broken

all in all a pretty good theme for this past unintentionally long weekend.

fucking broken.

let's start with saturday, because, while a pain in the fucking ass, it's a better story than sunday, october 15, which will now be refered to on this blog as "the day the music died." end of conversation regarding sunday.

so, saturday started out banaly enough. (is too a word i looked it up)

i slept in until 9:00am then called my sponser. we were supposed to get together.

"lemme get myself out of bed and get these dogs walked then i'll be over. 45 minutes, maybe."

so i do that stuff. i know i've said this before but my fucking boy dog is the best ever. he never wakes up in a bad mood. he's always anxious to greet the day and acts like he's in love with me all over again every stinking morning! he's the best.

(*sidenote, yesterday while i was sick in bed i asked the boydog if he would be my boyfriend. he seriously sighed and looked at winnie - the girl dog. as if to say, oh mom, you know i've already got a girlfriend. heh. he's the coolest and yes i'm a total loser)

so i get 'em walked and hop in the car to head to my girl's house. i hit some traffic which i assume is for the saturday farmer's market. i call to say i'm running later than i thought due to traffic.

"hey, looks like i'm hitting some traffic. i'll still be there, just a little later than i thought."

"that's fine, honey. can you pick me up a pack of cigarettes?"

so i get the smokes and i'm on my way again, when i start to see orange cones and lots more traffic. on my left i start to see some runners with numbers. aw shit, it's the fucking marathon. i inch my way up 33rd street for the next half hour. then i'm stopped completely for 30 minutes. no lie. 30 minutes.

so i sit and try to practice patience. i'm supposed to fix my motorcycle today, but other than that and a party later tonight i've got no where to be.

i call a couple of motorcycle shops while i'm sitting. first the one that my friend seth suggested. no dice. they're out of the battery that i need for my bike. another shop. $85.00. fuck that. $85 for a battery. and then another. $65. fuck it, i'll take it. i give them my credit card # over the phone and say i should be there by noon to pick it up.

i hang up the phone and wait. there's a marathon supporter on the other side of the road yelling suppport to the runners.

"way to go number 1165! keep smiling! woo hoo!"

and ringing a cowbell. and ringing and ringing and ringing.

i call my sponser.

"i'm 50 yards from where i called you last 45 minuts ago."

"aww honey, what's going on?"

"the fucking marathon. and do you hear that cowbell? i'm having fantasies of running over to that woman, tackling her to the ground with a strangle hold and shoving that fucking cowbell down her throat."

"oh man, that sucks."

since i quit smoking on january first i knew this next part would be understood.

"yeah, i'm sitting here totally pissed off and i have a pack of cigarettes staring me in the face. and they're MY BRAND!"