STORY NUMBER 2

STORY NUMBER 2

This is not a story about Number 2 (sorry if you're disappointed)- it's the second part of the previous blog.

2. THE DEATH OF MY FAVORITE JEANS

So, after applying for about 200 full-time "big girl" jobs for the past two months, I finally got two new jobs, both of which are temporary for the holidays. So currently I have three jobs (LIVING THE DREAM, people!) I'm doing random catering gigs for fancy people's house parties, and for the next couple weeks, I'm delivering cookie baskets to the entertainment industry. When people in this town wanna say "THANKS for your business," they do it with a basket of cookies. Or a box, a sleigh, a beautiful hand-blown glass bowl...but everything has a freakin' balloon on it, which makes driving without a horn VERY dangerous (SEE PREVIOUS BLOG AND QUIT ASKING QUESTIONS).

So, back to the jeans. Yesterday- no wait, we need to go back to Sunday night when I twisted my ankle at the ATM at my local "Danger-ton Mutual." I went down, heard a snap (like you do when you've torn more ligaments and broken more ankles than God). What? Anyway, it hurt like a bitch. And in the midst of the sudden violent motion of my fall, I *might* have ripped my jeans a little. Or at least that's what I'm telling myself.

On day 1 of my new cookie job, I made 6 deliveries- one place got 32 boxes of cookies, which involved several trips between my car and the mail room (limping past the security guard who noticed and generously let me park in the loading zone. Jesus I am wordy. ANYWAY, the point being I had gotten in and out of my car several times that morning. Shifting, sliding, shoving slips of paper into my back pockets, etc.

On my LAST delivery of the morning, I got out of the car in front of a group of three guys- they were hanging out in front of a U-Haul store hoping to find work for the day. They approached me, thinking I had stopped because I wanted to hire them. "No, sorry guys, I'm just going into that other building to deliver this enormous basket of Schmooze." They say okay, we exchange smiles, I walk past them. I come out a couple minutes later, and they approach me again, smiling even bigger now, almost embarassed.

I think, "uh-oh, they talked about me when I was inside, and now one of them is gonna hit on me or say something really offensive, and I'm gonna have to turn him down in front of his friends or say something mean like, "I'm not your BABY" or "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth!?"

But instead, this happens:

All three guys are smiling, and "mouthpiece" guy (or the guy who got the short stick?) comes toward me and says, "Excuse me, mam. I need to tell you something."

I'm thinking "I'm married, I'm gay, I'm busy, no thanks, you're very kind, fuck off, etc".

"I need to tell you that...your pants....your pants (grabs at his pants by the belt, shaking them up and down) it's ripped.

Guy turns red, other guys smirking and avoiding eye contact.

It took a second to register what he was talking about (his flirting is weird!) but I put my hand on my butt, and GUESS what? I felt my bare ass! Because he was right! My jeans were ripped. I was wearing the same jeans as the night before when I fell. Don't judge me- I used Febreeze.

Maybe they were a little ripped the night before and this last "in and out of the car" maneuver sealed the deal. Or maybe my ass was hanging out all morning, for every delivery and I just didn't feel the breeze! "Can you sign here? Thanks....happy holidays Bye!!" (and by the way, now you can laugh with your coworkers alllll day long because the last thing you saw was my ass!)

I can't be sure. All I know is that there was an equal amount of mortification and respect between me and that guy. He got stuck with telling me. But I was the one with the ass hanging out. Hats off to you, sir. And it's okay if you laughed about me all day long. After I went home and changed my pants, I laughed a lot too.

THIS is the kind of milk I like to serve with my cookies!

TWO THINGS ARE DEAD

TWO THINGS ARE DEAD

1. My Horn.

2. My Favorite Jeans

In the story of number one- Last Monday night, I was sound asleep and dreaming, and in my dream there was a nice soft tone playing- maybe someone was serenading me with one-note from a trumpet? Maybe it was someone singing an extended whole note of a beautiful Christmas Carol.....I wasn't sure.

Then I started to wake up a little, and I realized the sound was REAL, and coming from inside the house. I got up, stumbled into the hallway (was it the fire alarm?? Are we gonna die??) NO. Not the fire alarm. Waking up a little more by now....go toward the front door, open it and realize the sound is coming from outside...a fire truck? A Tornado drill? NO, It's coming from my driveway. And it's my CAR HORN. ONE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTE continuously HONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNKING, right outside my neighbor's bedroom window. I panic. I'm in my pajamas, outside by this point, with no keys. Ran back inside, found the keys, ran outside and opened the car door. I didn't know what to do, so I just started banging on the steering wheel, and the horn stopped. AHHHHHH. silence. So awesome.

After my roomate and I exchanged a few "What the fuck????s" I stumbled back into the house. It was 3:30am-I crawled back into bed, enjoyed a little chuckle at the sheer volume of my horn and how my neighbors must have shit their pants in their dreams, and fell back asleep.

I completely forgot that this happened. Until Tuesday night at 1:30 am. HONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNK.

I bolted up out of bed, ran outside (WITH my keys this time) and did the "hit the horn until it stops" move. This time it was NOT funny at all.

I went to a mechanic the next morning and asked them to fix it. Apparently my horn is wired alongside the airbags, so instead of dealing with that, I just took out the fuse.

So now my horn is dead, and I am sad. because I really love honking at people.

Now my horn sounds like this:

" "

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The story of number 2 will have to wait until I can upload a picture, because I want you to have the full effect.