Operation Repo

In case you haven't noticed by now, the most unfortunate things happen to me. I swear, you can't make this stuff up. In fact, I wish some of the things I blog about were made up! On to my next unfortunate story.

After working one day, I believe it was on a Sunday, I discovered that I couldn't start my car. For some reason, the steering wheel was locked, the key wouldn't turn and I couldn't get it out of park. After struggling for what seemed like eternity, youtubing, googling and eventually calling for help (which ended up being no help other than a ride home), I left my car stranded at my office in Sandy Springs in hopes to have a plan by morning.

After doing some research, I discovered that my particular car has a security feature that when it thinks it's being broken into, it shuts down and you have to use your secondary key since the owner of the vehicle should have two keys. Of course, most owners would have 2 car keys. I don't. Which meant I needed to purchase a new one. Of course, I didn't know that a new key was the solution until I had arranged for a tow truck to come and take my car to the closest mechanic, which was none other than Sandy Springs RBM aka rip off city (who charged me somewhere around $375 for a key. Plus the $80 it costs just to walk in the door -that's neither here nor there).

The tow truck shows up, and the driver explains to me that he doesn't have the "right" truck because my car can't be put into neutral because it's locked and explains that he would be forced to drag my car to RBM. Well, that clearly was not going to work for me so I opted to wait for the appropriate truck. He leaves and I wait hours for the next driver to show up. The next tow truck finally shows up and it's this huge flat bed. As the driver sets up to rescue my car, he blocks the flow of traffic since I am parked right in front of the office. A line of cars is starting to back up as everyone starts looking confused/concerned as to what is going on. Some are even rolling down their windows asking if I'm OK. I am standing to the side, a nervous wreck that my car is going to get damaged somehow as my co-worker is standing next to me, patting my back to comfort me and prevent any potential anxiety attacks.

My car finally gets hooked up and I'm forced to climb into this monster of a truck to commute to the mechanic. As I'm taking in everything that is happening, I see one of my residents running along side the parking lot attempting to flag us down. We stop, I roll down the window, and he says to me, "Ya'll doin a repo??" I gasp in shock because I couldn't believe someone would assume that (not to metioned I am offended) and say, "well, NO.. this is my car and it just won't start!" to which he responds with, "Oh ok, I was about to say, lemme go hide my car then!"

I'm pretty sure I just had a blank stare on my face while thinking, where do I work?? Although working in property management, I can't tell you how many residents over the years have come into my office irate that their car has been stolen, when it actually was repossessed. Talk about embarrassing (for them). So I take a step back and think about the events that just occured and it dawns on me that now all of my residents, current and potential, totally think my car was just repossed at my workplace. That's pretty humilating. To make matters worse, the loaner car RBM gave me was a some kind of Huyandai, which totally did not help it seem like I lost my car due to financial stuggles.

Luckily, my car was returned to me the next day so if my residents/co-workers think I was going through a financial hardship, hopefully it seemed like I got it resolved right away.

Word to the wise, own two sets of car keys!

Adult Supervision Required

Kids don't love me. I'm not really sure why. I know I have little patience and I will argue with just about anything, but before a kid even knows that about me they have already predetermined they don't like me. I have had a few kids take to me, but the majority are just real terrors.

What concerns me is that I have gotten into several verbal altercations with children. Some of which even turned physical. Don't judge me, this little brat ran up and kicked me in the shin, you would have pushed him down, too. Anyway, I think the problem is that I try to reason with children. Much like trying to reason with a drunk person, you don't get very far because they don't understand nor do they want to.

I used to get into physical fights with my best friend's little sister (who is 7 years younger than us) and then lie and tell her mom we were having a dance battle which was causing all the thumping. Blood was definitely drawn more than once. In my defense, she used to be a real asshole. She was the little kid that said whatever she wanted with no filter (like most kids), to the point I was hesitant to go over there to play in fear of being humiliated. Probably why I tricked her into chugging hot sauce when she was around 8. I also tried to teach the neighborhood kids how to correctly play soccer, then they all ganged up on me by mocking how I did throw-ins. I ended up kicking their soccer ball into the woods and then storming home.

