Table. Tub. Ticket. Theater.
Where to start?
It's been a pretty fucked up weekend.
I won't tell you how are kitchen table collapsed - but it did. Crash. Goodbye kitchen table.
And then, driving home from school on Saturday, just as I get on the freeway, this cop pulls up right behind me - tailgates me all the way until the exit, where he pulls me over. (Listen, I understand he doesn't want me to get away but - damn - this ain't Al Capone!) He yells about how I passed him when he was doing 80 and won't even let me tell him I had just got on the freeway. In fact, he won't let me talk at all. "I don't want to hear it," he keeps saying. Then, he tells me he's letting me off easy by only giving me a ticket for doing 75. Hold on. If I really did do over 80 (dick said I was doing over 90 easy), why not cut me a ticket for that? Why not use your dash cam to show me blasting past him in court? Why write a ticket for 75? I'm a little lost and a little fucked, cause there's a reason Vicky and I both drive like old people: we're poor and we can't afford tickets. God-dammit.
Vicky asked her brother, who is also a CHiPie, why this guy was such a dick. He said, "A lot of them are." At least, he's honest.
Fortunately, I got home just in time for a rejection notice. I'd written After You Fall after a theater had requested I submit something for the new season - in a way, I wish they hadn't because they ended up rejecting it. But, at least, it means I can submit it to other theaters... I guess.
Then, Sunday, after I took a long ride (more on that later), I came home to find Vicky washing Shipoopi in the tub. Downstairs, I found something on the floor - I thought Shipoopi had Shipeepeed. After I cleaned it up, though, I found more on the floor. It was water. Lots of water! Leaking from the ceiling!! It was our tub! Leaking through the floor!
... great weekend. Lots of fun.
Let's hope it's not a lead-in to tonight's mid-term...