Some Days

Some days life is just hard. Harder than it should be, harder than the other normal days where something goes wrong and you smack yourself on the forehead and go “what the fuuuuuck”, and then you move on. Yesterday was one of those days. So much so that I am now laughing about it.

I should have known something wasn’t right and I should have marched right back into bed when Kamel totally flipped out on me in the morning over putting turkey on bread. There was also mayonnaise involved and his total, full body, melt down, complete with yelling and the pulling of his own hair, may have possibly been because of my provocation, but seriously – the reaction was totally uncalled for. It actually startled me, and then sent me stomping out of the house without him… until he caught up with me at the bus stop and then cuddled me into submission all the way down Geary, until it was his turn to disembark. Then, as I was nearing my stop, I saw two homeless guys trying to beat the shit out of each other. They were chasing one another around a newspaper stand, yelling and arm waving and trying to swipe at each other with their fists and then one guy yanked a stick,which was probably, at one time, holding some sort of a sign, off the telephone pole and started to swing it at the other guy, nails and all. That’s when the bus moved forward and I was left with an icky feeling in my stomach and a vague feeling that maybe I should call the cops, but I didn’t.

Then time escaped me at work. Actually escaped me, who does that at a job that is sucking the soul out of them? And I had to go put more money on my bus card because it was all the way down to zero, and I was about to be late for a meeting with my internship boss we shall call bloggess (until I can officially announce. At this point I’m just trying to impress her). So I called Kamel and he said he could swing by and get me in 30 min, leaving us 45 min to get to the meeting and it was all going to be A-ok. Saweet. But then there was traffic and thirty min turned into 40 minutes and then when I finally got into the car, and Kamel was frantically trying to avoid San Francisco traffic in order to get me back toward our apartment in 30 minutes or less, he accidentally took a wrong turn landing us right smack dab on the Bay Bridge.

The BAY BRIDGE TO OAKLAND,with no exits left. Heading east. During rush hour. which meant even if we got off at the Treasure Island exit, we would still have to battle against arguably the worst traffic in the city just to get me to my meeting in now – 24 minutes. If you had been in the car when the turn was made this is what you would have heard:

Me: Is this the bridge? Is this the bridge? Are we on the fucking bay bridge? Are we going to Oakland? We are totally going to Oakland. Mother FUCKER we’re on the bridge.

Simultaneously Kamel: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? There was no sign! did you see one sign? NOT ONE FUCKING SIGN FUUUUUCK.
*While he banged the palms of both hands again and again down on the steering wheel

Also by this time I am starving to death because we are on day two of Weight Watchers Online Wedding Get Fit Marathon 2010-2011. Which just so happens to be what the morning fight was about. (“why are you putting on mayonnaise? do you know how many points that is? Have you made my sandwich yet? we’re going to be late for work!” … ahem) Once I realized we were headed right for the 9th circle of hell I knew I had to email the bloggess and let her know that I wasn’t going to make our scheduled appointment. Thankfully her response started off with a, “ahhhhh hahahahahaha”. She understood. Well, while I was emailing with my phone and Kamel was swearing at traffic, and I was starving to death, I also became ridiculously car sick. So there we were, windows rolled down, me gritting my teeth so as not to puke, and Kamel trying his damndest to now get us home as fast as he can since the meeting was graciously rescheduled.

But what could we possibly have for dinner? Our evening plans were flipped over backwards and I was about to start gnawing on my own arm. Plus we were restricted by points. So I resorted to a trick my mother taught me: Baked potato in the microwave. Only 3 points and it’s done in ten minutes! (5 for each side). I don’t know if I can fully and accurately explain how god awful hungry I was by the time I got home. Thankfully, what happened after I pulled the potato out of the microwave paints a pretty good picture.

Let me start off by saying the plate was really, really hot. And I had only grabbed it with one hand in a pot holder and totally under estimated the weight of my potato. I went to set the plate down quickly on the table, but Kamel was framing photos for our photo wall project and their was no safe spot left. By this time the plate had begun to dip and I was forced into using my other, naked hand (the tip of my pointer finger) to help hold up the plate, but it wasn’t enough and I was burning myself. As I went to set the plate on top of Kamel’s empty plate (still on the counter), the potato flew off and smashed to the ground in the little space under the cabinets, sending little sizzling potato chunks all over my clean kitchen floor.

And then I burst into tears and walked straight into the bedroom as Kamel called from the kitchen, “it’s ok, Lauren! the floor is clean! It’s totally fine! I saved it! holy mother this plate is HOT!”

I cried into my pillow for about 30 seconds before returning to the kitchen and putting cheese on my potato, and trying to eat it but ending up spitting it back out on my plate because, uh, it was too hot. About that same time Maris sent me an email that read,

“aaaaaaaaand WIN”…… for no discernible reason I can think of…. complete with this photo attached:

And I knew I was finally out of the woods.

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