Weekend of Suck, Part Deux
Any normal person would think, "No ones weekend could get worse than just having their car stolen, right?"
WRONG!
Saturday, after all of the hullabaloo settled down over the car (and I finally pulled myself together) everything seemed fine. Of course, that is until I woke up on Sunday morning with a slight tension headache in the back of my neck, which then escalated into a full blown migraine. Yowch! As if that wasn't bad enough, I stubbed my baby toe damn hard on Jason's ottoman and broke the son-of-a-bitch, allowing it to swell to about twice its normal size and take on the more gruesome shades of blue and purple all around the inside (next to the other toe) and bottom.
At about mid-afternoon, when I couldn't take the migraine anymore and it seemed as though the 5 extra strength Tylenol that I had downed earlier weren't doing a damned thing to help, Jason took me to Publix where I hobbled around looking for those ThermaCare heat pad thingies. We found them, purchased them, and got back to his apartment just in time for me to run to the bathroom and puke hardcore (guess those Tylenol did do something after all, even if it was just to irritate the hell out of my stomach lining). Luckily, with the aid of those delicious little heat-pad inventions and whatever remained of the painkillers in my system, I was able to make a full recovery (well, minus the toe) before halftime, allowing me to watch the Steelers come back from mediocrity and beat the Seahawks. Yay for Jerome Bettis. Doesn't he just seem like the nicest guy?
In other news, the cops found my car. It was located in the woods way out in BUFU land and towed to some place off of Narcoossee. Went out to see it yesterday and the fucker is sick looking. No hood, front fender or lights, all of the electronics inside the car (including the almost brand-new stereo that I had Dutch install less than a year ago) are totally gone as well as the trunk door, front speakers (for some reason, they only took the covers for the back ones - must not have had time to take those), and, naturally, every fucking CD that was in the car. With everything that would have to be rewired, both Jason and my mom think that the insurance company might just cut us a check for the blue book cost and I'll just have to get a new car. Now my thought is, "Without a job, how the fuck am I going to afford a new car?" which, in my opinion, is an extremely valid question. Looks like I'm going to have to up the ante on this job-hunting deal. Damn.
Of course, the other issue is, now that I've experienced all of this shit first-hand, I don't know how safe I feel living by myself in that apartment complex. I mean, as far as I know, nothing like this has happened there before, but I don't know if I can really be comfortable parking my car in that parking lot every night and wondering if I'm going to head outside tomorrow to find my parking spot empty again or, even worse, if next time the cretins that come around aren't looking for car parts and break into the apartment itself where I live ALONE with my fucking cat. I mean, I'd just go get a big dog, but the apartment complex has weight regulations for pets and, let's face it, a pekingese is hardly a threat to an intruder. So, not only do I have 1)job, 2)car, and 3)grad. school acceptance/rejection letters to worry about, I now get to add 4)personal and material safety to the mix.
Goddamn.
Oh, and if anyone has any idea where an honest place to get a car (used or no, at this point, I don't think that I'm going to be able to afford a new car, even with the insurance check) in the Orlando area, please let me know. I could really use all the help that I can get at this point. Also, am racking my brain for all the CDs that I lost. As soon as I get the list as complete as possible, I'll post it. You know, not that you really care, but it would make me feel better.
And, as a kind of closing thought, you think of all the things that you've done in your life that were totally shitty that you could deserve this for. Maybe my memory's shot, or I just have a super-high and holy opinion of myself, but I can't think of all the things combined that would make me - or anyone, for that matter - deserve this because, not only is it a huge invasion and a RIDICULOUS inconvenience, but it's also something that makes you question yourself and your own safety. And, at this point, I just don't know how safe I'll feel coming home to that apartment ever again.
WRONG!
Saturday, after all of the hullabaloo settled down over the car (and I finally pulled myself together) everything seemed fine. Of course, that is until I woke up on Sunday morning with a slight tension headache in the back of my neck, which then escalated into a full blown migraine. Yowch! As if that wasn't bad enough, I stubbed my baby toe damn hard on Jason's ottoman and broke the son-of-a-bitch, allowing it to swell to about twice its normal size and take on the more gruesome shades of blue and purple all around the inside (next to the other toe) and bottom.
At about mid-afternoon, when I couldn't take the migraine anymore and it seemed as though the 5 extra strength Tylenol that I had downed earlier weren't doing a damned thing to help, Jason took me to Publix where I hobbled around looking for those ThermaCare heat pad thingies. We found them, purchased them, and got back to his apartment just in time for me to run to the bathroom and puke hardcore (guess those Tylenol did do something after all, even if it was just to irritate the hell out of my stomach lining). Luckily, with the aid of those delicious little heat-pad inventions and whatever remained of the painkillers in my system, I was able to make a full recovery (well, minus the toe) before halftime, allowing me to watch the Steelers come back from mediocrity and beat the Seahawks. Yay for Jerome Bettis. Doesn't he just seem like the nicest guy?
In other news, the cops found my car. It was located in the woods way out in BUFU land and towed to some place off of Narcoossee. Went out to see it yesterday and the fucker is sick looking. No hood, front fender or lights, all of the electronics inside the car (including the almost brand-new stereo that I had Dutch install less than a year ago) are totally gone as well as the trunk door, front speakers (for some reason, they only took the covers for the back ones - must not have had time to take those), and, naturally, every fucking CD that was in the car. With everything that would have to be rewired, both Jason and my mom think that the insurance company might just cut us a check for the blue book cost and I'll just have to get a new car. Now my thought is, "Without a job, how the fuck am I going to afford a new car?" which, in my opinion, is an extremely valid question. Looks like I'm going to have to up the ante on this job-hunting deal. Damn.
Of course, the other issue is, now that I've experienced all of this shit first-hand, I don't know how safe I feel living by myself in that apartment complex. I mean, as far as I know, nothing like this has happened there before, but I don't know if I can really be comfortable parking my car in that parking lot every night and wondering if I'm going to head outside tomorrow to find my parking spot empty again or, even worse, if next time the cretins that come around aren't looking for car parts and break into the apartment itself where I live ALONE with my fucking cat. I mean, I'd just go get a big dog, but the apartment complex has weight regulations for pets and, let's face it, a pekingese is hardly a threat to an intruder. So, not only do I have 1)job, 2)car, and 3)grad. school acceptance/rejection letters to worry about, I now get to add 4)personal and material safety to the mix.
Goddamn.
Oh, and if anyone has any idea where an honest place to get a car (used or no, at this point, I don't think that I'm going to be able to afford a new car, even with the insurance check) in the Orlando area, please let me know. I could really use all the help that I can get at this point. Also, am racking my brain for all the CDs that I lost. As soon as I get the list as complete as possible, I'll post it. You know, not that you really care, but it would make me feel better.
And, as a kind of closing thought, you think of all the things that you've done in your life that were totally shitty that you could deserve this for. Maybe my memory's shot, or I just have a super-high and holy opinion of myself, but I can't think of all the things combined that would make me - or anyone, for that matter - deserve this because, not only is it a huge invasion and a RIDICULOUS inconvenience, but it's also something that makes you question yourself and your own safety. And, at this point, I just don't know how safe I'll feel coming home to that apartment ever again.