I often joke that my life is governed by Murphy’s Law. Those who are close to me know that this is at least partly true: I am afraid of skunks, and I come from an island that is hideously overpopulated by them. If I am dressed up, with my hair straightened, it will undoubtedly pour, thereby rendering both my outfit and my hair worthless. If I like a guy, he will instantly be attracted to my best friend. If I go somewhere on vacation, the most exciting thing in my home town will happen the day after I leave, and the most exciting thing in the city I’m visiting will occur the day after I return home. If I get a shift covered at work, the person who covers for me will make twice what I’m used to for that particular shift.
And I’m clumsy. I’m a dalmatian-spotted mess of bruises most of the time, and I’m almost incapable of crossing a room without walking into something. I have slammed my own fingers in car doors, I have thrown out my back by tripping over a cat, I hit my head on the car roof nearly every time I get into a car that’s smaller than an SUV.
And I’m unlucky. When I’m riding in someone’s car, they hit every red light until they drop me off. Likewise, when I’m riding my bike, I encounter not only every red light, but every traffic impediment imaginable (like street fairs with renta-cops). I have never won more than ten dollars on a scratch ticket–but I’ve watched the person who bought the ticket after mine win $500. I lost a spelling bee once because the judges made an error three rounds back, and didn’t catch it until I was going for the win. The next year, in the same spelling bee, my first word was one that I’d never heard before so I was out in the first round, but I correctly spelled every other word in the competition without even a second thought.
That said, I was terribly disappointed but not surprised to discover this evening that I have just purchased myself a seven hundred dollar tattoo. According to the care regimen for the tattoo I paid $250 for last week, I am supposed to wash it several times a day with “a gentle, antimicrobial soap, such as Dr. Bronner’s.” I have done so, faithfully–so faithfully that I made the awful mistake of carrying the soap with me in my bag when I went to work. The soap, somewhere between work and home, inexplicably opened and spilled all over the inside of my bag, destroying not only the bag (which I adore–and paid $70 for, but I am willing to part with grudgingly) but also my four-month new $350 80GB video iPod.
I love my iPod. I don’t ever leave home without it, and I am frequently able to play it through the sound system at work so that everyone else can enjoy my music too. When I fly, I load videos onto it so that I can sit in my seat and be passively entertained for hours on end. I am addicted to music–so much that in the Time Before Ipods, I used to spend hundreds of dollars every year replacing Walkmen and Discmen so that I could constantly have a portable source of music. Ipod eliminated the need to do this–until Murphy’s Law and my own ridiculous stupidity eliminated my iPod.
The kicker of the whole thing is this: up until a few weeks ago, I always kept my iPod in a protective case, which, had it been on my beloved gadget this evening, probably would have saved it from the Dreaded Soap. Unfortunately, I discovered a few weeks ago that the reason that the speakers often buzzed when my iPod was playing at work was because the case prevented the jack cord from going all the way in, meaning there was a faulty connection–hence the buzz. I took to taking my iPod out of the case when I played it at work, and about a week ago, I was unable to find the top part of the case when I retrieved my iPod. It could have fallen in the recycling bin, which is located just under the stereo at work. Needless to say, I did not go right out and buy a new case like I should have, nor did I refrain from stashing my iPod in my bag while in transit.
The music itself is replaceable, as I have very smartly retained all of my CDs–but the basic fact is that I cannot afford a new iPod. I cannot afford food at this point, if you take my current debt-to-income ratio into consideration. I couldn’t afford the goddamn tattoo. I suspended my guilt over that at the time, but now it’s hitting me like an anvil dropped from on high: If you’d just refrained from getting the tattoo, you’d still have your iPod…
I’m devastated, because I’m pretty attached to the little sucker, but more than that I’m frustrated and disappointed because I did this, just like I am usually the culprit when things go wrong in my life.
And to top it off, after an entirely mosquito-bite-free summer, I’ve just been eaten alive while I’ve been typing this blog, and I think one of the little fuckers got me on my $700 tattoo. And I’m out of the damn soap because it’s all in my iPod.