Graffiti the Ghost

It's times like these that try squirrels' souls...

They say troubles come in threes. I prefer to think that Mondays just suck.

I woke up yesterday feeling like twelve pounds of crap in a ten pound sack. Bad, in other words. I think it has something to do with an old blind man in a dark room in Koreatown and the toxins that he released into my body through an ancient method of torture know as "Shiatsu Massage." I don't speak Korean, but I'm pretty sure whatever it was that he said to me in greeting could be loosely translated as "we have ways of making gai jin cry like little baby. You lie down, surrender hope."

Now, let's just say that I've gathered quite the collection of toxins throughout the years. You might call me a "toxin connoisseur" of sorts. Well, now those little fuckers are loose in my body, and are wreaking havoc. I know that you have to get worse to get better, so I'm working on drinking lots of water, yada yada yada, in order to flush them out. Well, Corona is practically water. And I'm sure the lime is good for me, too.

Moving on. I woke up yesterday feeling less than spunky. Around noon I started feeling like maybe I should lie down, but I was close to finishing my shift so I decided to push on through. No need. The phone rang, and it was our company VP. I am being "let go." Sounds like some sort of catch and release wildlife rehabilitation program, doesn't it? Like the time has come for me to rejoin my lost tribe of CS Techs that roam the forests of Silicon Valley, cavorting freely.




Former employees of Oracle in a meadow outside of San Jose





Ok, deep breath. This is probably for the best, I tell myself. Now I can finally pursue my dream of being a professional baby animal cuddler. Righteous.

But I have already made a plan for the afternoon: to go buy, of all things, a desk from someone on Craigslist. I live for these ironies, so I decide to keep my appointment. The desk's owner lives in Laurel Canyon, near Mulholland. Lil Dub and I have never been up into these hills before, so we look at it as a new adventure. Well, I think it's an adventure. Lil Dub is, apparently, not as enthusiastic. As soon as we get close to her house his oil light comes on, and he starts furiously beeping at me. "What is it, boy? Is Timmy trapped in a well?" No such luck. We are just pulling up to the house when smoke starts billowing from beneath his cute little hood. He has decided to take a leak all over Laurel Canyon Place, and all of his precious bodily fluids are slowly draining from the undercarriage. Not so cute. Poor Lil Dub. I hardly knew ye.



The scene in Laurel Canyon , 4:35 PM on Monday, November 14




So now I'm just sitting here, waiting for the doctor, I mean mechanic, to call with the diagnosis. Since I am (cue trumpets) A BLOGGER who reaches literally 10s of people every day, I shall suspend judgment on Carmax (that's C-A-R-M-A-X) until I find out exactly what they plan to do to remedy this situation. If it doesn't involve a rental car and a foot massage I will use my considerable power and, more realistically, abundance of free time to make their lives a living... well... annoyance.

But I am looking on the bright side. There are actually tons of worthwhile projects down here on which to spend my time. Trust me, I'll be fine.

posted by Jess @ 11:12 AM