guest blog - the first and (probably) last

i've never done this before and i don't plan on making it a habit. but the story i was told a few days was so incredibly out of control and hilarious, i told my friend she HAD to let me post it on here. i'm torn because half of me is jealous it isn't MY story but the other half of me is relieved beyond pepto bismol that it isn't.

this email came to me on friday. the title alone had me at hello. it read: "the tale of the worst morning ever." sounds like a children's book, right? well, the story that followed the title is not suitable for kids, but it is, however, suitable for young adults and real adults. so, please, allow me to share with you the worst morning in the history of mornings that my good friend lived to tell the tale about. enjoy.

Well. I thought I would share this with you all because it is almost unbelievable. Basically, this goes down as the worst morning in history. No questions asked.

I wake up at 6.30a to a great song on the Iphone and was like, "Ahh. I'm SO happy to be awake. Oh. Uh. OMG..." and then it happens. Nausea. Like no one's business. I was ill. Badly, badly ill. And oh, don't worry, after vomiting profusely, the toilet overflows. Onto my floor. So then I just start gagging and crying, which, in turn, leads to more nausea.

Well, having laid in or around the toilet from 6.35a to almost 7.30a, I realize that yes, I was indeed going to be late for work, if I was even going to make it at all. I shower, feeling strangely lightheaded and like I would pass out at any second. I apply my lotion, throw on some makeup and proceed to do my hair. Well, I trip on my straightener's cord and fall into the hallway door, smashing my previously injured elbow. I come out relatively unscathed, however it only added to the morning’s misery.

At this point, I decide it’s time to get my contacts in, which is always a problem. I approach the situation with caution, but alas, God has it out for me today. My contact goes too far up and becomes literally lodged BEHIND my eye. Behind it. I'm not fucking around, I thought I was going to have to go to the hospital. Fortunately (!) the excruciating pain of having plastic behind your eyeball invoked a stream of tears, which flushed the contact out after about 12 minutes of hell. Oh, but don't worry, the crying and digging around in my eyeball left me with NO MAKEUP ON, thus forcing me to completely redo my entire face.

At this point I'm worn out and it's 8.30a. I call my boss and tell her it's a miracle I’m even attempting to get out in the world today. “Is it Friday the 13th,” I ask myself. No, Stephanie. This is your life. This is karma or something. At this point I decide nothing else could possibly go wrong. I hop in my car and drive directly into the back of another parked vehicle. The Honda decal shoots off the front of my car and flies into my neighbor’s yard. Fortunately, the massive truck I drove in to has an extended metal hitch. THANK GOD, ya know? So his titanium metal hitch experiences zero damage, and the hood of my car is fucked up. Silver lining?

Here we are, worst day ever, and wow-it was only 9a. Don't worry, it gets "better" ("better" meaning "are you FUCKING kidding me, life?") I make my way to get gas because the only thing keeping my feet moving one in front of the other is the glimmer of hope I see in picking Emma up from the airport and getting the hell outta Dodge aka Tulsa aka my personal hell. Well, my card is declined. In front of 20 waiting eyes, glaring at me for taking so fucking long. "Who the hell pays at the counter anyway," was the question I read in everyone's eyes. Yeah, declined. And yeah, who pays at the counter anyways. Me.

I call Bank of America because I HAVE money. I know I do. Hmm, it seems when I opened my new savings account the day before, they managed to completely lose all my information on my checking account AND I wasn’t linked to my debit card. At all. Ha. At this point, I officially had no money to my name. Oh, and there was no way for me to get money either. I frantically call the bank and ask them for some help. They give me none. The only advice? Go to the local branch and they will sort it all out in person aka they think I'm lying/I’m a robber/something.

So. Here I am. Barely breathing. I'm at work. I have nothing in my stomach. I have no money to my name because my checking account doesn't exist. I have a wrecked car. My eyeball is red. My elbow hurts from the trip over the cord. I'm fat. I’m ugly. And I’m grumpy.

Yours truly,
Anonymous

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