The Pajama Shirt Philosophy

This morning started out as normal as any other Tuesday, entirely too early & with much abuse to my snooze button.
But when I made my way into the bathroom for my shower, I saw it...my pajama shirt was inside out. I'd slept like that the whole night. Granted, it was much, much less shocking than the time I blinked into the mirror & realized I had morphed into Quasimodo overnight, however, notable just the same. What could this discombobulated night shirt foretell of the day ahead?
Running late to work I noticed that my check engine light had come on, good enough timing since I also needed an inspection, but a tad worrisome as my dearly departed Jeep, Big Blue, had met its tragic & untimely demise with similar symptoms. Slowing for what would become the worlds longest bridge lift ever, scheduled no doubt when the bridge operators realized I was already late for work, I glanced at the troublesome check engine light again & saw that it had felt lonely with the absence of my attention & brought a friend along..."VSC" was now lit up bright & happy next to it. What the hell is "VSC"? As I was now safely parked on 464 with the rest of Hampton Roads, I whipped out my owner's manual to do some sleuthing. Ah, the troubleshooters grid, my good friend. Yes, yes, there's my warning lights..."Take to a Toyota dealership". Well, that's informative.
Arriving at the dealership & signing off on the $113.50 diagnostic fee I silently cursed my hated vehicle & blessed Gillian for cunningly negotiating a free Platinum Package maintenance program. One day I will have my bitchin' Vespa, with flames racing down the side & a snazzy matching helmet....one day.
Arriving at the office an hour & one trip back to the dealership to rescue my garage pass later, I began contemplating how I would explain tossing my computer out of the 6th floor window to IT as it struggled to find the meaning of its life for a half hour. Bless the makers of Blackberry & whomever thought to connect it to FaceBook.
I began to mentally calculate my vacation time & wonder if this wasted day would best be finished by my pool when it all began to turn around. My previously captive emails began to display happy dollar signs from clients, the currently absent reason my heart beats began chatting with me happily via email & my dear friend texted that finally, finally she was in labor! Ahhh, sweet happiness & an ice cream sandwich from the 1st floor break room.
As I wrapped up my day floating towards the garage (down a block, across the street, up 6 flights of stairs) Toyota called. What pray tell had gone so horrifically wrong with my cursed vehicle? The gas cap & a hose was loose. The gas cap kids, the bloody gas cap. She happily let me know that they'd cut my diagnostic fee in half "saving me a bundle" & then she smoothly moved into the stirke zone prattling on about fluid flushes, fuel injectors & carbon build up to the tune of $500+. Ha! You can't part me from my money so easily (you're no sale at Banana Republic!) Except the fuel injector flush...that sounded important, seriously, she got me there.
Safely at home, I reflect upon my day from the comfort of Laura's hungry couch. The confused pajama shirt had shown me this - Yes, days will go wacky...but they will right themselves in the end.
And more importantly, I now I know that I must always listen for three clicks when tightening my gas cap.

T minus 40+ years

Today is June 8th, 2009. I created this blog on Dec. 30th, 2008. This is my first post. To call me a procrastinator is like pointing out that Nelson Mandela is black or that Grandma Moses has a thing for la labia. But its the late bloomers like them that fuel my procrastination. They both burst onto the world stage in their late 70's, so by my estimations, I've got about another 40 years or so to go before I need to get with it. That should be enough time for me to focus, to hone in on whatever it will be exactly that will rocket me to fame...or at least Wikipedia.
But lately, between tedious, infuriating staff meetings, divorces, long days working off hangovers at the beach & discussion about the frugality of my mother's wish for grandchildren before she's 90, I've realized that there's got to be something better for me to do with my time. The world needs me & its high time I've listened. And what better way to listen than to talk? Am I right? Of course I am, this is my blog. So in order to subsidize my dream career of working at a doggie daycare, I've decided to focus a little more seriously on this natural affinity for writing I seem to possess. Sure it was handy to muddle my way through Honors History essay answers & its certainly helped keep the "spark" alive while I wait for my love to come home from deployment, but can I actually buy shoes with it? That is the question!
And my dear chipmunks, only time will tell. But I think I'd rather find out now then have those hard-earned shoes I buy end up being more supportive than stylish...my arches be damned! So stay tuned for random stories, thoughts, & rants on all things Christine. After all, Mandela & Grandma Moses were overnight sensations 70+ years in the making....