[ a series of unfortunate events ]

You know how they say that bad things always happen in threes?

Well, I've come to the conclusion that bad things tend to happen in fours, or fives, or sixes. Maybe even sevens. On a really, really bad week.

This week has been one of those really, really bad weeks.

I'm going to try and tone this down to make it as undramatic as possible because heaven knows that I am a well-known drama queen. So here's my attempt at "dulling it down."

First, there was the PMS. I knew this was coming since I'm on BC, but it doesn't make the actual effects any better. Plus, I'm one of those people that PMS for the ENTIRE week. Poor Peter. :(

Then, we found out that a family friend had passed away over the weekend due to complications at the hospital for a sickness. It was a very sombre day.

Next came the worst of it -- one of the things that make being a grown up just plain suck: car trouble.

I knew that we were going to have to replace our windshield before I re-registered my car this month, so we've been saving up for the cost. We broke it two years ago and so we knew it was coming. After a half an hour on the phone trying to make the appointment, and then the next morning they came to do it. Woohoo! No more windshield that looks like it's about to be rip apart any second!

That same afternoon, I figured I'd hit to birds with one stone and go get my safety and emissions done for registration. No problem, right? Not in my little world. I showed up, and after having been promised a 10 minute appointment, I waited over an hour. Halfway through my appointment, the technician said "Ma'am, could you come with me please?" Oh crap. Turns out he decided to fail me unless I rotated the tires. Something about tread or something. Okay, no big deal. Just rotate the tires.

So after that busy busy morning, it was time to go get Peter from school and drive the 2 and 1/2 hour drive back to our house (We had been staying at the in-laws for the past week). Drive back was dandy, except that I got a bit sunburned, but I'm used to that, being a redhead. No big deal.

Next morning, Peter gets up to go to school, and I do the awesome wife thing and sleep in. I woke up when he left and realized he didn't kiss me good-bye. Huh. Sucky husband. So since I was already awake, I started messing around on Mac Jr. and about a half an hour later, I get a call. From Peter.

"Um. Honey. The tire blew out on the freeway, in the 75 mph zone." (Note: really loud noise in the background so he had to repeat himself like 3 times)

"WHAT?! Are you okay?? Is the car okay??"

"Yeah. I'm going to call your dad to see if there's anything I can do besides just change over to the spare."

"Oh. Okay...Bye." Click. At this point, I'm freaking out a little because that's what I do in these types of situations. Then I get a call from my dad saying he's fine and a cop pulled up to help him change the tire. Then about 4 more rounds of phone tag happened, and Peter was finally back on his way to school. He made plans to go fix the tire during lunch.

Okay. Phew. Catastrophe avoided.

Lunch rolls around and I get another call from Peter that says that there are NO, I repeat, NO tire places in the area and he has to get back to school so he won't be late.

Okay. Breathe. It will be okay. Then 5:30 rolls around when school gets out, and I get a call from Peter saying that everybody in the larger immediate area closes at 6:00.

"What?!" I say, with exasperated sigh. This is going to kill me. Then I start frantically trying to find a tire place for him to stop at on his way home from school (mind you: he is an hour and a half away, having already driven on the spare for an hour on his way TO school). Again, everywhere closes at 6:00. Are you kidding me, people??

So now Peter is driving back to our house, on a spare that isn't supposed to be driven for more then 40 miles, and I am praying that he makes it home okay.

Finally, he pulls in a half an hour later than normal, perfectly okay.

Whew. Breath of fresh air.

Then I get off work a bit later, and I'm grumpy beyond belief, and hungry (not a good combination for a PMS-y redhead) and I decide that I want Taco Bell. Like, REALLY want Taco Bell. So we get all of our crap together and walk out the door, and then we see it.

The spare tire. Glaring at me in all it's miniature wonder. Daring me to drive the car again.

But I don't, and I get even grumpier due to lack of food. Finally, I resolve to eating rice and soy sauce and just go to bed. End of a very bad day.

New day! Woohoo! I wake up this morning in a good mood. Well, BETTER mood. It's going to be a good day -- we're going to get the tire fixed, we're going to be able to shopping (yay!) and our car troubles will be behind us.

So we get up. We eat. And Peter sets off to the almighty kingdom of Wal-Mart to find us this much required tire. We're looking for a used tire, looking for 60 bucks worth. Just enough to get us through until we can buy four new tires.

Me, being the frugal one that I am, I look up on WalMart.com for anything that will give me an idea of what price I'm REALLY looking at, and I find the holy grail! A clearance list of tires! And on that list, I see that we could get all four new tires for $140. Bargain baby!

But is luck on my side? I think not. Turns out they were all out of my brand new tires. Crap. So Peter asks them what it will cost to get just one tire? And the verdict is? $100 freaking dollars! For one tire!

At this point I am freaking out and just at my wits' end. I was NOT anticipating spending this much money at all the same time -- between the windshield and the registration crap and the new tire.

So what do I do? I break down in Niagara Falls tears. Because that's what drama queens on PMS do, right? Yup. I thought so.

And that has been my series of unfortunate events, all occuring within the past three days. One day, I'll learn how to just roll with it, but for now, this just all stinks.

Yeah. Windshields and registration and tires and PMS. You all stink major beans.