There are some days when you just can't win. For me, that day would be December 23rd, 2003, or, as I like to call it, the day alot of my stuff got broken.

As you may remember from my previous entry, I am bouncing back from the worst illness I've ever experienced, which laid me up in bed for three straight days. Aparently, that's where I should have stayed, because I was awakened this morning (a mere hour or two into my night's rest, incidentally) by the sound of my boss on my phone (editor's note: We'll return to the phone later) asking me to come in to work early. I was scheduled for a nice noon-until-three shift-- nice little three hour tour of duty. But this got extended (with my consent) to 10-until-3 and then extended again, this time without my consent, to 10-until-5.

Now, I had a 3-o'clock apointment to go with my mother to finish up my Christmas shopping. Despite this being a phenominal gifting season for me, there was (and is) one gift which has elluded me: a Misto-brand martini sprayer for my father. The spray was supposed to be the peice-de-resistance of a three pronged-martini themed gift: martini creation slab, two very nice martini glasses, and the aforementioned spray bottle. I was gonna go get this spray bottle at after I got off work at 3, but when 3 became 5... well, naturally my mother went out shopping without me.

No sweat, I figured, I'll just go home, change clothes, catch a bite to eat and zip back out, get the sprayer and then make some calls and see where the night takes me.

Well, that would have been well and good excpet on the way home I'm thinking to myself Gee, it's sorta cold in this car. And... hey... I can hear the wind flapping pretty loudly. So naturally, when I turn my head I notice that my passenger side window is down and, furthermore, completely non-responsive to the electric controls. (I don't want to hear anyone say, "I told you so.") So I drove home freezing cold, and procede to spend time trying to fix the window-- which doesn't happen, of course... although I do get it stuck in the fully upright and locked position. And by 'locked' I mean able to slide freely up and down with one's bare hands.

With that out of the way, I decide to rest and have dinner. But instead, I try to repair my stupid Samsung phone which has died and me and left me conpletely clueless about who is calling / has called me as well as without access to all the phone numbers which I stored in its memory so that, as Henry Jones, Sr. put it,"So I wouldn't have to remember." Of course, I can't fix the thing so it has me frustrated and well aware of (a) how vital my mobile has become to my sense of self and (b) how it's value and my level of self esteem are currently the same: worthless

I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that I did eventually venture out on my own to find the Misto and came up empty handed. But when I returned home, I decided to get a jump on wrapping my presents, despite the fact that I was still a gift short for my dad. Needless to say, mere moments after finding the perfect box for his martini glasses-- and specifically stating "Bubble wrap? Nothing is going to happen to them in this box."-- the bottom of the box drops out any my gift for my father shatters at my feet.

I let it roll off me, though. I figure I could replace it with the hour or two after I get off work tomorrow that stores are still open. It would be stressful, but I could do it. I got into bed, tired from a long day or broken stuff and ready to rest up for what would be another long and stressful day..... And then, I realized: I need to charge my broken phone.

So I fished it out of my pants pocket and noticed that the only operational display feature-- the power light-- was blinking in a sequence which I decoded as "Voicemail." I was able to navigate to my voicemail blind, however, I was unable to determine what the hell the content of the message was. If only I could have seen who left me this message and at what date and time! I thought and lept up out of bed, ready to reactivate my old cell phone, which now looks so large that it would be right at home on an episode of Miami Vice. Of course, I can't do that due to this byzantine account structure that we've got going on, so I end up getting frustrated and nothing more.

So, I elect to just do it in the morning, I'll just drink some bottled water, take a whiz, and hit the hey. Steps one and two go down without a hitch, but as I am approaching step three I find myself wondering Jee, what is that unusual running water sound? Naturally, of course, my toilet broke and flooded water all over my bathroom. That was the broken straw which infuriated the camel's back, if you know what I'm saying. All my stuff was breaking-- schedules, plans, car windows, gifts, phones, toilets! Plus, after cleaning up the flooding and trying to repair the toilet, I have no time available to sleep, since in mere moments I've got to start to get ready to go into work on a 2-day sleep debt, with my only goal being to survive long enough to make a blizkrieg attack on Castleton Square Mall to replace my shattered soul gift. if you've ever needed proof that all of reality is a sit-com with me as its sad and pathetic star, look no farther than the events of this day.