While my life as a whole is chockfull of failures, I was particularly successful this week in failing at being an adult. I’m like the opposite of Midas. Everything I touch turns to poop.
First, one of my old bosses hired me to dogsit. I was running late (what’s new) and didn’t have time to scour the streets of LA to find parking for the night, so I parked on a street with a billion signs and vaguely remember seeing words like “Permit Only” and “Will be towed”, but I was like, “Pssh they don’t really mean it, I’m 21 and invincible” and proceeded to park there anyway. After the dogsitting in which the dog growled at me and ran under the bed when I offered to walk her, my boss drove me back to my car. While we were driving down the street I parked on, he asked, “Are you sure this isn’t permit parking? They’re really strict.” And then we saw the tow truck with my car attached and forgetting I was in the company of my employer I stated, “Fuck.” My boss then proceeded to argue with the tow guy about their ridiculous towing laws while I stood quietly in a cornering whispering, “It’s okay it was my fault please let me pay I’ll do whatever it takes stop fighting I want to die” (I hate confrontation). Too busy arguing, they missed me drowning in a swamp of my own embarrassment, begging them to let me pay so I could take my car, drive home, and die in a ditch. Eventually I convinced them to let me pay the $160 fine and I finally got to go home, listen to The Smiths, and vow to myself that neither parent will EVER find out about this.
A couple days later, I was at the 10-East entrance on La Brea where a homeless guy stood at the stoplight right before you get on the freeway. He violently shook an empty cup at my window hoping to appeal to my humanity, so of course I did the ‘ol avoid-eye-contact-and-shove-my-purse-under-the-seat. As the cars inched forward, he suddenly stopped, turned towards the guardrail, and stuck his hand in his pants. Fascinated, I watched what I thought was about to be a homeless guy whipping his dick out on the freeway entrance when I felt a minor crash… and realized I just rear-ended the guy ahead of me. FUCK. Now I was going to have to tell people I got in a car accident because I wanted to see a homeless guy’s penis. We pulled over and I ran out repeating, “Oh god I’m so sorry I’m so sorry the homeless guy had his hand in his pants I’m sorry I thought he was going for his thingy, I’m sorry!”. Luckily, the guy assessed there was no damage, stated, “That’s what bumpers are for” and gave me a hug. I wanted to nominate him for Time’s Person of the Year award and bear all his children.
Finally, I went for a run after I stormed out on Boyfriend because I felt self-conscious about what I looked like and blamed it on him (moral of this story: I act like a menopausal baby when dealing with relationship problems). So, I ran around the track by my house to blow off some steam and improve my self-image when these guys started staring at my butt, prompting me to think, “Aw shucks, they like my buttocks. Maybe I’m not an ugly she-hulk after all. Self-confidence! Woman power! I love my body!” My thoughts were interrupted by something hitting the back of my leg. I reached around and felt some sort of material hanging out of my shorts. When I pulled it out and held it in front of me, I was face-to-face with a pair of dirty underwear. Apparently, when I had grabbed my running shorts out of the laundry, dirty underwear came along as a bonus and had been the object of the oglers at the track for the past ten minutes. Mortified, I grabbed it and stuffed it into the front of my running shorts, which only made matters worse. This is the Universe telling me no matter what I do, people will always stare at my butt for reasons other than “That’s a cute butt.” I NEVER WIN.