TRUE STORY

A woman pulls up to our service department in her Optima (mid-size sedan.) Our service manager greets her and notices some damage on the hood of the vehicle. She gets out of her car and proceeds to tell our service manager that she is getting sued because she hit a couple of children with her car. He looked at the hood and saw that the chalk lines outlining the children around the damage on the hood. She said, with a straight face, that she wanted Kia to pay for it because her horn didn't work... and that's why the children got hit.

As sad as the picture is of children laying in the road, screaming from broken bones because of this woman, I laughed so hard I cried.

The first question that comes to mind is how she managed to hit multiple people?
Next, why did she not remove the chalk outline of small bodies from her hood?
Then, since when did the horn disable the brakes or lock the steering column?
Finally, exactly how long ago did she lose her mind?

New shoes, new haircut, and new hair color. La la la, I feel better! AND someone said my ass looked good today. Gonna have me a martini and celebrate.

I've been in a funk the last week and I think I've had a good run of it. The first round of firings occurred today at work and, thankfully, I avoided the gunfire...and the unemployment line. But my blindfold isn't off yet, I bought myself about 2 more weeks until the next round- a month at the max. Anyone wanting to hire an English major? I didn't think so...

I think I might have a knack for this writing thing: anyone wanting to hire a slightly depressed writer? Shocker...

I learned a lot in my fantastic mope. Having my mind cloudy with thoughts, and not wanting to talk about them, left me silent. Needless to say, I did A LOT of listening: it's amazing, I think most people just want to be heard. At one point last week, I found myself on my living room couch watching "Sex and the City" with my neighbor (I refuse to use the word "friend" anymore, and if you know who I'm talking about, you understand). I was watching the show and daydreaming and she kept bringing up her multifarious problems. I quit responding and she kept talking- I couldn't believe it. It was like she didn't even care IF I responded; she just wanted to talk about herself.

After this realization, I noticed that it wasn't just her- everyone just loves to talk about themselves and I wondered if there really is someone at the other end of the cellphone. People ask about the other person without caring about the answer, anxious to return to their problems.

Man. There are a lot of problems out there.

I heard about unemployment, DUIs, moving back in with the parents, classes, girlfriends, fiances, wives, ex-girlfriends, ex-wives, sex, alcoholism, money, work, bosses, small penises...

My head hurts.

I'm getting drunk and going to bed.

McDonald's has my e-mail address. This disturbs me on a level deeper than I imagined.

Ben: In a few minutes we can do an inventory run and make the new addendums.
Jamie: Why the wait?
Ben: (points towards the bathroom) I have to go to my office for a few minutes. People are waiting on me.
Jamie: Ah, you have to drop the kids off at the pool?
Ben: Yeah, and poop.

I've recently encountered a period in which people from my past are contacting me out of the blue. One of whom I last spoke to over 5 years ago. Some are welcome contacts, some are not; some forgave and have been forgiven, some have not.

Part of me wants to scream, "What the fuck?!" at the top of my lungs from the highest and windiest building.

These men are tearing away at my imagination. Much like children whose fathers have left them, I've concocted wild stories about their whereabouts: "He became a physicist and moved to Russia on a top secret mission."

"He became handsome, grew a set, and married a supermodel."

All my stories are very flattering, I assure you. I'm not the kind of person who gets off on: "He's homeless and living in an alley with a strangely long beard."

Maybe it's because I'm not vengeful. Maybe it's because I'm currently under the influence and don't know what is or is not good for me at this particular moment. (Regardless of my inebriation, I do possess impeccable grammar skills.)

Their real stories are much sadder than what I've made up for them. Several are graduated from college and living at home. One still pines for me with the same intensity that he did the one night in my life I've spent with him. One is unemployed, just out of rehab.

They should have just let me be so I could continue with, "He works on Wall Street and has both a car and a driver," not "Rehab was bitchin."

Introspectively, is my life any better? Sure I'm financially independent and don't live in the same city as my parents, live in a lovely apartment with the best roommate I could have wished for BUT I hate my job a little more every hour I spend there; I don't think I have a "true" girlfriend and my dog might hate me.

But, in the end, I'll live... somehow I always do... and I'm confident in that fact. So, in the meantime, I'll just continue thinking you're an astronaut on a space mission making an important discovery... if that's alright with you.

Having a sad day- call me or leave a comment and make me feel better.