Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day . . .

Yesterday was a truly horrible, horrendous, disastrous, awful, very bad day! And yes, I’m going to piss and moan and complain about it, because this my blog god damnit. And I’m pretty sure no one is reading this, except my bestie J ;), so it won’t really matter anyway . . .

 As some of you may know, Boston and the rest of New England have been inflicted with the worse winter in decades, which includes horrendous snow storms, weekly. Actually, sometimes twice a week. Yesterday was no exception.

Let’s start from the beginning of the story, as there was a chain of events that spiraled into the shit, that became my day. . .

Wednesday was my sisters birthday, but I had to work til 5 then had class from 7-9:30. Normally, I would have just skipped class and gone to her birthday dinner, but the teacher has canceled class and a snow storm canceled another one (shocker!). So it started snowing Wednesday night but no class cancelation. I was looking at my email every 20 minutes (or 5 as it got closer to 5:00.) I decided to stay late at work just a little bit longer and finally looked at my email one more time at 5:30, and there was no cancelation. So I got dressed in a flash, went to the gym, grabbed a salad, and just barely made it to class for 7. I get there and no one is there except me and another student. So we waited about 15 minutes, until I finally checked my email, and wouldn’t you know, she canceled class. A half hour before it was supposed to start mind you! So I’m fuming, but I made it back to my apartment, and realize that I let one of our friends park in my spot in the driveway for the birthday party. So as I pull on to my street a car was just leaving a parking spot, so I thought, YES, things are looking up, so I took their spot and thought nothing of it.

I imagine it was something like this.

So the snow rages on and the next morning we wake up to a winter wonderland. Or winter hell, anyway you would like to put it. Work was delayed by a couple hours, so I decided to go out and clean off my car. To my absolute horror, the car is missing! Totally gone. So, I rack my brain and think, maybe I’m looking in the wrong spot, and proceed to go up and down the street like a crazy person looking for the car. (Which is a rental mind you, since my car is in the shop after an accident, but that’s another story . . .) My landlord’s brother was shoveling and helped me, and neither of us could find it. Then the slow realization that it was towed started to creep over me, and I got pissed.

I call the city of Boston’s tow service and the lady on the other line was surprisingly pleasant. She told me that the city had towed over 600 cars the night before, but she was going to look in the database for mine. While I’m on hold, freaking out, I try to explain to myself why would I even be towed in the first place? To add to my state of frustration, she comes back on the line and informs me there is no record of my car.

WHAT?!?

After a minute of thinking my car, well the rental, has now been stolen, I start to calculate how many years it’s going to cost me to pay off, the lady on the tow center comes back on the line. She suggested I call some local towing companies, and see if it was non-snow related towing. 

Long story short . . . that was indeed the case. Some sadistic, cruel, Ebinezer Scrooge, called the tow company on me because the tail end of my car, and I’m talking barely my tail end, was blocking their driveway.  You cruel heartless bitch! Honestly, who does that. In a snow storm to boot. Not only was it towed like 5 miles away, but it was going to cost me $130 CASH to get it out!! Took me forever to get there, forever to wait in line to pay, then I had to unbury my car from all the snow that was piled onto it, til I finally got out of that hell hole of lost cars. Luckily my boss told all of us to not even bother coming into the office and that we could work from home, which was nice, until I realized I had class at 4.

I got to my train stop at 3:15, thinking allotting 45 mins for a 20 min train ride would be suffice. I guess I didn’t take into account that this was the day from hell, and it ended up taking and hour and a half almost. I was so late for class. Like really tacky, embarrassingly late. The teacher even made a comment. It was horrible.  Oh yeah, and as I was waiting I was splashed from head to toe in dirty, mucky, snowy slush as a huge truck drove over a puddle. Grrrr, you can’t make this stuff up.

Wah, wah, wah. I know, go cry a river, and there are starving children in Africa and I’m complaining about this, but everyone is allotted a 10 minute bitch session every once in awhile.

