past, present and future.
While I could never regret you, I do regrettfully say, I wish I could have loved you better.
Wish I could have given you more, but all I have are portions of varying size to offer.
Still though, all of you will lay within me, mending together my puzzle piece heart. Each of you have a piece some bigger and some smaller than others, but know you have claimed it.
And through all my mistakes and triumphs, I will never stop trying, never stop loving.
Love will never cease until each and every fraction of me is given out, with care of course, each one of you owns a part for a reason.
I love you, and even though I'm no longer in sight, I will never stop.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
number 3 Wednesday
I could, quite possibly, submit my Wednesday morning story into a contest for best worst morning on the face of the planet for 18 year old caucasian white women living in Seattle, and probably win.
All I can say is karma's a bitch.
Let's sum this up quickly.
My morning, began at 8:30 this morning with a call to a tow truck company. (back story, my car had been towed the previous afternoon before because of my inability to move the car for more than 3 days, my bad. Karma bites #1 I had unknowingly made an appointment for this morning for the car to be assessed, at the same exact time it was being towed.)
After a quick chat with the friendly disembodied voice over the phone, exchange of information and what I had assumed was the correct address of the impound lot; I threw some clothes on and walked myself a few blocks for some caffeine and a nicotine fix and I was on my way down the mile trek to the supposed lot.
After what seemed like too long of mostly empty streets besides the occasional homeless or punk teen (I got called a gorgeous lady and was harassed for cigarettes), I arrive at some abandoned lot accompanied by my towing company driver looking just as confused as me.
"This is not the right place," She says, rubbing the back of her shaved head.
"This is why I don't trust google," I reply. It's a rough start but it's something to break this ice.
Four calls made and 3 different addresses later, We are on the way, a little anxious but collected as I hear, "you can smoke in here."
A few pleasantries are exchanged but the quick ride is silent.
We arrive at the lot, and besides having 160 dollars yanked out of my pocket that I will never see again, the retrieval couldn't be more pleasant. Until...
"Oh you know you have a flat tire?"
"Yeah, it's getting there"
back and forth she walks to and from the back of my car to the side of her truck. All the while I sit patiently and hope she realizes the door of her truck is scratching from side to side scarring a sweet silver BMW who's front end has seen better days.
Another cigarette and 25 minutes later than I had scheduled with the repair shop we were back on track, and besides the few missed turns thanks to a "trusty" GPS system we arrived to a closed door and garage.
Arriving 40 minutes late with no phone call is only partially my fault, the other I will blame on my luck.
I call the number on the outside no answer. I ask a neighboring business, "yeah, they pop in and out from time to time."
Helpful.
I can't keep the busy tow truck lady from her work forever, so the best I can do is have the car park illegally down a block and wait, for what might be days. I hand her back the keys to maneuver the car as best possible into the space on the decently busy street. With the keys back in my hand and a more than speedy goodbye from the woman I notice one of my keys are bent. Almost a right angle. The key, at least not to the ignition, but to opening the car doors and trunk. Noope now it's not just bent, it's completely broken off.
10 minutes and another cigarette later with no sign of my Mercedes savior I give up and look to my right. Conveniently, a European dealership and mechanic. My luck might just change!
I flag a friendly older gentleman down and I give him the low down and as it passes down (or maybe up) the mechanic hierarchy my baby's top is pulled up and she's given a quick but thorough assessment.
"probably the starter."
"really, I told you that." I don't say aloud.
I remain as courteous as can be for having this burden strip away 3 and half hours of my life and now a grand total of 300 dollars of my rent money.
And my monetary assessment comes to what equals my right arm, or at least more than what the actual car is worth itself. 900 buckaroos.
Well unless I start work on a sketchy corner of Aurora I'm not making that money after rent even with my next paycheck days away, and seeing as the car is to be returned to its "rightful" owners to sit in their driveway and die for a fourth time (do cars have 9 lives too?) I don't feel much guilt or need to help with any cost. So the call is made to my father, a futile attempt as it is about the time, for him, like most adults are at their 9to5's. but an urgent text is quickly responded with a dial back.
"hey dad, 900 dollars."
"They make reality shows about this," he jokes.
"At least they get paid for their bad luck."
And with a little bit of poor little poor girl explaining they graciously accept my case and take my sweet 300,000+ mile 22 year old car off my hands.
At least for the next few days I rest easy.
