You know how there are all those movies where John Cusack freaks out in the rain? I get it now. Totally. Getting caught in the rain makes everything appear 80,000 times more terrible than it really actually is. Because in addition to whatever minor thing that went wrong, you are also wet.
Case in point #1
Like, two weeks ago, I was running late for class so I took a cab. I get to the class, only to find that it's been canceled. When I go back outside, only to find that it is now pouring rain outside. So I called Jen to see if she could give me a ride home, because it just seemed like a waste to either spend 10 more dollars, or take an hour on public transportation. Jen suggests we go shopping. "Good idea!" I say... so I get on the red line for Monroe. At this point, I am rather disheveled looking. Some dude starts staring at me, so I give him a dirty look because I'm not in the most pleasant of moods. Then he points to my shirt. Which has somehow been arranged so that my right breast is popping out of it. Yay! So now I'm a subway flasher! Finally I get to the stop and start looking around the various stores. Unfortunately, there is like, truly, nothing I want, or like once I put it on. On the way home, it is still pouring rain, and the heel of my shoe gets caught in a subway grate, and I trip and fall and my shoes are filled with water and I have to stand in my stocking feet while Jen attempts to pry my shoe loose from said grate. Not the best time ever.
And seriously, like, since then, I have been in a constant state of hyper-irritation with life, the universe and everything in it. Which brings us to last night, when I finally had a nervous breakdown in the middle of Dominick's.
Case in point #2:
I had planned to meet some friends at the Darkroom for Panic. It was going to be a swell time. If there is any appropriate cure for being inordinately irritated by life, it is to get inordinately dressed up, go out, and dance and drink way too much. So I put on a cute dress, I do my hair and my make-up, and run downstairs. It's raining. So I go back upstairs to get an umbrella. Then I run across the street to use the ATM. The ATM tells me that my card was lost or stolen. Which was just not true- I had it in my hand! Then I go and try another ATM, and another, and another. No luck. I go back upstairs. I grab a huge ziplock bag o' change, with plans to go to Dominick's to use their Coinstar machine, and also attempt to try my card again in the check out aisle. As I walk over there, it starts pouring. The Coinstar machine, unfortunately, is closed down at 10:00. It is 10:30. I hate life. The manager will not start it back up for me. They will not cash my paycheck, and my card is still not working. Meanwhile, I figure that they probably think I'm a hooker. I am wearing a very short black dress with knee high boots and gold leggings- which is a totally cute outfit for like, going out to a bar, but generally inappropriate for the supermarket. This makes me hate them more, the stupid judgemental bastards. I am wet and I am angry. I say, and I quote:
"Oh my god! I can't have anything!"
I was that girl. I can't fucking believe it. I have never been that girl. My eyes started leaking. Leaking! And I was wearing a shitload of eye makeup, which I discovered later was not in fact waterproof. I walked home, reasonably sure that all passerby were assuming that I was a hooker who had just gotten into a fight with her pimp. So I went home, I cleaned the eye makeup off of my face, and watched Jane Eyre, and fell asleep on the couch with my shoes on.
Now, like, had it not been raining (and also if I'd have had something to eat that day other than a cookie and lots of coffee), I'm quite sure I would not have really given a crap. But rain exacerbates everything.
Today, I find it all unbelievably hilarious, but I literally cannot tell you how stupidly agitated I was last night. I'm thinking I may need some emergency Valium.