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.

My knee the week (!) after!
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.
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. 
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?”

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