Are you familiar with the notion of a perfect storm? And when I say 'familiar,' I don't mean, have you read about it or heard other people talk about it. When I say, are you familiar with stormus perfectus, I mean, do you know what they're like from personal experience? Oh I hope not. As I write this, the perfect wind is trying to turn my not-so-perfect hair into a wig that clearly needs to be elsewhere, and the tears that I have left in this thick skull of mine seem to want to exit Casa Bluehead and join the rain instead. Not that I am crying. Like Cameron Diaz in The Holiday, I'm a stranger to teary eyes. I'm terrible at it, but not for lack of trying. I'm fully aware I have heap loads of reasons to start giving the PC approved tear dropping business a super serious shot. For when my car breaks down, people, a whole lot of other things seem to think this is the right time to start breaking down too. You may know what that's like.
You don't? Well, la-di-da. Now, go find yourself some wood to knock on. Rock hard oak will do unless you can't afford it, like moi today. (Moi is French and some folks actually speak it. Did you know?)
You see, the thing with perfect storms is that they're so perfect they can sneak up on you like a vengeful ex on steroids, and you would never know she's there until it's too late. Ka-ching! I mean that in a PC approved way, of course. There are herds of ball bearing exes too, though I have yet to meet them in person. Ka-ching! Now, show me the money! Ninja storms aplenty, I tell you, and these past few days have all — each single one of them — been about one bill leading to another bill leading to another bill.
Allow me to elaborate. Here's the tip of the iceberg. My car, Bob, needed a new gear belt. No, not this kind of belt:
|Check out my new gear belt|
But when my favorite mechanic was in the process of digging deep down inside the entrails of my beloved car (and my pockets to the amount of $440), he stumbled upon yet another problem which would cost me an additional $100. Meanwhile, it turned out that the three $55 a piece remote controlled led spotlights I had ordered to complement my never ending project, a closet — you may remember I started building said present for my Bollywood Princess half a year ago after moan proofing our walls — were, surprise, surprise... out of stock, and the only other option they could offer me (if I was partial to their particular style, and, dammit, I was), would cost me an additional $65, not to mention the fact that because of the delay my precious days off went up in smoke (add $500). It's not like my boss felt compelled to say, 'Blue, buddy, those days off that went up in smoke are on the house... because we like you so much.'
So I sat down for a while pondering the universe and my fresh stack of bills, and asked myself the all-important question: who is to blame... the universe or me? Let's not even go there. I know it is me. But it's always easy to look back, analyze a situation and present your diagnosis free of charge. The trick is to see that perfect storm heading your way, and I, for one, still don't know how to do just that. Vanity dictates that I refuse to believe it's sheer stupidity.
Humor me. How do you clip those money wings of yours?