I'm An Idiot, Mon

Who’s stressed? AAAAACK!

Fucking things are not going my way. I mean, they kind of are. But also not. As in:

Overpriced pedicure = full of bubbles

Overpriced haircut = multilayered SKUNK on my FUCKING HEAD. That was not quite the look I was going for, for my honeymoon. But o.k., fine, normally my stylist gets it so right that I was just surprised she thought the crusty urine-colored streaks in my otherwise dark brown hair looked o.k. She gets one more chance to redeem herself (maybe two, she’s pregnant, I guess I could cut her some slack) before I go elsewhere.

Amazon = …well, they didn’t mess anything up. But they didn’t factor in my stupidity, which, I feel , as a long-standing customer, should be in their records somewhere. I ordered a great multitude of books last-minute, and they were due to arrive today. Close-calls give me a rush. So I was anxiously tracking them, because, hello! What am I going to do on the beach for a week without an army of trashy chick lit? And then the thing said “delivered” except, no, they most certainly were NOT delivered, because I have been sitting here in my house all day, monitoring the front door for any deliveries.

So I naturally began to have an anxiety attack, and promptly called Amazon, and they said, “Our systems are down, call again later,” which, really, could they be more dismissive and ambiguous? So I said, “Thank you, have a nice day,” (MOTHERFUCKERS), and went out and unsubtly checked out all of our neighbors porches for a block, because UPS often delivers to the wrong address around here. They kind of have this “close enough” attitude about their deliveries.
Nada.

So I continued my freak out, and then tried tracking it again, just in case the driver had realized his error, and driven back to reclaim my precious package and deliver it to my door. Wouldn’t it be great if “delivered” was crossed out, and it said, “Realized our error, carefully running package straight to you in my strong arms!” Sadly, this was not the case.

But I did notice an extra S. As in, not UPS, but USPS. So I tracked the package on their website and it was saying “delivered” there, as well. And as I sat on hold, listening to our nation’s postal service’s fine, fine easy listening selection, I realized that the postman does not really come to our door so much as to our mailbox. So I hung up, went out to our mailbox, and lo and behold, there was my package. Hee.

My bad.

So anywhos, me and my tiger striped hair and bubbly toes have all our deliciously horrid chick lit, and are prepared for a week of cowering in a hat and SPF 983 under an umbrella on the beach, enjoying the sun. It’s going to be awesome.

Mwah, dah-lings. I’d send a postcard, but I fully intend on being far too inebriated on umbrella drinks to really do so.