i'm stuck on this island called "my anathema" and no one knows to help rescue me. i'm existing in my mind as the waves of the past suffocate me.

i have this mysterious fucking way of completely fucking myself over in ways that i have no control over in any way shape or form.

before i got into any of that, let me just get a few things off my chest:

• would it fucking kill downtown to actually, oh i don't know, plow the fucking streets? i realize that plowing snow off the road is a lot to ask for--afterall, the shit melts after a while, right?-- so i'll settle for some salt action..just do something so i'm not playing a continual game of chicken with everyone on the road and praying to me-mother mary-and-joseph that my a-b-s breaks are enough to make me stop as needed.
  
• ever sit there, lying in bed, at four in the morning...staring up at your ceiling with only one thought in your head: what in the fuck could they possibly be doing up there to make so much goddamn fucking noise? the fucking building is cement...they've got to be playing fucking basketball up there or something for me to hear it so fuckin clearly.
  
• going along with the "what the fuck are they doing vibe?", i'm going to say this as nicely as i can: dearest shithead[s] who live upstairs--pick up your fucking feet when you walk....unless of course you're actually the weight of an elephant, in which case...well? well done and carry on.
• first, let me admit that i still wear uggs...but before you berate me on this lovely fact, just know i never wear them with a skirt nor do i ever tuck my pants in them...basically, i only wear them if it's ensured that ninety-five percent of them are covered...anyway, would it fucking kill them to maybe, and i know this is far fetched, put traction on their winter boots?! i might as well be wearing ice skates lately because doing anything but sliding around is guaranteed to land me on my ass.
  
• is it necessary to waste my tax dollars to keep putting up an orange plastic fencing between barrels when in reality the construction comes no where near that area of the road/sidewalk and people continually break that area of fencing down anyway? and is it absolutely necessary to honk your horn at me while i crawl underneath said fence as i walk to class, because it's snowing and it's cold and walking straight across the street just seems like the more logical course of action over walking three blocks north and two blocks south? you're sitting in your car honking, obviously you aren't constructing..back the shit off.
  

right, so back to what i was talking about before...i seem to get into situations that are, for lack of a more appropriate word, fucked. so, i present to you:

ninety-nine problems and for once
this bitch ain't caused one.

in this week's addition, we have none other than me playing the part of the bad ass mother fucking protagonist and "the man" playing the dick sucking antagonist.

circa my birthday last year i lost my califronia license...naturally, that's a pretty big deal; however, my license was expiring on my actual birthday so i figured there was no point in calling california and getting all that shit straightened out on account of getting an ohio license in a few days. so, on may 30th i got an ohio license...funtastic. just what i need...verification and codification of the fact i do, in fact, live here.

regardless, unbeknownst to me, on that same day in a city that will live in infamy within the preface of all things falling under the category of "fuck that place," i got a speeding ticket in a ford. naturally, i never paid that ticket...i didn't know i got it, and i never got anything in the mail saying i had a ticket of any kind. nothing. i got nothing to that effect.

not. a. fucking. thing.

so imagine my complete and utter shock at three in the morning this past tuesday when i got pulled over for an illegal u-turn at a stop sign....which for the record, i'm not sure why a stop sign would still be controlling half way up a street, but that's neither here nor there...and after what seemed like a lifetime of sitting in my car with the unecessary beacon light shining in my car blinding the fuck out of me, the cop approached my car and said "are you aware you have a warrant out? now why would a girl like you have a warrant out?" to which i sat there probably doing the most dead on impression of a deer-in-headlights possible all the while looking completely mortified and totally aghast. the cop continued to look at me and say "well, you're too cute to have a warrant out so i suggest you figure this out. i'm not going to book you."

total aside before i continue: is there a reason why everytime i've gotten pulled over in this shithole state i've gotten hit on, in a matter of speaking, by the cop? are they that desperate?

so, i call to figure out what is going on with this whole warrant situation...which is coincidently when i found out there's a speeding ticket in my name received on the same exact day i got the codification of ohian status in a ford f150, and while talking to the [sarcasm] oh-so-fucking pleasant [/sarcasm] receptionist at the court i asked how to go about clearing it up. the procedure is as follows:

1. go to atm machine, take out two hundred and fifty dollars in cash
2. go to the township police department and explain the situation
3. get finger printed and get a mug shot taken
4. pay the two hundred and fifty dollar bail
5. receive a court date
6. go on your merry fucking way

seems easy enough, no? minus the fact i don't exactly have two hundred and fifty dollars sitting around just waiting to be used for something as fucking lame as posting bail for something i didn't do so i don't get dragged to jail. oh, and then there's the tiny detail concerning the fact that i can't drive myself for it is illegal for me to drive until this warrant and ticket are cleared.

so, now i have to find someone to pick me up and drive me to the police station so i can do steps one through six...and i realize, that also doesn't seem like a big deal; however, you're not taking into consideration the hours of operation...which, if you're wondering are monday through friday nine in the morning to three-thirty in the afternoon.

anyone with a job is pretty much occupied during those hours, and anyone in school is also pretty much occupied at that time. and anyone who is wondering, yes..i am proper fucked.

"but what about going to court and proving it wasn't you?" i hear you ask. ahh, my little butterflies...that isn't possible, for you see the way the system works is that if they send out letters and they are not returned, then they are assumed to have been received; therefore, i cannot use the argument that i never received anything documenting my receiving a ticket. moreover, i can't say that it wasn't me on account of the fact the cars don't match up...afterall, i could have been driving someone elses car, right? my only plausible course of action that won't require me relying solely on circumstantial, speculative, my-word-v.-the-record evidence and having to hire a lawyer is to plead no contest.

i'd like to say that our protagonist is going to live happily ever after, but we'll have to see what the antagonist is working with first.

the end
_______________________________________

anyway...

*

dear-in-headlights style gaze? check.
mug shot appeal? check.
what the fuck wrinkle exposed? check.
chewing on left cheek and
biting lefr portion of lip
all signs e is scared out of her mind? check.

book me bitches...i'm gonna be a star.

*never take extremely low resolution picture, you wind up looking a manequin.