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.

This was my favorite t-shirt

This was absolutely the best t-shirt. I had it in a soft 3/4 length sleeve gray style which is apparently no longer available. I spilled a spot of oil on it and somehow did not notice before washing and drying it. Fellow ICHNTers, if you get any food based stain on fabric, I have a hint for you: Palmolive gets almost everything to look perfect again if you just immediately scrub at the stain with a dot of it plus a bit of water, maybe with a clean sponge or washcloth. But what does not work AT ALL is washing and drying the stupid fucking oil stain so that it's permanently a part of your best Squirrel Playing The Drums t-shirt.

It was from here.

all class...

Since I’ve temporarily given up caffeine and thus my multi-daily americano with special wobbly lid, my can’t-having of nice things has dropped to near undetectable levels.

I have, however, partially replaced this with noticing several hours into my work day that I’ve got a large toothpaste stain somewhere screamingly obvious. Had the coffee stains been serendipitously covering this?

Also, earlier this week, as I was changing out of my work clothes while simultaneously reeeally craving cheese on toast…let’s just say that the nice thing I couldn’t have was a lightly scorched nipple.

Earbuds

Because I commute by train/bus/subway for four hours a day (on average), my iPod is very important to me and I take very good care not only to keep it nice but also to keep everything on it organized to an annoying degree. Unfortunately, the headphones always cause problems for me.

What I've noticed is that nice earbuds* come with YARDS of audio cord and I always manage to get that cord caught on anything and everything in my bag: books, notebooks, my Treo, pens, the iPod itself, zippers, whatever. So there's generally a great deal of yanking when I go to pull the iPod and headphones out of my bag and one or both of the earpieces always manages to get separated from the cord. I have probably gone through half a dozen sets in two years.

* I love earbuds. Can't wear anything else. 1) Speaker style headphones don't insulate the music from people around you, and 2) they're just too damn loosey-goosey and I like how snug and secure earbuds are.

house renovations

Since we have a house that is like 100 years old, we have put some effort into making it nicer. For example, about two years ago we remodeled the entire bathroom. This renovation included a new sink/vanity thing.

Just recently I asked my husband (who is also a member of this blog, but shall remain nameless) to wipe the walls of the bathroom. He decided to get the higher parts by standing on top of the sink. Needless to say the porcelain cracked and now the new bathroom just feels like one more thing that needs to be fixed.

We had a good run, lavender shirt.

I must tell you, my fellow people who can't have nice things, that my Tide Pen, the best friend of shirt stainers, has turned somehow. It now smells like vinegar, glue, and ass. And my shirt does too! And the stain is still there! It is really a shame; I have had this particular nice thing since Felicity's wedding and that was like three years ago. I achieved this mostly by never wearing it. I guess I will let that be a lesson to me: if you like your things, do not ever use them.

Whatcha Gonna Do?

When I break glasses, which I do all the time whilst washing up, I'm actually glad because it means I have one less dish to wash.

Scandanavian Handblown Glass Birdfeeder

Dateline: just now, my workplace.

My job involves taking things, often fragile, expensive things, made with care by artisans who are using wind power right now, and putting those things in boxes. Then I ship the boxes through the mail. You can probably see what's coming here. It's best that I'm not a surgeon.
I made gross miscalculation about slipping one of these off of a hanging display, and now it is in tiny artisanal shards.

Cars

I really hope I am over this, but back in 2002 I had 3 cars. I started with a 1995 Ford Aspire.


Some people might argue that it's not really nice, but since I think the whole car thing is a big luxury I'm going to go with ALL cars being nice for the moment. Plus it was the first car I bought with my own money.

I was on the overnight shift, coming home through SE DC trying to get on 295N. There's that one little ramp where you have no merge lane. I was screaming along to the music to keep myself awake and looking over my shoulder hoping I wouldn't plow into someone sideways when the guy in front of me stopped. I plowed into him instead. The airbag burned my thumb, my radio (which was on the seat, by the way - it was an old boom box - no nice radios for me) lost its antenna, the car was totaled.

Within weeks, I had a newer Ford Aspire - a 1996 model! Same color and everything. I was psyched to find one, plopped my boom box in the passenger seat, and rolled along. ... for 6 months until on the way home from the club some guy and I decided to enter the same intersection at the same time. Ford Aspire #2 - totaled. And then I had PTSD and was seeing random cars coming at me where there weren't any.

