Above you will see the beautiful flowers sent to me by my Aunt and Uncle for VD. As I have mentioned before, even the most simple of things can make someone's day so wonderful. This was one of those things for me. The gift was completely unexpected and instantly loved. I felt loved. This was a moment of certain Not-Suck.
But that was only for a while. Above you will see my NEXT unexpected "gift." Later this same day, I went to the bathroom sans headphones. This is something I rarely do . . . the headphones part. I got to the bathroom as often as any 37 old woman does. But on that day, I was lazy and didn't bother. I also didn't bother to turn on the heater. Because of these two factors, I could hear the strange sound in the pipes, like something was turned on, when nothing was.
My roommate went outside to inspect and discovered that one of our outside spigots was gushing water. LOTS of water. It was also, mind you, Friday afternoon, past five. So any plumber who was going to show up would be doing so on after-hours pay. This was a moment of PURE SUCK.
We ended up getting the issue fixed that night. Thank all that is holy because otherwise the water would have been off and I already mentioned I pee like a 37 yr old woman. It cost a lot of money and all I got was a bit of broken piping and sustained hours of Panic Mode.
I'm working on getting past Panic Mode, but I'm still not very good at it. Everyone handles Panic Mode differently. I tend to get very quiet, shut down somewhat, and become very fatalistic. I think I get kind of abrasive too, but as I'm not on the receiving end of that, I'm not quite sure.
Due to my Panic Mode response (and the logistic difficulty of transporting someone of my size), I have very little fear of being the target of a serial killer. And if I ever am one, I think it will go down something like this:
Serial killer: Bwahahaha! I'm serial killer! I'm here to kill you . . . serially!
Me: *flatly* Yeah. Okay.
Serial killer: Bwahaha, you're gonna die in a very creative, twisted, and demeaning way. Bwahaha!
Me: Evs. Get it over with.
Serial killer: Bwaha.....wait....what?
Me: Listen, bucko. I'm a fat girl. People get so damned judgy about why people die. So as long as I die in ANYWAY that isn't a heart attack or cancer or some other fat-related crap, I'm kinda Zen about it.
Serial killer: But . . . you're supposed to be scared and weepy and begging for your life.
Me: Tell you what, you want some begging? Bring me my iPod. Please. I'd kind of like to hear Sisters of Mercy as you're chopping me to bits or whatever. It seems apropro.
Serial killer: OMG, isn't Andrew Eldritch the BOMB?
Me: No one says "the bomb" anymore. And yes, he is.
And that's how we would become friends. Until, you know, he went to jail for killy-related things and I died of a heart attack. Then the day would suck.
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