God Kicks Me In The Balls, Part LXXIV

Have you ever had one of those days were it seems like the purpose of the Universe is divinely and expressly bent towards kicking you in the teeth? I’ve heard the saying, “Bad things come in threes.” Why the fuck can’t spectacularly GOOD things come in threes. Like double-jointed, playmate, Japanese triplets? Or the rack on the girl from Total Recall? Why do you always have to come home to, “Hey, your house is being repossessed, you’re being arrested for treason in Iran, and your ex-girlfriend left a message to tell you that you need to get tested for AIDS”?

The worst part for me is when two bad things happen. I’ve heard the damn expression so many times that all I do is stress out waiting for that last thing to blow up, break-down or nest in my urinary tract. It’s like the universe is just fucking with: watching me squirm before crushing another one of my dreams.

Today, The Powers That Be decided to fuck with my wallet, my ride and my creative outlet. And it’s put a huge crimp in my day, month and summer. But I know I’ll live. I just wonder why everything has to blow up on the same day inside of an hour and a half.

Three hours ago I was a fairly prosperous band leader who owned a car free and clear. Now I’m broke, without a car and my band has been fucked up the day before a show. It’s like I’m back in high school again…only without the acne.

For specifics (I know, super boring personal shit that’s not interesting. But if I’m going to spend this much time bitching, I might as well let you know WHY), here’s the full deal:

• My car needs a new transmission. This is bad not only because it wipes me out and destroys my social life for the next two weeks, but because it also annihilates my vacation funds for the end of the summer…I have one word for you: Vegas.
  
• My band is scheduled to play its first two shows tomorrow night and Saturday night. An hour ago I got an email—an EMAIL—from the singer, letting me know that she’s quitting the band. Who the fuck quits a band the day before a gig? Do you have any idea how fucked up that is? That’s like breaking up with your girlfriend the day before prom.

At times like this, there’s really only one thing you can do to release your anger: fall to your knees in a public place, turn your palms and visage skyward and scream at the top of your lungs:

“KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!”

At least, it always helps to cheer me up.

I know that the universe will eventually lift its foot to stop grinding my testicles into the pavement. Karma and all that. But the divine force of the Universe is going to have to work pretty fucking hard to put things back on the plus side for me after today. Karma has some serious fucking boot-licking ahead of itself. It can start with all those birthday presents that I never got (hello Teddy Ruxpin, Atari, and Hungry, Hungry Hippos!) and work its way up to making my semen taste like freshly-squeezed strawberries. Then a series of unlikely coincidences could lead to me being awarded sole ownership of Halliburton, Maui, and the Hope Diamond. I figure that will just about put us square-sies.

Until then, Karma, I’ll be right where you left me: crushed, broke, and confined to my room like a dateless high-school-er.