Thankfully my day ended on a good note. I went to the movies to see the King’s Speech and it was EXCELLENT!!! J

I’m feeling so much better, I’ve even included the trailer:

Skinnnnnnnns!

I have something of what you may call an addictive personality. No, not in the I’m addicted to every legal or illegal drug this great country has to offer (though it would come in handy for the substance abuse class I am taking, see below.), but more that if I find something I enjoy, I want more of it, and I want it all the time. The good news is, that these obsessions tend to fade after a few weeks time, and then I’m off to a new one.

This month’s addiction is Skins! No, not that horrible, pretentious, trying-to hard crap that MTV has been airing and advertising to no avail, but the UK version, the original show. It is beyond addicting.  The show is based in the UK, and every 2 seasons, the cast changes.  Though the characters on the show are supposed to be 16-17, they get involved in some situations that I don’t even think some of my friends in their 30’s even would know how to do. Yes, there is heavy drinking, swearing, drug use,  nudity and sex, but it’s bloody brilliant!

Here are some reasons I love Skins:

1.       It is made in Britain which means British accents and slang. No joke, it’s almost like another language they are speaking, except I kinda understand it, and kinda just make things up. The way the characters speak in their cool, UK slang is just fascinating and lovely to listen to. I’ve now totally incorporated the words “bloody”, “cheeky”, “wicked” and “spliff” into my everyday vocabulary.

2.       The male characters are HOT! I mean, almost everyone of the male characters are usually hot. Sure, the British accent doesn’t hurt. And yes, I know they are supposed to be 17 and are probably really 20 in real life, and that makes me creepy, but these “teenagers” are way more mature then the teens of America, and they did a damn good job casting. The characters are flawed but likeable at the same time.

3.       The show is just so shocking and raw. I mean they don’t hold back, even if the situation is awkward, uncomfortable, not usually talked about, they just put it right out there. It’s nothing like America, where everything is so held back and privatized.

My advice. Just watch it. You can find it on Youtube pretty easily. You’ll become addicted.

Crack Cocaine Babies

So it’s Friday, yay. It’s snowing, not yay. I had to come into work despite the snow, double not yay.  But alas, it is Friday and I generally had a good week, so I can’t complain too much.

So I’m taking two classes this semester, as a start to getting my graduate degree. I’m working full time while doing this, so I’m only taking about 2 classes at a time. It will take me forever, no doubt, but slow and steady wins the race or some corny line like that. One class is a Substance Abuse and Treatment class and one on Research methods. Take a guess which one is more entertaining?

 The Research class is a lot of work, and I had a huge assignment due as soon as I got back from NY on Wednesday night, that took me til Midnight. Welcome back to school I guess. As much as I didn’t love doing the work, I did feel really accomplished after I finished.  I’m a dork, what can I say . . .

But the best by far is my Substance Abuse class, because of the professor. We will call him Prof. Drugs.  He is pure entertainment from the start of class til the end. He really is a sweet guy, and I don’t think he intentionally means to be funny, but he just is.

The first class he told us that most teachers who teach this type of class are some type of recovering addicts and that he was no exception. Then he proceeded to have us go around the room and guess what his drug of choice was. So of course this is the first time meeting him, and we don’t want to be offensive, so we guess “safe” drugs like marijuana, alcohol, prescription drugs. He starts nodding and shouting, “no, no, no! keep guessing!” So, we are all giggling a little bit, because now we are thinking wow, he must have done some serious drugs! So a brave soul yells out, “Heroin?! Cocaine?!”, another girl yells, “Crystal Meth?”. Finally, he gets up and says, “No people! Nicotine!!”  Cigarettes. He was addicted to freaking cigarettes.  But I guess an addiction is an addiction . . .

