Holy Crap

The past week was a complete nightmare. It started out when I had to drive through a typhoon to get to work. After that my day got better, but my husband's day proceded to suck. Whoever designed the minivan he drives decided instead of using 4 or 5 little belts, they would just use one giant belt, about 38 feet long. That turns out to be a good thing, because when he was backing out of a parking spot my husband suddenly noticed the complete absence of power steering. If there had been separate belts he might not have noticed anything wrong until smoke started pouring out from under the hood. Luckily, the belt had just slipped off, and he was able to gimp all the way to our mechanic and get it put back in place.

The next day I was off work, and you would think that would be a good thing, but I still had a bad day. It started out when I opened the refrigerator and realized I didn't have any soda. Not a real tragedy, but that meant I would have to put on real clothes, not stay in my jammies all day, and drive to the store to get more soda. The tragedy that is my life. Anyway, I got dressed, went in the garage and started backing out. No, I didn't run over or into anything. I suddenly have a crack in my windshield. It starts about eye-level at the support post on the driver's side, and then curves out in a gracefull arc towards the dashboard. Not exactly what I wanted on my day off. I swear it wasn't there when I parked my car. My husband said sometimes when a car cools down a tiny chipped spot will suddenly pop and send out a crack, so it wasn't my fault.

Then, when my husband came home he had even worse news. The lady that owns, or owned, the restaurant where he works, or worked (can you tell where I'm going with this?) sold the business. Not only did she sell it, she sold it to someone else that works there, who, according to my husband, might be related to the Antichrist. She doesn't have as much experience as my husband, but that doesn't stop her from thinking she knows more than he does about everything. So he didn't know if he was going to keep working there or not. If he had to work with her as a boss, the general rule about most people who go on berzerk killing rampages having restaurant experience would have still been valid. Of course, nobody told my husband any of this until about 5 minutes before he was supposed to leave for the day. Assholes.

So we were sitting at the kitchen table, discussing my windshield and his employment future, when we noticed a strange noise coming from the basement. The washing machine decided this would be a fine time to break down. Not only did it break down, but it broke down with a load full of clothes inside. And it was full of water, too, but luckily it was on the last rinse cycle, so we just had to wring each piece out by hand and put in the drier. It took 4 hours to dry all the clothes.

The next day he went back to the restaurant to talk to the new owner. She told him A) she couldn't afford to pay him as much as he had been making (which sucked because the old owner had been about to give him a raise) and B) she had already hired another cook who needed to work 40 hours, so even if he decided to stay he could only work 1 day a week. So guess who needs a job?

That wasn't the end of the week from hell. My husband came home a couple of days ago and noticed about an inch of water on the bathroom floor. He had a hard time figuring out where the water was coming from. It wasn't the toilet itself that was leaking, but the shut-off valve leading to the toilet. At least he was able to fix it without having to buy a new toilet.

While all this was going on I really didn't have any interest in blogging, or even getting on my laptop at all. I kept thinking if I turned on my laptop it would shoot flames out the back, or electrocute me or something. I even had a dream that I opened my laptop and everything inside had melted.