...and my fingers are now stuck together.

I just had the worst day EVER. Seriously. Some really weird shit is going on in my life. Like getting shots in my head. Not like getting shot in my head but more getting actual injections in my head. That shit hurts. I almost passed out. It was all good times and syringes at 7:30 this morning, getting shots in my face and trying so hard to make it to work at a decent hour so they don't fire my sorry sick ass. Then I get to work and they almost do fire my sorry sick ass. They asked the question of the day, "Can the doctor say how long this illness will be upsetting your life?" Hmmm ... good question, doctor, your thoughts?

The lock on my front door doesn't work. Just gets the key all stuck in it and I gotta crawl into my back patio and use that door till they fix that shit. Good thing I'm on the bottom floor. One up for me! Because scaling apartment walls and me are not mixy things.

Yeah. Now my fingers are stuck together. I thought I could fix a picture frame by myself...with Superglue. Enough said. Do you think this counts as a legitimate reason to call in sick? My fingers are stuck together. I'm typing with one finger on my left hand. (and my 'c' button is sticking). I'm over it. I'm finding out I'm not so mixxy with like ... life.

Clumsy is the word of the day

Actually it's the word of my entire existence. But to make an extremely long story short, I will tell you what has happened just since I moved into my new pad (way cute by the way! And it's only been like 2 weeks.) So the first instance happened about the 2nd day I lived here. I decided to make myself a nummy bowl of Spaghettios. Yum. Don't judge my culinary choices.

So I take the steaming hot bowl and carry it into the living room so I can watch something I recorded on my DVR and eat my yummy treats. Right when I get into the living room (with the new cream colored carpet), in slow motion I throw the bowl on the floor. It was like some one was murdered in my living room; only instead of blood and guts it was marinara sauce, pasta O's and "meat" balls. One very important detail that I'm leaving out...Spaghettios all over my Johnny Depp couches. OMG. So I'm sitting in the middle of this Chef Boyardee viscera and I begin to cry. My boyfriend tries to help with, "You scoop up the big chunks and I'll follow behind with the Oxy Magic.”

Then the very VERY next day I was heating up some noodles in the micro and it was sort of a blur how the noodles got from the micro to the top of the stove, streaking down the front of the oven and all over my work pants. Fucking A. (What does the “A” in “fucking A” mean anyway? Again? Asshole? Argyle?)

Yesterday I was being a good girl and hanging up all my clothes in my new humongous closet. My headboard is leaning up against the wall until I can get the time to put the damn thing together. So I walk out of my closet and WHAM! I think I broke my baby toe. It was all bendy and shit. But I'm sort of a tough bitch so I continue to hang my clothes (after screaming and cursing and throwing things) and once again...BAM! This time it's bleeding. Like a lot. I'm hemorrhaging from my baby toe. I can see the headline now: Girl Hemorrhages to Death in Little Toe Headboard Incident. As if that isn't enough, the very next morning I WACKED! my broken bendy bloody toe again.

Yeah. I'm special. Like “I have to go limp to catch the short bus to work” special.