I recently heard Pink’s song “I’m a Hazard to Myself” on the radio, and thought, “You and me both, Sista!” To bring in a less (or rather, not at all) pop-culture-y reference I have found that the best way to describe myself is in Yiddish. I am both the schlemiel andthe schlimazel; that’s right, gentleman, I’m the full package. If you’re not familiar, or don’t have your own Jewish grandma, the schlemiel is described as the person with bad luck, or rather, the guy/gal who gets coffee spilled on him/her. The schlimazel is the klutz, the one who spills the coffee. Below is a day in my life as a schlamazing person. If you too are schlamazing, the cheesy term I just created to describe my affliction, please let me know. I’d love a support group.
7:00 AM: I start my day at the gym where I take a kettlebell class. If you’ve never seen a kettlebell they are basically round weights with a handle attached. I wanted a fiver-pounder but I was last to the bucket of bells and got stuck with an eight-pounder. First exercise, we pass the kettlebells in a figure eights between our legs. My kettlebell smacks the outside of both legs, resulting in twin, large, black and blues.
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| My knee the week (!) after! |
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| The glass sunk in like a failed souffle. |
8:00 AM: I’m excited to make an almond butter and chocolate smoothie for breakfast. I take the almond butter out of the refrigerator and seamlessly drop it, watching the glass container shatter into a million tiny pieces. I really wanted that almond butter. Really not looking forward to getting the inevitable shard of glass in my foot sometime in the near future.
8:30 AM: As I drive to work I look down and see a tiny stain on my pant leg. I know this won’t work, but yet I do it anyway: I pour “a little” water onto the stain. My attempt to pour a little water results in half of the water bottle spilling all over my pants and crotch. I squirm in discomfort.
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| The remaining water is on my ass |
9:00 AM: I arrive at work, looking like I peed my pants. The stain is still there.
10:00 AM: I’m in my boss’s office, printing a 50-page document for him. With the motor skills of an undeveloped child, I grab at the papers and they go flying all over, like a popular kid spreading party flyers around school in an 80’s movie.
11:30 AM: I am on Facebook doing some run of the mill stalking. I look up the head writer on my show, whom I’ve seen, but never met. A few minutes into it, I noticed “friend request sent” on his page. I defriend, hoping he didn’t notice.
12:00 PM: Lunch arrives. We eat family style. I try to use the two tongs to pick-up the salad but they fail me and salad ricochets all over the table and the floor. In case you were wondering, it’s very difficult to clean up a chopped salad from a carpeted floor.
1:00 PM: The “friended” writer walks by me, as he has typically done for the past week, but this time “introduces” himself. Good to be officially friends.
2:00 PM: I’m in my car on an errand when I roll into a crosswalk. I look to the right, then the to left and then I start to turn right. As I turn I get the world’s nastiest stink eye from the man whom I swear was not there two seconds earlier. He smacks the hood of my car to make sure his presence is known.
2:02 PM: I stress eat a chocolate KIND bar after almost hitting a man.
3:00 PM: I return to work and realize that I now have melted chocolate along the inside of my pants. My co-workers definitely must think I have bathroom issues.
5:30 PM: I go to our set and get a hug from one of the transportation drivers. He’s my best friend on the show because he’s the only one who seems to give a shit that I’m there. He asks how I am everyday and thanks to him I always smell like cheap cologne after his breast-crushing embrace. The problem is I don’t know his name. I thought it was Joe. I say, “Hi Joe!” It’s not Joe.
7:00 PM: I finally leave work and back my car right into the wall. I went with my usual policy of “don’t look, don’t know” but upon arriving home, the scratched off paint from my bumper, which I just got repaired (read about why in this previous post ), was too hard not to notice.
8:00 PM: My apartment’s a mess and I decide to bleach the counter-tops. I scrubbed real hard and the counters looked great. Unfortunately, the black tank top I was wearing did not fare as well. A lovely reddish line from the bleach has landed that shirt in my ever expanding “shit I’ve ruined beyond repair” pile.
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| Who knew, bleach and black makes red? |
11:15 PM: As I fade into dreamland, a banging on my door abruptly wakes me. Pissed off because I’m blind without my contacts and naked because I live alone, I hope whomever it is will go away. The knocking continues so I finally feel around for some clothing and glasses. With as much attitude as a cashier at McDonalds I ask, “Yeah? Can I help you!” and swing the door open to find Mr. Good Samaritan, my across the hall neighbor, standing there. “You left your keys in the lock outside.” Indeed I did. “I’m Dyana,” I introduce myself, “any chance you want to join my schamazing support group?”