I drove to work today and every road rage maniac was out there after having been heaven forbid, not able to drive for a full day because of the hurricane. Whatever, not that big of a deal, I just drove super defensively. Then I parked and scratched my elbow on my car door when I almost fell into the car getting my backpack out of the passenger side door because I was standing on a slope. At this point I was annoyed but ready to let it roll off. I was walking down the sidewalk, trying to decide what I should start first when I got to the lab and got a phone call. It was a number that I didn't know but I thought it might be the doctor I had been trying to get an appointment with for two weeks and so I juggled everything else I was carrying to answer. It turned out that it was NOT the doctor's office, but one of those STUPID automated messages that tries to trick you into thinking it is your insurance/credit card/car manufacturer company trying to contact you about your account when they're actually a completely unrelated company trying to sell you insurance or some other credit card or something. I was so pissed that when the message said, "You have the opportunity to lower the interest on your credit account! Press 1 to speak to a representative" I DID press one, and then when the rep asked, "Did you press 1 to lower your interest rate?" I answered, "Yes, but I don't HAVE a credit card, so stop messing with me," and hung up.
Granted maybe that wasn't the nicest thing to do but I'm pretty sure they won't be calling me again. When I got inside I decided to hang up our lab's latest poster so that I could check one small task off my list and maybe calm my nerves. Of course as soon as I dropped one side of the poster and scattered tacks everywhere I turned to see my ex walking down the hall.... awesome, I love looking like an idiot at supremely inopportune times. I maturely went back into lab to sulk, and then realized that my elbow was bleeding from banging it on the car. Whatever.
I went to rinse off my cut and get a band-aid in the office and then went to pick up the trash I had left in the autoclave (the machines we use to sterilize tools and used culture materials) on Friday. All of the goo from the agar plates had solidified in the bottom because I had left them so long (I TRIED to get them on Sat but they were re-tiling the stupid floor). So I went to empty them in the big garbage cans everything suction-stuck to the bottom until I awkwardly shook them and SHALOOP everything guncked off all at once, unleashing the surprise that there WAS still liquid underneath the goo and that it was still hot. I only burned myself a little. Needless to say, at this point my ex walked by again, which cemented my belief that the universe has a sick sense of humor.
After that I guess the fates got tired of punishing me until the bee in my bosom.
That's right, I went outside to take a call from my sister (no cell service in the lab) and came back in, thinking that my chest was itchy, and looked down to find... a yellowjacket down my shirt. I literally strained a muscle in my abs in my panic to get the thing out. What the hell. You just KNOW it was a male bee.
Things have been cooling down tonight, though. The worst thing that happened was my receipt of a message form a guy on Match, saying only "I thought mirror pics went out with Myspace". (I have FOURTEEN PICS on my profile... maybe TWO are pics I took in the mirror to get a closeup of my face. Seriously, how else do you get a picture with only you in it, with a closeup of your face, without anything distracting in the background?...) (Also, wtf! Who goes on a dating website to send random insults to the opposite sex??) The guy's tagline was Fedoras rock! (um yeah, but as soon as you put one on, you subject yourself to a comparison with Harrison Ford, and well most guys can't stand up to such competition). "Well at least that's more recent than when hats were in," I responded. I haven't heard anything since.
Since I've comforted myself with my specialized grilled cheese recipe and a night of BSG (if you don't know, don't ask, I'm embarrassed enough for the both of us) I've been feeling a lot better.
But I still might just hide out at a coffee shop and write tomorrow... preferably one without bees, with supportive chairs that don't make you sit up straight.