauce and life couldn't get better. I couldn't get a good picture because the restaurant had romantic low lighting and it didn't feel right to have my flash go off, but trust me, it looked simply divine.

Please note that those are indeed yellow grape tomatoes - one of my weaknesses

I was stuffed, but my rice pudding came anyway and it was another textural revelation. The rice was not overcooked and mushy, and still provided some sustenance while the pudding was creamy and perfect.

It was an incredible meal to end the night.

I got home and I talked to my dad for a cool 20 minutes, which always makes me happy. I love talking to him and I think that it's a good thing that I provide him with someone who understands how crazy my mother can be. In fact, at one point I felt a tiny twinge in my heart for him because he's almost at his wits end with her. I feel like this happens every summer, and then it's magnified by the fact that she's not been feeling well (I will touch on shortly).

I'm very much like her, or maybe she's very much like me. When she gets bored and doesn't feel useful, she turns into a crazy bitch. Not that she isn't that way a lot of the time, but as a teacher, when she has off during the summer, she has all of these grandiose plans but ends up spending all of her time watching tv on the couch. This makes her feel like shit, and in turn, she makes my dad and I feel the same way.

My dad never had to take solo car rides with her much before. I was usually the buffer, and not that I provide any real kind of buffering, but my mom would rather direct her anger towards me than my dad. Also, I sometimes provide her with a reason for this. Anyway, they've been driving together a lot more lately and he finally understands what I went through for 12 years being trapped in a moving vehicle with her every morning for at least 20 minutes. I told him how I used to look out the window as we drove through the park for the perfect patch of grass to jump out of the moving car onto, so as to hurt myself the least. More than a half dozen times in high school I opened the door of the moving car to fling myself out. He FINALLY understands, and I'm glad I can be there to commiserate with him. He's such a nice guy, I hope my mom doesn't fuck it up. Anyway...

I think my dad is going to get a dog soon - probably hypoallergenic - so that my mom can have something to entertain her that loves her and doesn't yell back and he can have a retreat. I think it would be cute to see him biking with the dog running alongside.


There's one problem with this though. We tend to end up with pets with shit health, and in the past year or so, collectively with my parents, we have been in the hospital 2-3 times a piece at minimum. I've been three times (ER twice - I took this guy I knew there once during the christmas snowstorm just a week after I busted my knee), I believe that today is my mother's second stay, but her first one was way longer (both admitted through the ER). My dad had one hospital STAY, but he was there at least a half dozen other times for tests and when he popped his calf muscle. Pretty much, this past year has not been good for us, but has been great for the hospital business! I blame working at a hospital.

In 2008-2009, I was in the hospital once, my mother once and my dog about a half dozen times.

Basically we're tired of hospitals, pet or otherwise - thus a new animal with unforeseen issues might be tough. And as I mentioned before, my parents are at the hospital right now. My mom's stomach is not doing so hot. I'll update you later on why that is, other than the fact that she's an idiot that can't take care of herself and after being fat for so long, she kind of takes pride in not being able to eat very much (even if it's not healthy).

While my parents are in the hospital, I was enjoying a nice sushi lunch of sashimi salad (with tuna, white tuna, salmon, mango and kiwis), a white tuna roll, a shrimp tempura roll and some green tea ice cream with my favorite Mexican.

I inadvertently touched this girl's butt on the train this morning because it was so packed and immediately I started hearing the typical train announcement in my head talking about a packed train is still no excuse to touch people inappropriately. The Mexican told me a story about a gafasian (guh-fay-zhun) on the train this morning. Basically a gay fat asian guy with frosted "highlights" and a too tight shirt literally stood 3 inches from the Mexican on the train and their bellies touched. The Mexican wanted him to and I quote "trip when they got off the train and get AIDS and then fall into the tracks". He was not pleased. I laughed hysterically and considering we had both inhaled our lunches, my stomach hurt.

I have a meeting in less than a half hour and I plan on spending the rest of the afternoon on the phone with ITS, again. Gotta love it, eh?

Lastly, I hate planning vacations. Something's always a mess. I'm a little sad because I could've gone to Philly to see T with B the first weekend in August, because B's plans got canceled (and she never has a free weekend), but I already told Ni that I would go with her to this "crab fest" thing in Gettysburg, PA (WHICH I DID NOT REALIZE WAS A 5 HOUR BUS RIDE EACH DIRECTION) and I already paid for it - so it doesn't make sense to bail. I need to suck it up, but planning an alternate trip to Philly is going to be tough.