Last night’s class was no exception of funny moments.  So a few things I learned last night, along with a few one-liners from Prof. Drugs:

1.       If a baby is born addicted to crack cocaine, it has a much better chance of not having any birth effects versus a baby whose mother was heavily drinking alcohol. “So if someone had a gun to your head and you were pregnant and forced you to drink alcohol or take cocaine, choose the cocaine.”

2.       Huffing, or when people inhale toxins, is becoming very popular, that some people in Austrailia are taking to inhaling gasoline! “I love the smell of gasoline, I think it smells great! I mean the smell of gasoline really gets me going, turns me on. Well not like that turn me on, but you know what I mean.”

3.       Tolerance to alcohol is both affected by psychological and physical factors. “I’m a 4 beer guy, that’s when I hit my limit and I get silly, like really silly. Usually before that, I’ll be in a corner at the party by myself sipping a beer, but after 4, I get friendly.”

He is great! He sure keeps the class exciting. I’m sure there will be many more quotes to come.

Not meant to be offensive, but they are the best addiction babies to have - >

Harrison the Heartbreaker

So you know when they say (and by they I mean my elders), you never know who you are going to meet or something new is always around the corner?  Well I usually take this as meaning I’m going to meet the man of my dreams at the Laundromat, when he asks me for a spare dryer sheet or change for a dollar. (Even though there is a change machine 2 feet away.)  Oh wait, that’s kinda like the plot in the movie the Town, but you know what I mean.  I always take it as a romantic thing.

Well tonight I met Harrison.

He was talkative, funny, put-together, enjoying a nice scotch, and had many interesting hobbies.  A total 10.

Oh yeah, and he was 86 yearsold.

So as part of my travels for work, I get to go off to far and exotic places, full of wonder and excitement . . .  like eastern New York state. Ok, maybe not exotic or full of wonder, and not as cool as traveling somewhere like Nova Scotia, but I’ve always been a firm believer that you can make an adventure, no matter where you are.  Anyway, I’m staying at this adorable little inn, located in this sleepy NY college town, that has a very classy little jazz lounge and restaurant attached. Since its January and that means miserable snow storms, it’s not a bad place to spend a dark, cold, snowy night.  (This is sounding like a Mary Higgins Clark novel!)

I was planning on just ordering food and eating it in my room, but as soon as I stepped up to the bar in the lounge, I knew I had to stay.  First of all Mr. Bartender and I hit it off right away, shooting the shit, helping me decide what to order and convincing me to stay down there and eat. (Picture like the typical grandpa type, the kinda bartender you see in movies that is always polishing up a glass and telling a story. )

Then I heard the greatest pick up line known to man:

“So, I’m off to barbershop quartet practice . . .”

Whhhat? I immediately turn to my left and there sat Harrison. Distinguished looking, with a little blue vest and bowtie, sipping on remnants of a hearty scotch. “Well you do know what that means don’t ya curls?”

And so our conversation began.

I learned that Harrison was actually from Massachusetts originally, but moved around a lot after he got out of the war. He was married briefly, no children, has a niece that still lives in MA, but he doesn’t see her often. He was a pilot, a psychics genius, a pilot who owned his own plane, an explorer of Cuba, an inventor and patent owner though he wouldn’t tell me of what. Oh yeah, and he sings in a barbershop quartet and roller skates every Wednesday (but only when they play the old music, not that top 40 stuff.) And did I mention he was 86 years old? And not slowing down for anyone!

After Harrison left for practice, Mr. Bartender filled me in about Harrison and even said, he was one of the most stand up guys he’s ever known, and he’s “known a lot of people.”  I was truly impressed.

My night was completed by Mr. Bartender giving me a tour of the old inn, while reciting a history of the building, as well as all the events that have been held there.  He was also a very kind, sweet soul that made me feel right at home.

I guess the moral of my story is, you really never know who you are going to meet. Throughout the course of the day, how many people do you come across and never even look twice? They could have a fascinating life, a life-time of wonderful accomplishments, leaving you in awe and make you question how much you are living your life to the fullest. You could walk right by Harrison . . .