I forgot this blog existed. So but yeah, remember that skirt? Before the summer was even over, I had caught the hem of it on an iron railing and ripped a huge hole in it. At least the drama of waiting to spill tomato sauce was ended.

my boyfriend can't have nice things

Chris usually throws his clothes away when they get spots on them. He does try to wash them first, but I don't think he tries hard enough. Last week he bought a new shirt at Target and by the end of the second day he owned it, it was in the bedroom trash. I went to Target to buy him the identical shirt but the only one left in size small had, coincidentally, a blood stain on it. And ew -- why hang that up, Target employees? It wasn't even the gross Target in Towson; it was the nicer Target in White Marsh. Oh well. I ordered one from Target.com and it's coming today. I wonder how long it will last.

Time to start the betting pool?

So I have this new skirt. It is white, pale blue, some other pale creamy colors, SO cute. I am sitting here like I have a target painted on me. I seriously almost did not eat my packed lunch because spaghetti sauce, that's just ASKING for it!

There are reasons I usually wear all-black, other than the darkness in my soul.

Who thinks I will make it through the day without tipping a coffee mug into my lap?

I Can't Have Nice Knees

The "spontaneous spillage" thing reminds me that I am also preposterously hard on my BODY. I always have a new bruise or rent in my flesh; usually I don't even remember where it came from. Once in college, my roommate and I read a time management essay that said "Just imagine if you were as bad at estimating space as most people are at estimating time; you'd constantly be running into the corners of things!" and we both went "Um, YEAH..."

CDs: nuts

I lost my book of CDS when I left my car unlocked while I was at work (luckily, the skates and pads I had in the trunk remained unstolen, probably because they reek). Now I have about 6 CDs, and most of them are scratched. That's why nothing but Depeche Mode played in my car for about the last 2 weeks. I don't even like Depeche Mode that much.

In which I ruin things with wine.

The thing is, I am a giant clutz. This is one of the major reasons I can't have nice things, but certainly not the only reason. Today, though, I'm here to tell a (really short) story to show that I'm absurdly clumsy.

I've been all kinds of awkward ever since I can remember, which is more than thirty years, and I've ruined possessions in spectacular ways simply by being a clutz. This includes cars, walls, computers, quite a few screen doors, and legions of kitchen implements.

I may have surpassed myself this past Friday night.

My husband and I are sitting on our couch, having some wine and watching science fiction television shows, as we do most Friday evenings. I wish I could claim I was drunk, but it was my first glass. One second I'm sitting there holding a glass, and the next instant my hand jerks and the glass moves a little too quickly to contain the liquid, which is of course red wine. To the untrained eye, it appeared as if I suddenly decided to throw my drink on myself.

Red wine, all over my clothing, and most importantly our couch. Not a basement couch, or an old couch we've stuck in a guest room. Our main couch. It is getting a bit old, and we've been thinking of replacing it, but not right away.

I wasn't jostled, the TV show wasn't at a scary suspenseful Surprise! bit, and I wasn't seized by a sudden impulse to ruin the furniture. I just randomly and completely inexplicably threw red wine all over myself and a couch.

To sum up, I can't have nice things, and our replacement furniture should probably be vinyl, or covered in plastic.

Cell phone blues

So J, my husband, has had a cellphone since before the Kidlet was born -- after I went and got him one. I've always gotten insurance on his cellphones because he is hard on things.
So far, he's never needed a replacement or even a repair.

Then he realizes last week that he's lost it. "It's okay!" I say. "Two years is up on it, so you can definitely upgrade!" But we never get around to actually going the mile to the store to get his replacement.

And then he finds it on the backporch when he goes to mow the lawn. There it is, a little damp from all the rain last week. And yet? Works perfectly once he's charged it.
It's like just having the insurance is guaranteeing he never loses or breaks it!

Of course, there's no insurance on mine, because I'm careful. And of course, this spring, my cellphone went belly up -- the screen just went black and no, I hadn't dropped it or anything. So I had to fork out some cash to replace it.
I think the Fates conspire against me.