After that, against the advice of most everyone, I purchased a 1997 Aspire. That one got broken into and I managed to keep it (sort of) in a condition where someone would purchase it. Now I have a "new" car. I pray to the auto gods daily, and it's generally covered in bird poop from the tree I park under that I can't be bothered to clean off.

Carcassonne anxiety

Since I can't have nice things but my wife can, is an excellent caretaker of things and has seen me through multiple wallet losses and the loss of an actual car earlier in my life, she is ever-vigilant against my bullshit. Rightfully so! I do not fault her! But it leads to some conversations which may, to the outsider, seem disproportionately tense. As in the case of the board game Carcassonne. It is widely available online and is not in any way rare or pricey. But also, it has a bunch of highly loseable guys and dozens of tiles, is pretty, and is DEARLY beloved by us.

Thus:

B: What are you doing with that?

Me(E): I'm, um, taking it to work to play at lunch.

B: Do you have to?

E: I promise I won't lose or destroy it!

B: Do you promise?

E: I promise!

LATER THAT WEEK

B: Did you bring the game home?

E: I did.

B: Did you lose any guys?

E: No.

B: Or like the builders or the pigs?

E: No. All accounted for.

B: Or the tiles?

E: Well, I didn't count them, but I'm pretty sure....

B: GOD, WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TAKE IT?

STILL LATER THAT WEEK

B: Where is the scoreboard?

E: Remember how I took it to work and -

B: And you left it there?

E: Babe. No. I just had it in a separate plastic bag to protect it, and it's right here.

B: Please do not take it to work anymore. Please.

E: Ohmigod, fine!!

Does my dearest one seem overly concerned about the sanctity of Carcassonne? Reader, do not judge her until you have lived with me for even one day. And I have washed your darks with an entire packet of kleenex, rolled chairs on top of your delicate musical-equipment-related cords, and left your CDs lying uncased and vulnerable all around the house.

Underwear

One of our two cats -- the female, Sonny Bono -- has a strange obsession with clothing, and specifically with dragging clothing around the house. No kidding, if you forget to close a drawer it's even money that when you get home the contents will at best be merely dumped in the bedroom and at worst be spread down the steps and throughout the living room and dining room.

It's pretty startling when you think about it. She must work for hours to accomplish such thorough destruction, because she can only carry one piece at a time! And while she's doing it she makes these weird meow-grunts with every step: mra, mra, mra, mra, mra. We know this because she has the nerve to do it even when we're home.

Anyway, Sonny's favorite articles are underwear. So, my underwear pretty much always has teeth and claw marks in it.

And also, there's always a tense moment when we bring guests back to the house after being out or whatever and we have to do a quick scan to see if Sonny has deposited any bras on the kitchen table.

she rarely learns from her mistakes

I love rubber spatulas -- they are so good for getting the last bit of batter out of the mixing bowl or every last speck of chopped garlic out of the food processor. I have melted 3 spatulas in the past year because I keep forgetting that I cannot use them to mix things that are being heated on the stove. God knows how much rubber Chris and I have ingested because of this.

Further Breaking an Already Broken Item

It is sad and expensive to mess up something that's nice and new, but I submit to you all that knowing that something you had and used that was a piece of crap is now a non-functional piece of crap, thanks to you, is kind of low tide as far as not having nice things go.
I fear that it is the beginning of the end for the thrift store kitchen stools with the tearing upholstery. A key screw came loose in the one I always leap onto. Then another screw came out, and now the legs wobble. Soon, it will collapse in a heap. I know this, now anyway. The next time I go to leap onto the kitchen stool, I will NOT know this.

Dress shoes

No matter how hard I try, my dress shoes always, always end up with major scuffing on the toes. Do I drag my feet without knowing it? Am I not careful enough around screen doors? Or is it my regular attempts to sabotage commuters with rolling bags by casually sliding my foot under one wheel as we walk down the train platform?*

Either way, I now only buy one pair of nice shoes at any given time. I have been wearing this pair of black Dr. Martens for seriously two years now. Average day at work? I'm wearing the Docs. Brand new suit for an important meeting on Capitol Hill? The Docs. Going to a wedding? Docs. Day of fun in the sun at Ocean City? No shirt, swim trunks AND THE MOTHERFUCKIN' DOCS.

But seriously, it is kind of annoying. I just don't pay enough attention to the hazards of daily life when I have shoes (or anything really) that I want to keep nice!

* So satisfying when that spins a rolling bag out of control.