How shitty, you may ask? Well, I'm sitting here, eating chocolate chip cookies straight from the tub and using the word "shitty" in my hertofore PG-13 blog.
Jeff was supposed to come up today and spend the day with me...until the brakes on his car exploded. So instead of spending the day with me, he's spending it with a mechanic.
Undaunted, I ventured out into the historical area with Kismet. I tried to return his birthday present--a designer collar and leash--only to be told that I could only return it for store credit. Since the only thing I wanted from the boutique was a designer collar and leash, there's no point in returning it...but I could really use the money for the new tire. (remember the new tire? Oh yes, last Saturday was a winner too.)
Decided to be productive this afternoon and do a little cleaning. Stopped by the Dollar General for some cheap cleaning supplies and when I returned to the car I discovered that Kismet had thrown up all over the backseat. Now, I have a towel to protect the seat where he climbs in before he jumps into his little booster seat...but guess which side he threw up on? Good thing I had all those church bulletins in the backseat to clean up what I could.
Did I mention I hadn't eaten breakfast yet? I had planned on coming home and making myself a big brunch, but instead I grabbed bucket, brush, paper towels and my new bottle of extra-strength Febreeze and cleaned out the backseat. Discovered that last week's rainshower (did I mention I left the windows down Sunday night and it poured and my car smells like dead rat, hence the Febreeze?) had turned some magazines in the backseat into mulch and that was probably why Chi-Chi smelled like a dead rat. I managed to get the mess cleaned up, with much diligent application of paper towels...and a liberal spraying of Febreeze.
At last I got to eat breakfast. Whipped up a batch of Martha White's self-rising biscuits, which looked like hardtack next to the apple cake my roommate made to celebrate her wedding. (fine. Not her wedding--she's re-enacting a wedding that took place two hundred years ago) The hashbrowns I made from scratch were undercooked and tasted horrible and the meatless sausage was a joke. (I hate being vegetarian sometimes. I'll do it, but I'm not happy about it.) I couldn't even enjoy pretending that my biscuits were hardtack, because that just made me think about how many Aubrey/Maturin books are out there that I haven't read yet and never will because I have no money either to buy them for myself or pay the astronomical fine at the library.
Then I got busy with the cleaning. I even moved some furniture around so I could vacumn, but when I unhooked the hose I discovered that it was smoking. Something is wrong with the belt, but I'm not touching it today. Luckily we have the extra vacuum (thank you Dumpster Gods), but that shining moment in the afternoon was quickly overtaken when I attempted to wet-vacuum our sofas. Not only is the one cushion I attempted to clean still wet (thank God I stopped after only one), but it STILL smells horrible. Horrible but with vinegar, because I was trying to be green. Screw it. More Febreeze!
Then, the worst thing of all happened. A few weeks ago Jeff made me a present of some glorious blue wool and silk fabric, to match some eighteenth century chintz I had. I was planning on turning it into a beautiful upper-midding class outfit, something I could wear when we were promenading and making everyone jealous. Jeff had even offered to make it for me, all I had to do was cut it to length. Cutting out a petticoat is not hard: it's two straight cuts straight across the width of fabric. Yet I managed--because it is just that kind of shitty day--to screw it up. Instead of cutting 38", I cut it at 36", and when you're talking about hemlines in the eighteenth century, yes Virginia, two inches matters.
At that point I gave up, cried, put everything away. I have to go to work in twenty minutes (going early so I can try to return Kizzy's collar...he deserves so much better than me) and it looks like it's going to rain. So I'll probably have to perform inside tonight, which is hot, small and miserable.
The one high point of the day came when I checked the mail...I was bitter when I saw the fat envelope, figuring it was more love for the roommate, until I saw the return address. Inside: baby pictures. Thank God for baby pictures. Mom, Dad, Lily--you have saved the day.