part deux

you know in comedy movies, where mishaps and ridiculous collusions of circumstance accumulate within a very small time frame, and the victim of these difficulties is nearly overcome to the point of self-implosion, upon which there is a cute, funny denouement and everybody leaves the theatre in a good mood, with extra popcorn?
this shit apparently does happen in real life, except for the tidal wave of relief and smiles at the end. you get stuck with the high blood pressure vein pulsing out of your head, and the involuntary rectal clamp, the teeth-grinding and the perma-frown.

yesterday i was already shifting in my driver's seat with discomfort on my way home, my mind distracted by that less-than-fresh feeling swamping my nether regions. i had 3 major problems: one of which was related to the moon and being female, and being too stupid to keep extra sanitary products in my purse; the second was related to lack of fiber in my diet, too much coffee, and lack of patience on the potty; and the third, i'm still not sure how one would contract poison-ivy-like stuff in one's entire TP-wiping zone, or what exactly it is, but it was covered with cortisone and that was wearing off. gross.

so as i wiggle like a retarded puppy in my hot, sticky, airless black car, i have going through my mind the rhetorical question oft heard from the nuns in my days at catholic school: 'do you have ants in your pants?'

now traffic comes to a stop. total dead stop, and i'm 30+ miles from home. i call smartraveler and try not to rear-end anyone while punching in route numbers. yep, thank you for calling, major brake lights all the way up 495 through chelmsford, and on to route 3 - be prepared for major delays, holiday traffic. did i mention you're fucked?

it's hot, and i'm beyond depressed, and i don't know which is failing faster - my maxi pad or me. i say to hell with my OCD-adherence to routine; i'm taking route 2 into newton (somehow) and meeting up with the gang for a night of trivioxx, determined to save this day. then my water magically opens and spills all over the seat and cd's, and my phone turns its ringer off and i'm expecting a directions-help call, and my clutch decides it's tired of this first/second/first shit for the last hour and becomes recalcitrant and stiff, and my gearbox thinks the clutch is on to something and decides to follow suit.

then i saw a pink and orange beacon of respite on the horizon, and a huge parking spot in the front just for me. tears in my eyes, i think - this is it. the moment of salvation. i'll walk in there, and someone will read from my face the hardships i've just overcome, and a stranger will hug me, someone will give me a large sum of money or a porsche, and the birds will sing again. inside, the a/c is broken, there is no bathroom, and the woman at the counter doesn't speak english and doesn't know if i am in west newton or not. one large coconut iced coffee with extra milk/no sugar later, i'm ready to hit the road again. i made it in one piece, appreciably bitchier for the entire evening, and awoke this morning feeling like it had to have all just been a nightmare.

and today, o perilous friday before a 3-day weekend, i get to do it all again.