Let us recap, shall we?
A generally good weekend was marred by the following events:
Saturday: driving three hours into Virginia to attend the engagement party of people we (read: I) aren’t necessarily fond of. Doing the right thing, and what not. Sitting miserably at said party while all of the twenty geriatric aged attendees discussed prostate cancer and the Olympics. In a nutshell: putting on a cute dress, pumping $60 worth of gas into my car and driving 200+ miles to watch the Olympics. On mute.
Sunday: decided we couldn’t take the torture that was the VA engagement party and decided to hightail it out of there to make the drive back home (we were supposed to stay at the bride’s sister house…the groom (Scott’s best friend and former college roommate of four years) called and said “don’t worry about driving back the same night, you’re welcome to stay at {redacted}’s sisters house”. Turned out, sister lived almost another HOUR AWAY FROM THIS PARTY. Fuck that. We drove straight home only stopping for milkshakes on the way.
So…ok, Sunday: get back early early Sunday morning and park in the apartment parking lot at around 1 a.m. Park in a normal parking space. Sunday morning, around 9:30 a.m.: wake up and spend the next few hours reading. We decide to go play tennis. We get changed and head down to the car.
BUT WAIT!!
The car is…wait for it…MISSING. Yes, missing. Has it been stolen? I don’t know? Was it towed? It shouldn’t have been, my apartment complex parking sticker doesn’t expire until July 2010. Alas, it WAS towed…because my mother fucking North Carolina registration was four days expired. Did my apartment complex really have a need to get involved with a matter that lied between myself and the state of North Carolina? No. But, are they money hungry shady fucks who took it upon themselves to single out my car and call the towing company, thus raping me out of $135? Absolutely.
“It’s in the lease,” they told me, smugly. Scott pored over the lease (after having verbally bashed them for being such pieces of shit). It doesn’t say that, verbatim. It says “{Redacted} Apartments reserves the rights to two any vehicles not displaying proper permits”. PERMITS!??! Why not be fucking clear and say “this could include….”. Never have I ever associated my state registration with the word “permits”. FUCK. THEM.
Finally, I get my car back. Scott buys me dinner. All hope is not lost.
Until…
I leave work early to go have my car inspected and oil changed. I don’t want to risk them towing my car again. My car FAILS inspection because the coolant is at a temperature lower than the required temperature. I don’t know what the fuck that means, but the word “coolant” foolishly leads me to believe it should be “cool”, but apparently not too cool. God. Dammit. I now have to find a mechanic to fix this problem, before I can actually get my registration renewed, all the while having to hope that my car doesn’t get towed again.
Then, the (huge) grocery store next to my house is out of fresh basil.
Then, as I pull into the apartment complex, my gas light goes on. Wait, didn’t I JUST fill this up? Oh yeah, less than 48 hours ago to drive up to VA for that god forsaken engagement party. UGH.
Whew. I feel better after this rant!!
