I'm a Loser, Baby, So Why Don't You Kill Me

It only happens about . . . oh once every twenty years or so that I win something. I mean I was competing against other people and I was randomly selected to win. It's not the same as those silly scratch-off tickets in which you win--another ticket--or $2.00 (to buy more tickets).

Let me set the scene for you . . .

The ad: Instead of treating the one you love to the typical dinner-and-a-movie fare this Valentine's Day, why not think outside the box of chocolates and enjoy a night out with the romantic sounds of ________?

I thought, what the hell--I'll never win. I never win. I'm a loser, baby. I click-clacked my personal information in the boxes imagining all the possible suitors who may be available (that would be none). But believing (slightly) in the law of attraction, I imagined that if I will those tickets into my life, perhaps I can will a date as well. Psychosis talking. Now imagine my consternation when I received a call earlier today informing me that I won. Two tickets.

And do I still want them? Yes, of course (I'm still hopeful and psychotic).

Pick them up at 7:00; the show starts at 8:00.

Why yes, it's a romantic rendezvous--and the show isn't until Saturday. Surely with my romantic life being at a all time high, I will find a date, right? Yes, sitting here in my house I will find a date. I WILL myself a date; I can send vibes out to the tri-state area imploring unsuspecting single men that I want to go to the concert and not ask my mom or best friend instead. You see, I avoid Valentine's Day. I imagine it doesn't exist. It's reserved for "others"--I, on the other hand, am an unwilling spectator.

And now, Monday night . . . I think oh I'm a loser baby. I should have said, hey give them to a happily and joyously in love couple, more deserving than I. I can't stomach going by myself or with friends.

My plan: Wednesday I will call and tell them to please give those tickets to a couple. I will listen to the CD and get wasted on chocolate. Bah.

Wanted: Dry Cleaning Attendants with No Sense of Humor

I've tried eliminating dry cleaning from my day to day life simply because it's bad for the environment and it's expensive. But once in a while even I need some help from the experts to clean a large item or a badly soiled one. While I'm not an expert by any means when it comes to the appropriate tools and items needed for cleaning, I DO know when something sounds like bullshit and I feel the urge to poke out my eardrums with an icepick.

Here is the scene: Me rolling up an oversized queen-sized comfortable into a small enough roll so that it can fit into a garbage bag. After about ten minutes of meticulous rolling and stuffing, I finally crammed the cloth penis into an enormous, but flimsy condom. I couldn't help but look at the thing and laugh. It was obscene. I felt like I should be clothed at all times around that short, stout monster standing at attention in my dining room.

When I finally had a enough guts to take the thing out in public, I threw it in the trunk and drove merrily away, glad to be rid of such an eyesore.

But my troubles were not over.

As I rolled up to the dry cleaners I had a bad feeling about this comforter. I mean I had vacuumed the cat hair off it the week before--it wasn't too bad. The cat puked on it earlier this week--I cleaned it up--no problem. I flopped the unsightly beast onto the counter and said that I needed it dry cleaned.

--What size is it?
--It's a queen.
--I'm going to rip the bag [huffing] I'm not sure if I can get it off.
--It's okay if you rip the bag; I'm going to throw it away.
--Is there anything on it that needs to come off?

[processing, no, I just bring things in randomly just for the hell of it; as a matter of fact, I went down the street to your competitor and had it dry cleaned PRIOR to my coming here so that there would be nothing on it. I can see how swamped you are with business.]

--Well, yes, there's cat hair on it--
--[interrupting] Cat hair? Well, let me look at that cat hair because we I can't send it over with cat hair.

[processing . . . umm why the hell not--this IS a cleaning business, no? And does that not entail cleaning the crap that happens to get stuck on pieces of material?]

--Well, I cleaned off most of the cat hair, but there still is some cat hair on it.
--I have to check this to see how much cat hair is on there [huffing]. [After the inspection] Well, I don't normally send things over there with >>this much cat hair.<<
--Okay, well just do what you need to do [cracking up here].
--There is just TOO much cat hair.
--Umm well that's why I brought it here . . . to get some help getting the cat hair off the comforter.
--Is there anything else on it?
--[having fun here] Well, actually the cat puked on it as well.
--Cat puke? We don't clean up cat puke.
--I cleaned up the cat puke, but there may be a slight spot that needs to be cleaned.
--[She gives me simmering stare] Well, when do you want this?
--When can I have it done?
--How about next Thursday?
--Umm . . . wouldn't you like my name and phone number?
--Oh yeah, [like it's an afterthought] well, what it is it?

[Okay, by this point I'm ready to die laughing. Customer service rating on a scale from 1-10--about a 2. The joy of pissing off an anal retentive buster on a scale of 1-10---10.]

I can only imagine what I'm going to hear from this woman when I come and pick it up.