I guess after typing it out and filling my growling belly with a pb+j, my morning doesn't seem so bad. But seriously, wrong addresses, flat tires, missing mechanics, and broken keys along with being talked out of one of my last cigarettes by a singing homeless man, isn't the most exciting way to spend a morning off.
Now, no whammy's no whammy's! I'm trying to make penance karma, gimme a break.
All I can say is karma's a bitch.
Let's sum this up quickly.
My morning, began at 8:30 this morning with a call to a tow truck company. (back story, my car had been towed the previous afternoon before because of my inability to move the car for more than 3 days, my bad. Karma bites #1 I had unknowingly made an appointment for this morning for the car to be assessed, at the same exact time it was being towed.)
After a quick chat with the friendly disembodied voice over the phone, exchange of information and what I had assumed was the correct address of the impound lot; I threw some clothes on and walked myself a few blocks for some caffeine and a nicotine fix and I was on my way down the mile trek to the supposed lot.
After what seemed like too long of mostly empty streets besides the occasional homeless or punk teen (I got called a gorgeous lady and was harassed for cigarettes), I arrive at some abandoned lot accompanied by my towing company driver looking just as confused as me.
"This is not the right place," She says, rubbing the back of her shaved head.
"This is why I don't trust google," I reply. It's a rough start but it's something to break this ice.
Four calls made and 3 different addresses later, We are on the way, a little anxious but collected as I hear, "you can smoke in here."
A few pleasantries are exchanged but the quick ride is silent.
We arrive at the lot, and besides having 160 dollars yanked out of my pocket that I will never see again, the retrieval couldn't be more pleasant. Until...
"Oh you know you have a flat tire?"
"Yeah, it's getting there"
back and forth she walks to and from the back of my car to the side of her truck. All the while I sit patiently and hope she realizes the door of her truck is scratching from side to side scarring a sweet silver BMW who's front end has seen better days.
Another cigarette and 25 minutes later than I had scheduled with the repair shop we were back on track, and besides the few missed turns thanks to a "trusty" GPS system we arrived to a closed door and garage.
Arriving 40 minutes late with no phone call is only partially my fault, the other I will blame on my luck.
I call the number on the outside no answer. I ask a neighboring business, "yeah, they pop in and out from time to time."
Helpful.
I can't keep the busy tow truck lady from her work forever, so the best I can do is have the car park illegally down a block and wait, for what might be days. I hand her back the keys to maneuver the car as best possible into the space on the decently busy street. With the keys back in my hand and a more than speedy goodbye from the woman I notice one of my keys are bent. Almost a right angle. The key, at least not to the ignition, but to opening the car doors and trunk. Noope now it's not just bent, it's completely broken off.
10 minutes and another cigarette later with no sign of my Mercedes savior I give up and look to my right. Conveniently, a European dealership and mechanic. My luck might just change!
I flag a friendly older gentleman down and I give him the low down and as it passes down (or maybe up) the mechanic hierarchy my baby's top is pulled up and she's given a quick but thorough assessment.
"probably the starter."
"really, I told you that." I don't say aloud.
I remain as courteous as can be for having this burden strip away 3 and half hours of my life and now a grand total of 300 dollars of my rent money.
And my monetary assessment comes to what equals my right arm, or at least more than what the actual car is worth itself. 900 buckaroos.
Well unless I start work on a sketchy corner of Aurora I'm not making that money after rent even with my next paycheck days away, and seeing as the car is to be returned to its "rightful" owners to sit in their driveway and die for a fourth time (do cars have 9 lives too?) I don't feel much guilt or need to help with any cost. So the call is made to my father, a futile attempt as it is about the time, for him, like most adults are at their 9to5's. but an urgent text is quickly responded with a dial back.
"hey dad, 900 dollars."
"They make reality shows about this," he jokes.
"At least they get paid for their bad luck."
And with a little bit of poor little poor girl explaining they graciously accept my case and take my sweet 300,000+ mile 22 year old car off my hands.
At least for the next few days I rest easy.
I guess after typing it out and filling my growling belly with a pb+j, my morning doesn't seem so bad. But seriously, wrong addresses, flat tires, missing mechanics, and broken keys along with being talked out of one of my last cigarettes by a singing homeless man, isn't the most exciting way to spend a morning off.
Now, no whammy's no whammy's! I'm trying to make penance karma, gimme a break.
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