Bad Luck Boob Lady...

(Photo courtesy of the Boob Lady's brother... This is my nephew.)



It's true.

I really need one.

I've had the worst run of bad luck lately and I really need a hug.

You know all about my troubles with Carl, the shitmobile, but there's more.

I know!

You're thinking: "How can some poor schmuck have so much bad luck?"

I don't know.

On Thursday, I'm making my regular trek to work, driving the tuna can, listening to my iTrip, minding my business.

I pull into the parking lot, remove the iTrip from its holding area, pop it into my purse like I always do, and head into the store.

When I try to re-activate the iTrip, it won't work.

No signal, no little red "ON" light, nothing.

NOTHING.

I am on the verge of tears since I'll have to listen to The Motown Series AGAIN.

Don't get me wrong, I love me some Motown, but everyday? NO! I can't take it.

I know all the songs, I know all the words, I even have fucking dance steps down pat.

I can't hack it.

I turn on the radio instead.

This is a major faux-pas.

I don't care.

Jump to Saturday.

I get to work without incident and proceed to grab my cell phone.

Wait a minute...

It's not in my jacket pocket.

Peculiar.

I find it in my purse, grab it without putting too much thought into why it was in there, head out for a breakfast sandwich, and proceed to turn it on.

I'd fully charged it last night so it was ready to go.

Notsomuch.

It turned on for a fraction of a second and what I saw of the screen looked like an aquarium.

A totally trippy aquarium since my background scene is a bare tree branch kind of wintery scene.

Very barren, very white, very cool.

It looked like it had started to flood.

Well, I call the cell phone store that's across the hall (I got my phone there...) and explain my problem.

The girl actually walks across the way to my store (very kind of her) and proceeds to ask me the routine questions.

"Did you drop it?"

"No."

"Did you take it in the shower with you?"

"Uhh, no."

"Did you leave it in your car overnight?"

"No, it doesn't leave my coat pocket."

Well, fuck me silly, I had it in my purse didn't I? There's something wrong here.

The only thing I can think of is that once I'd charged it, my pockets were full so I just tossed it in my purse.

Turns out I had a full can of hairspray in there.

That exploded.

All over the inside of my bag.

And contents therein.

Cell phone included.

Fuckin' Balls.

Apparently the girl was able to tell that it had severe water damage by looking under the battery.

You see, here's where, if your phone is UNDAMAGED, you'll find a small white papery dot.

This dot is actually Litmus Paper.

My dot was no longer white.

It was blood red.

REDRUM!!!

Severe doesn't begin to describe the damage done to my phone.

I don't EVEN use hairspray.

I suck.

I'm totally locked in to a three year contract and am now without cellular telephone service.

Balls.

I'm thinking about turning to the hooch. The bottle.

Un cerveza por favor?

I need a hug.