I was talking to Mo about going on a road trip to the south this fall, but we figured September would be best - and part of the originally road trip was for me to get to Chicago via Detroit to see B, but B won't be there until October.

Basically, we're postponing said roadtrip and planning a two week European extravaganza - stay tuned.

Did I mention that I hate planning vacations? Honestly, I'd rather someone just tell me when and where and then I just have to book the tickets. All of this searching for the best price shit is terrible. I also have to somehow tell my bosses I'm planning on taking off a lot of time this fall. With my impending surgery and vacations, I don't know how I'm going to manage to get a paycheck. I just want to take September off.

I'm also supposed to go to Texas with B and her family over Thanksgiving, but now I don't even know if she's going.

I realize I only have middle class problems and I should stop complaining, but WHATEVER.

P.S. I promise to be funnier in the future. I realize when I RANT, I'm hilarious. When I talk about my day - not so much.

I'll take panic attack with a side of heart palpitations please.

Hear ye! Hear ye! Readers of my blog, let me tell you about the debacle that was my morning.

After having a generally relaxing evening (save for an argument with my mother - which is pretty typical when we are in the kitchen together at any time, no matter what we're doing). In fact, you know what, let me paint you a picture of what our argument was like last night. I'm not saying that it was a fight really, but I was definitely irritated with my mom more than baseline. She is a technological retard. This should be enough explanation, but my dad humors her, which makes it worse. I feel bad for the customer service people at T-Mobile. I don't know why she has a smart phone. They're supposed to be used friendly - yet my mother blames her phone for EVERYTHING.

"Oh, I didn't answer your 8 calls and 5 texts because I couldn't hear my phone" - what this really means is "I don't know how to use pockets, or understand what a cell phone is for, so I left it in another room somewhere."

Or via text: "LKnenal Hoalsk" "What?" *ring ring* "My swipe is not working, it keeps typing random words"- what this really means is "I'm an idiot when in comes to technology with clumsy fingers that doesn't know how to work simple applications on my phone."

I swear this woman is all about the blame game. So anyway, I was frustrated with her because while she was wasting Customer Service's time, I was trying to explain to her what they were saying about either saving all of the contacts from her old phone onto her SIM card, or linking her phone to her e-mail so that she can link her new phone and all of the old data would be restored.

Let me tell you, it was like talking to a wall - or someone in a coma. It might be sinking in, but cannot be translated into actual function. Also, throw in the fact that we were in the kitchen. Although we were not discussing food at all or fighting over space, that room is the MOST CONTEMPTUOUS. Seriously, whenever we are in there together a fight will ensue - it makes no sense, but that's our relationship.

Fast forward to this morning. I got up early because I've decided to go to the chiropractor before work so as not to intrude on any afternoon plans. I was at the train station by 7:30am, gym bag and purse in tow. I got on the train. Went to close my purse and immediately freaked out. I didn't have my wallet. I looked around everywhere on the ground, in my purse, everywhere (I thought). I had a mild panic attack. I get off the train at the next stop and run over to the other side to try and get another train back to my stop before another Manhattan bound comes. Sadly, two Manhattan bounds pass while I'm waiting. I get back to my station, I go to look for the wallet that I believe I've dropped on the platform. Not there.

I cancel my chiro appt. I call 311 and they tell me lost and found doesn't open until 8am. I go to talk to the station attendant and see there is no wallet on the desk in front of her. There is a line. I decide to check through my gym bag.

There it is.

I had it the whole time, it was just hidden under my bag of lunch and my clothes.

I try to go back through the turnstyle but my unlimited is not ready to use again yet. I am forced to buy another metrocard to save time. I still managed to get to my chiro appt., only to get to work about 20 minutes late.

Of course I forgot that my new fellows had an orientation at 9am and none of them are there, and the rooms aren't ready. I had to reschedule their meeting.

It's now 10:30am. My heart has stopped racing and my fellows are slightly overwhelmed with meetings.

Oh, and I ruined my white shirt and now have to buy a new shirt after work.