FML #1

Why is my life always such a fucking trial?

So… last night I went to Jonathan’s hotel card party.  I had a good time, but I’ll talk about that later.

I got home around 300am, and I sat up a little while longer chatting to a friend on the internet.  You know, since I got my new job I have to be to work at normal people hours so staying out all night long don’t work for me like that anymore.  Gone are the days of being to work at 1130.  When I finally got in bed it was like 4. 

My apartment is on the ground floor and I don’t have any windows except for one in the bathroom and one in my bedroom, but that shit is like a prison window with a black curtain over it so I can never tell when the sun comes up.  But yesterday, or this morning, I guess, I happened to notice that shit.  I’m like, what the fuck, I just got in bed, how is the sun up already? 

Yeah, genius, if you go to bed at 4, the sun will be up 3 hours later.  Anyway, I slept all morning and then decided to do some overtime at my other job at the Pentagon.  I am trying to save up a whole lot of money for Black Friday so I have been doing a lot of work at my part-time job.

I am at work maybe 3 hours, and I decided to leave because I was getting hungry.  I go out to my car, WHY THE FUCK IS MY BATTERY DEAD.

Not dead, but DEAD.  Like that bitch wouldn’t even charge up when I got a jump.  Now, I have plenty of friends, but sometimes they are not friends who would be willing to help in the time of need.  I went through my whole phone list and came up with one person who I thought might be able to help me.  Everyone else I knew was either at work, way too far away to assist, don’t have a car, or would complain about helping a sistah out.  Or maybe just people I didn’t know like that.

I did call my insurance company but because I was at the Pentagon, the tow truck wouldn’t come.  They don’t want to come on restricted property.  Then it was cold as a bitch.  I didn’t wear a jacket because I thought I would be going straight from the car to the building and back again.  I couldn’t wait inside the building because cell phones do not work inside the Pentagon.

Okay great.

Let’s talk about the dumb insurance lady.  I called for roadside assistance and she asks for my location.

Me:  “I’m at the Pentagon.”

Her:  “Is there an address?”

Me:  “9000 Defense Pentagon”

Her:  “Pentagon?”

Me:  “Yes.”

Her:  “Oh, you’re at the Pentagon?”

(Okay, didn’t I just say that?)

Me:  “Yes, that’s right.”

Her:  “Is that 9000 Defense Boulevard, Street, Drive… what?”

Me:  “It’s just 9000 Defense Pentagon.  It doesn’t really have an address.”

Her:  “Okay, what city and state is that?”

Are you fucking serious?  But maybe it’s just me.  I figured that you could ask ANY American and they would know where the Pentagon is located.  Washington, DC?  D’uh!  No, bitch, I’m in California!

So that’s when she tells me she can’t send any tow trucks out there.  I’m shit out of luck.  I wind up calling my dad who is in Arizona, but he happens to know some people out here and one of his friends comes to my rescue.  This man who makes $15,000 a month on his PART-TIME job. 

What the fuck? 

He does try to assist me, but the way they make new cars now… They fix that shit so people can’t even fix their own cars, and the battery is clamped down on this bolt thing and we don’t have the right tools.

Damn it to hell.  Anyway, my dad’s colleague takes me home and my car is still at the Pentagon.  Tomorrow we’ll go back with the appropriate tools, or whatever, but in the mean time, I am STUCK AT HOME ON SATURDAY NIGHT.

I wanted to go to the club sooooooooo bad.  The goth belly dancers are going to be there.  It’s not fair.  I can’t take metro because I’m too far away from the closest station.  A cab would be ridiculous, since the place is like 30 miles away.  Hell with that.

My life sucks balls.

I am so dramatic.

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