I didn't buy a boat. But it's like in all those cheesy 80s movies (McBAAAAIIIINNN!! A movie within a tv show, I know) when the cop is about to retire and he only has two payments left on his boat/house/RV and then he gets gunned down and everything is ruined?! Okay, that didn't exactly happen to me, but I only have two payments (maybe three...) left on Jack and BAM someone hit me on my way to the gym today. Right in front of my gym actually. So that was probably the best part, at least there were supportive people on my side right there, if it had been anywhere else I'd be stuck alone on a street corner with the wind blowing my skirt up. So... any other Monday night. Nah, I kid.
It was already a rough day at work, my newly minted office job has me realizing what Office Space and Garfield were really all about. As much as I love it there, Mondays really do suck! It's not just a cliche! All I wanted was a beer or some serious cardio. Since I had been drinking since Thursday my obvious choice for weight loss was cardio. I was just driving along, singing to my heart's content (Jebus I love Adele) when BAM the aforementioned hitting of my car. Jack didn't deserve it. He tries so hard (no he doesn't) and to be taken down in his prime (it's not his prime) is just a travesty and a disgrace. Plus he looks like trailer trash now!
Bastard McGee of course claims it was all my fault. "Why were you driving so fast?" he yells. "Whoa," I say. I am NOT dealing with anyone's bullshit right meow. It's too much, TOO MUCH! So he called the cops. Wonderful, it's his fault, let's get the whole freaking town involved! First he claims I was speeding and he couldn't see me coming. You didn't see me because you didn't look. Then when the police arrived he told them that he was simply "repositioning his parking spot" and that I must have been swerving. Uh, no thanks. The cop takes one look at my car and makes a snide comment that pretty much negates Mr. McGee's whole story (stories). Love it. Score the first (ever) for Beaverton PD. I take pictures, my trainer/lawyer/insurance agent/life coach is there to help (almost as much as I think a beer would have) and even though I'm still worried I'll get shafted (and not in a Monday-night-street-corner kind of way) I know I'm right and I know Bastard McGee is wrong and I'm only hoping everything works out fine. It usually does.
NOW WHERE'S MY DAMN BEER!?!
No comments:
Post a Comment