THANK GOD It’s Friday

You know what’s funny? When you wake up in the morning and you are all excited for the fun day you have in front of you and then? It sort of all goes to hell. This happened to me yesterday. Indulge me while I tell you about it, would you?

Woke up early (3:45! like a crazy person!), kicked ass at Crossfit and arrived at work by 7am with my second mug of freshly brewed Peet’s Holiday Blend. (It’s amazing this year! Really. Need a gift for a coffee lover: THIS IS IT.) So life was good.

I chatted with my mom for a bit and told her about the exciting evening ahead. Garrett and I were going to hit up the Library Galleria after work because Erik Larson was going to be there speaking and reading from his new book. I haven’t read it yet (I’m like number 200 in the hold queue at the library, SIGH) but he was going to be talking about his research and if there is anything that makes the historical dork in Garrett perk up it is the phrase “Hitler’s Berlin.” And I would be able to check off one of my 2011 Goals: See one of your favorite writer’s speak.

Life: Still Good.

And then, at about 10:30 Garrett called me to tell me our refrigerator died. Yep, this one. The one I nonchalantly said in that post that I hate, and couldn’t wait to get a new one. I guess I should have been more specific and said, I can’t wait to get a new one — but what would be great is if it would not die the week after we *responsibly* got new tires for the cars because it’s almost winter, and did some general car maintenance. And also if it could not happen a month and a half before Christmas. That would be great. Maybe another time. BUT NOT DURING THAT TIME!!!!!!! OK?

Editorial mistake, apparently. Lesson learned.

So. The fridge is dead. Ok. I won’t even get into that. But just let all the fun of that situation cast a certain shade of gray on yesterday so that we’re all on the same page. Then, during lunch, the easy breezy process of getting those *recently purchased tires* put on the car turned into a drama fest. Again, not even worth going into, but another shade of gray cast. Are you following me here? Then it took me 30 minutes to get out of the Costco parking lot because Old People Who Wear Matching Sweatsuits And Shop In The Middle Of The Day don’t understand that blocking the entire aisle of a parking lot while waiting for the mother of 4 to unload all of her groceries and get all of her children into her minivan IS NOT REASONABLE when that aisle is the only major exit out of the parking lot and it is THE LUNCH HOUR.

And then my head exploded.

But I got it together enough to finish my afternoon at work and head over to the mall where I had my annual eye appointment. I was feeling efficient, so I ran into Bare Escentuals to get some new foundation. The woman helping me tried to upsell me some other skin care crap (AT THE REGISTER) to help with “some of the breakouts in my chin area.”

NOT INTERESTED, WOMAN. BUT THANK YOU FOR POINTING OUT MY AWFUL SKIN DURING THAT TRANSACTION.

But I shook that off and headed to my eye appointment which was actually pretty quick and easy. The only thing that struck me was that it is really poor timing to have an eye appointment right after your birthday because it’s like, another year older another new prescription for your failing eyes, old person! I wanted to go home and eat an entire bag of carrots. They are magic for the eyes, right? Hey, maybe even for my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad skin too! I should let Ms. Bare Escentuals know that now that she has so kindly pointed out my skin problems, maybe I will get off my lazy ass and try to do something about them instead of just rubbing my face in the pepperoni pizza I eat every night. OH SHOULD I NOT BE DOING THAT?

Anyway, after my eye exam, it was time for me to pick out some new frames, and I was kind of excited about it. Accessory shopping is always fun, even if you do have to do it with those gunky yellow eye drops in your eyes that make you feel like Revenge of The Swamp Thing. But of course, if you follow me on twitter you know exactly how this went. If not, let me tell you.

I told the woman helping me that I hate my current glasses, listed out the reasons why they are sub par (they’re hot pink, the teeny tiny wire frames make the lenses feel disorienting, I feel like they look to small on my face) and told her specifically what I was interested in (sturdier, rectangular, neutral colored frames.) It should be noted that I was not bitchy about it at all. I was pleasant even though my eyes were gunky, and I was trying to be helpful so she didn’t pull a bunch of frames I would hate. And at the last minute I also said “Oh, and my refrigerator died today. HA! — So maybe if we could find a pair that weren’t a million dollars, that would be great too!”

This may have been where it began to go downhill. Again, I thought that would be helpful information. Perhaps not.

So she brought me back a handful of very tiny looking colored frames (Not what I asked for, btw). I tried one on and politely said “Hmmm…I don’t love the colors, but besides that I think these are going to be a little small. I have a very large head.” It’s the truth, people. It’s giant. LIKE AN ORANGE ON A TOOTHPICK. But whatever, it still works.

“Oh no,” she replied, “You are just a very large woman.”

::::blink blink:::::

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOkay.

There may have been a momentary curious head-cock, but I decided just to let it go and give Her Petite-ness the benefit of the doubt. I am 5’10 barefoot, and I was wearing 3 inch heels. MAYBE THAT’S WHAT SHE MEANT.

So then she brings me Round Two of frames. I find a couple I like, but the last few are sort of colored cat-eye glasses that just don’t interest me. Since I had found a few contenders, I kind of wrinkled my nose a bit and just said I’d probably pass on the retro frames.

“Just try them!” she insisted, “They’re very trendy right now. I want to see what they look like.” So I obliged. Like an ass. At this point I was just ready to get this show on the road so we could get to the library on time. And as I put them on she says:

“Well, you’re definitely no sexy librarian, are you now?”

Um, no. I’m not actually. And I really wish I would have told her I was a Sexy Assassin For Hire, because I was this close to busting out my Vulcan Death Grip. But I said nothing, you all. NOTHING. Because the sheer shock of the service was just hanging there in the air. So I picked my frames and told her I was ready to get going. And her final comment as I was putting my credit card back in my wallet was:

“Wow — that was a challenge! It’s so hard to fit someone with such tiny eyes and a wide face on a Refrigerator Budget. We did good work today!”

And then I died.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. And then I tweeted. And tweeted. And tweeted. And many of you were lovely enough to commiserate with me, so thanks for that! And then I went home.

Honestly, at that point the whole experience of the day had sucked my desire to drive downtown in the rain, hunt for parking, and listen to anyone talk about Nazi’s. Instead I cracked open a very large bottle of wine and cooked a very delicious dinner with my boyfriend, who has never once called me Amazonian. I was sad to miss out on hearing Erik Larson, but you know, I’m no Sexy Librarian, so it was probably all for the best anyway.

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