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January 27, 2006

Perhaps I was Lucrezia Borgia in a Past Life.........

April 07, 2006 10:28 AM EDT

views: 25 | comments: 27

Perhaps I was Lucrezia Borgia in a past life? Only the karma of one seriously DEPRAVED could have wrought the week I'm finishing....

Monday started off innocently enough. I bought Beryl's book THE SCENT OF GOD and devoured it within 24 hours. It left me contemplative and thankful for all I had.

Apparently, I wasn't quite thankful ENOUGH for the cosmos. It gazed upon my dumpy little middle-aged form and said,"Yeah, she's due for a smiting."

Tuesday night, my ex telephoned to say that he was moving to Arizona. He'd decided that there was no longer any reason for him to remain in California, and since there was a job opening with his company in Chandler, he was going for it.

While I was relieved that I would no longer be responsible for transporting my son across the state line for monthly visitation, the thought of having his father that close gave me gooseflesh - and no, not the good kind. He's just not a nice guy - a decent enough father, but even my son was less than thrilled at the news.

Wednesday morning, I noticed that the econo-sized bag of chicken breast I'd deposited in the freezer wasn't quite as frozen as it should be. Our fridge is a little over five years old, and has been pre-menopausal for about half that time. It's repair folder is as thick as a hypochondriac's medical record - with the difference being that it has truly had something wrong with it at each and every house call. However, the last time we had issues with our ice cubes, it suddenly recovered before the service tech arrived.

Rather than "cry wolf," I decided to give it 24 hours to snap out of its funk before calling in the professionals for this, its latest episode.

Wednesday afternoon, the "smiting" got a bit more serious. The plan was for me to pick up my son and his electric guitar, drop the "git" at home, and then head to the motor vehicle department so that he could take the test for his learner's permit.

We pulled into the driveway,and my 2004 VW Beetle expired. All electrical function was lost. Not even a click when I tried to start the engine.

I'm a practical person by nature. Cars have just been another appliance to make life a little easier - that is, until this one. Perhaps it's my form of middle-aged crisis, but I LOVE THAT BEETLE.

I phoned VW roadside assistance. THREE HOURS LATER (thank God I wasn't stranded on the freeway in mid-summer!) a highly tattooed and bleary-eyed tow truck driver pulled up. With mounting horror,I watched as he dragged my baby and throroughly scraped the front under-carriage over the curb, onto his truck. There are two large gouges missing from our driveway now. I'm sure that I will relive the anguish of that moment each time I pass them on the way to the mailbox.

Thursday, I bit the bullet and requested service for the now, clearly ailing refrigerator. It took about 4 hours, but I did finally receive a return phone call. I was informed they'd be out Friday. I explained that I'd need to be one of the last calls of the day, as I had to go to my internship in the morning. They basically told me - tough. No time guarantees were offered. My best bet would be to cancel this call and place another Friday morning. They'd show up on Monday.

I knew that every scrap of food in the thing would be rotten to the core by then. Unfortunately, we have an Amana, and there's only one factory authorized service department in the Valley of the Sun. They had the upper hand and they knew it. I kept the original appointment, hedging my bets that we would be the last serviced that day anyway.

I didn't fare much better with the VW service department. There were 14 cars ahead of mine. They'd get back to me in the late afternoon. Sounded electrical, but would probably be covered under warranty. (You bet your sweet bippy it had better be! I haven't put 30,000 miles on that thing yet!)

But wait, there's more. I have a thing in my neck. Yes, a THING. We don't know what it is yet - so that's what it's been christened. Gisela's neck THING.

That THING has probably been there for awhile, but even I, the most diligent in the health denial area, couldn't ignore the giant slab of additional flesh located between my chin and collarbone in the pictures from my daughter's wedding.

Last week I'd been in to see the endocrinologist, who took pints of blood, felt up the area where an adams apple would be on a guy, and made contemplative noises.

So it's a week later, and what do I know about the Thing? NOTHING. No one has called, the lab results have not returned.

Thursday, I am trapped at home with the Thing and trying not to let my mind review every possible diagnoses in my Professional Guide to Diseases reference text from school. I follow up with the doc's office again. Nada on the information front. I wonder how many more days I can wear turtle necks. It's in the eighties outside.

My husband gives me a ride to the car rental agency, and I'm handed the keys to a Taurus. At least I am now mobile.

When my son arrives home from school, he's eager to head out to the mvd. We pile into the rental and drive to a small town just south of Chandler - as I've heard the lines there are much shorter.

There's a reason for this. The mvd office is located in a trailer. There isn't enough room in there for any kind of queue activity! My son fills out his application, his number is called, and we approach the counter. I am informed that the birth certificate issued by the State of California in 1990 is no longer valid. It is titled "Abstract of Birth." It must be replaced with a different, newer version that just says "Certified Birth Certificate Copy."

What??????????

My guess is that the old ones were just too easy to forge.

My son is furious. How could I be such a neglectful parent? Didn't I KNOW that the stupid piece of paper I kept in my file cabinet was junk? Never mind the fact that it had successfully registered him for school, baseball, wrestling, and acquired him a social security number.

And so, Vesuvius erupted.....

Standing in the parking lot of the Coolidge MVD, I let forth a stream of obscenity so vile that my son and daughter stood slack jawed and silent until I was through. (Come to think of it, so did a couple of locals in to register their alfalfa pickers.)

We all climbed back into the rental and drove home in silence. That's when I knew what I had always suspected might in fact be true.

I AM the reincarnation of Lucrezia Borgia. That fridge repairman had better show up in the afternoon if he knows what's good for him....

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