A week in the life....

Sometimes, people express amazement that I have as bad of luck as I purport to have. Somehow, they think that I just MSU. All the time. Now, while I might use a wee tiny bit of artistic license at times, merely in order to portray events with the acuity and sharpness they deserve, the basic facts are always accurate. To illustrate, let’s look at last week, a typical one for Miss Tasha:

• I realize that I’ve used up my last check, which wouldn’t be a big problem except that I need one in order to write a check at Costco, where I’m going to shop for the Boobages Par-tay. I scour the house looking for the subsequent checks. Nada.

• So I decide I’ll just get some cash and use that. I stop at an ATM and am trying to hurry, since I’m parked in a bus zone. So I grab the cash and dash off, only realizing when I’m a block away that I forgot my card in the ATM. Oops.

• I head back to the ATM, and my card has disappeared. Sucked into the black vortex of ATM Purgatory.

• That day, I get yet another bill from a collection agency regarding – what else – my medical bills. Where I see I have some $1K in charges for 2010 that I’m pretty sure I already paid. But the charges that REALLY piss me off are for 2008. What. The. Fuck. You mean 2008, as in the year that I already paid way more than I should have? Yeah, you can just fuck off.

• Wednesday night is the monthly Tri Club meeting. It’s Bridget’s last meeting as President, so I’ve ordered her a cake from Dinkel’s, and I stop there to pick it up before the meeting, parking in the 15-minute parking spot across the street, blinkers on. I come out and see…… a ticket?? What fresh hell is this? Did they have me on a stopwatch? Because even if they did, I clock myself at less than 15. Oh, wait, it’s for my expired license plate sticker, which I’ve ordered but haven’t received yet – mind you, it expired June 1st, and it’s June 2nd. Fucking vultures. What I “love” about Chicago and what is one of the things that has me planning my departure someday soon is the fact that unlike in other cities where parking tickets are a reasonable $10-20, here, they’re $50. Yes, $50 for a single parking ticket. Fuckers.

• Also on Wednesday, I speak to my Most Awesome IRS Taxpayer Advocate Michelle –at this point, we’re practically in the “exchange holiday cards and recipes” phase of our relationship. We chat about her upcoming vacation, and she tells me that we’re still at status quo, but that she doesn’t think I’ll owe any money. Whew. Except then 2 days later I get a letter from the IRS, where it appears that they’ve oh-so-magnanimously reduced some fees – but they still seem to think I owe them thousands of dollars. At this point, I hardly even care. It’s not like they can get blood from a turnip.

So in other words, a typical week. Par for the course. No sweat. And then. THEN. Boobages Par-tay Day was upon us…..