OK, the shin thing. I was showing an apartment to a family of what seemed like 28, one of the members being around 3 years old. He definitely had ADHD. He was running around like a crazy person, being completely ignored by his parents, and at first I thought he was cute. I smiled, even pretended to chase him a little bit. Then he went full on beast mode, and started running circles around me and then would push me and run away. The next time he did it, I bucked at him when his parents weren't looking because I was getting angry. I guess he figured I really tested him with that so he sprinted up to me and kicked me as hard as he could in the shin. So I pushed the crap out of him. He fell down, and then gave me this look of terror with eyes that said "why would you do that to me? I'm just a little boy" and then his eyes welled up with tears. I knew what was coming, so I glared at him and told him he better not. Too late. He burst into tears and hysterically ran to find his mom in one of the bedrooms. I was able to beat him to her and conclude the tour- shifting the focus. That kid never came near me again.

One time my 3 year old niece said she didn't want to play with me, to the extent she put herself in time-out so she didn't have to! When she finally came around, she was playing some game alone, flailing around when her shirt-sleeve somehow got pushed up. She spun around so fast and said to me, "Don't push my sleeve up like that!" Well, I was shocked, for one. I didn't touch her sleeve! So I told her, "um, I didn't push your sleeve up... but I could have if I wanted to." Then she went and told my sister on me. Who does that?

I was playing with my friend's son several years ago. We were actually getting along, I think we were play wrestling (looking back now I see maybe that wasn't the best idea). Anyway, I ended up dislocating something in his arm or shoulder and I think they had to seek medical attention.... He's fine now.

Kids are always telling me not to do something. I don't take well to that. Don't tell me what to do, little kid! This is usually what prompts an argument. Kids don't understand I can do what I want. Including telling them what to do. I'm also way too competitive with children but if you've read my blog post, "Winning" then you get it.

So, who needs a babysitter?

It's All Fun & Games Until Someone Loses a Leg

I like fashion. I like dressing up. I seem to annoy people with my wardrobe choices, at times. Let me explain, I don't ever wear sneakers. Unless I'm going to the gym. I don't have anything against sneakers, and I think it's great when a girl can rock them. I'm not one of those girls. For one, being only 5'3'', I need the height. Secondly, I only own skinny jeans. They're my favorite and the most comfortable (to me) but sneakers and skinny jeans? Negative.


So basically, I wear heels everywhere. Even the grocery store. Usually accompanied by skinny jeans. This past weekend was no different as I decided to get a pedicure while waiting on the boyfriend to finish training. I accompanied one of the other fighter's wife to a nail salon near by. The thought crossed my mind about being able to raise up my jeans, but I had done it before and didn't see the need to worry. Forgetting that it was the first time I had worn these particular jeans to get a pedicure.


Once my jeans got halfway up my calf, I felt some pressure, but it was too late. I was already here, OPI color in hand, massage chair kneading, I had to push through and get my jeans up. I was able to pull them to my knees, making a joke that I thought my circulation was being cut off. Toward the end of the pedicure, I did experience some discomfort and tried to adjust accordingly. That was the point that I realized there would be no adjusting at all, my jeans were so tight. I figured I would just have to wait until the nail technician finished so that I could utilize both hands, and not risk messing up her work by making any sudden movements.


I noticed that my leg was starting to turn slightly purple, so I began trying to work it however I could to loosen the death grip my jeans had on me. They weren't budging. I was laughing about it, to disguise my panic, then the nail tech jumped in to helped and she laughed with me, too. Then she gave up. Then I really started to panic. I could feel my face flush and the temperature start to rise. What was I going to do? Cut myself out of my jeans??


My new friend suggested I stand up and try to pull my jeans down. That failed. Then she said, "I'm sure the guys have some scissors at the gym we can use!" to which I responded, "I can't go back to the gym like this!" Could you imagine? I would have died if I had to walk back into the gym with these new death-capris and ask my boyfriend to CUT them off of me. I knew what had to be done. I needed to go into the bathroom and reenact the Friends episode where Ross can't get his leather pants back on and has to use any substance surrounding him. As I was looking around the bathroom for baby powder, lotion, oils, I was shocked to find myself in a salon bathroom with none of the mentioned items! In fact, it looked like a supply room for a pool, but that's neither here nor there.


I knew it was do or die time. I had to manage to pull these suckers down, or risk public humiliation and sacrifice my favorite jeans. I took a deep breath, and prepared for battle. I actually had to take my jeans off, and attempt to use the legs to be able to get them un-stuck. A few minutes, and several expletives later, I got them down to my ankles. I ignored the pain and walked out as if if was never a big deal to begin with (when in reality, I had been having a full-blown meltdown internally). My pedicure was a success, my jeans are still in tact, and I have some of my dignity left.



I wouldn't quite say the pain was worth it. I should've opted for sneakers and sweats that day. Don't worry, the bruising is much better now and the red/purple rings faded after about 12 hours.