Guest Cerulean Posted September 28, 2001 Report Posted September 28, 2001 Okay - my friend and I got conversing, through email, as to who was the unluckiest. I swore if it was possible to break it, rupture it, jab it in my eye, or trip over it, I would do. He tried to fob me off with the mere tale of being half drowned in a lake whilst clinging perilously to an inner tube. Nah - no dice I tell him - that's stupidity, not natural misfortune. So I offer a challenge to you all. Beat my tales of woe (or woeful inadequacy - as may be more accurate) and you shall receive the Cerulean attests that I am officially unlucky and incompetent award. It's unbreakable, unopenable, inoperable and has no pointy edges. It's also worthless, but hey - you're going to lose it anyway, aren't you? If I happen to gain no responses to the challenge, the award naturally passes to myself, since that is proof positive of my loseresque qualities. I thang yew for reading this far. Let the tragedy begin...
Guest Cerulean Posted September 28, 2001 Report Posted September 28, 2001 Are you practical? I'm not. I'm as practical as a slug in a salt factory. I had a burst pipe in my bathroom. I'm certain other people of either sex don't view such mishaps as crises. Not so me. I was listening to some music and heard what sounded like the roar of a very cross and fierce beast. (Yet a bit watery) I leapt up, which involved at least two cats arching and spitting in anticipation of activity - and stood in the hall wide-eyed. It didn't take a genius to spot the tidal wave like torrents flooding my bathroom. I waded in and had the bright idea of temporarily plugging the seal with my finger. Sadly my finger was a tad too little for the hole and what resulted was a fabulously high-pressured rosette of brackish water drenching my head. I wasn't laughing. I knew that somewhere in the room there was a device for cutting off the supply, and after thinking hard for about a minute I decided it was impossible to get any wetter so I let go my finger out of the hole and paddled towards it. Of course it was at the furthest point of the bathroom, really high up the wall, near the window, above the bath. If I were to design a bathroom, I should henceforth ensure that the cut off tap was right next to the weak-sealed pipe. But I have hindsight. In order to cut off the supply, I have to stand on the edge of the bath to reach the wheel. I do so. I'm soaking. I grab the wheel, and it resolutely refuses to turn. Hmmmm. The bathroom is now completely flooded and I thank my stars I'm a strong swimmer as I climb back off the bath and stagger towards the drain cover. Bright idea time. If I can prise off the drain cover, at least the water will seep away, rather than start to fill the villa. I take a deep breath. I grab the drain cover. There's too much water on top of it, it's sealing it tight. I feel ridiculously incompetent and wonder if I got a shoe and tried to empty some water from the floor into the bath, then that would decrease the pressure on the drain cover and so help me to release it. I consider what I have just considered. I slap myself hard with the shoe. I realise I watch way too many cartoons. I try again to pull off the drain cover. It's a circular plastic affair with dents for finger-holds. My hands are too wet. I'm slipping all over the place. I need something small and hard to wedge underneath it. A teaspoon. I fly into the kitchen. Rummage in the sack of misappropriated cutlery which Bob the Ninja has now kindly returned. I ferret out a spoon. I dash back into the bathroom, just in time to see water slip over the lip of the step and course down into the hall wherein lies my beautiful wonderful only-thing-I-own-that-I-really-love Persian rug. Hmmph. If I could have thrown myself in front of the rug and defended it -- I swear I would've. But by now I was at war with the enemy - and carpetual casualties were inevitable. I bared my teeth and wielded my spoon Amazonian-like in my fury. I strode bravely against the powerful current into the bathroom once more. I didn't see the step. I tripped. I half fell over and bashed my mouth on the basin. I am now wet, furious, and also wounded. I felt sure I was about to spit half a mouthful of teeth onto the floor, so stifling back a self-pitying sob, I looked in the mirror to see a totally unsatisfying tiny bump on my bottom lip, which had just about yielded one drop of blood. That is so unfair. I wanted at the very least an impressive scar, and something to feel heroic about. Back to the spoon. The spoon could disrupt the snug fitting cover, but only temporarily. I hadn't sufficient leverage from my standing position. Abandoning any hope of retaining even a smidgeon of dignity, I sat down, and tried again. YAY! It worked! I flipped off the cover with unbelievable ease, and the water turned around and started flowing down the drain. At this point I was a terrible girly and phoned my ex husband to come turn off the cut-off wheel, which he did left-handed without raising a sweat. Sometimes I hate men. To make matters worse, the cut on my lip has now scabbed over, and looks like a manky cold-sore. The rug dried shrivelled around the edges and stained the floor tiles in the hall. And my ex took a photograph of me scowling, soaking, and clutching a tea-spoon. And someone once said I had class?
Gyrfalcon Posted September 28, 2001 Report Posted September 28, 2001 Ouch! I'm sorry to hear how your day went... I'm probably lucky nothing as bad has happened to me... *Gyr hands Cerulean a towel, a pixy stik, and takes the camera away from her ex. =P* but you aren't incompetent, though I'll give you unlucky. =)
Guest Cerulean Posted September 28, 2001 Report Posted September 28, 2001 LOL! Mmmm - I hope you have a HUGE stash of sweeties. I have more stories yet! I shall win my own challenge. Thanks for cheering me up though Gyr, you're a Saint C.
Guest Cerulean Posted September 28, 2001 Report Posted September 28, 2001 Why is it so much of my misfortune revolves around water? Excess of, or lack of? Is it living in the desert? Or would Freud care to look deeeeper... Okay, tale number two, happened a while back: How hard can it be to get ready for work? I went to bed late after a party, and my brain - such as it is - says to my body: "Hang on, you had 8 hours sleep last night, you only should have had 4, so tonight you get 0." Thank you bloody law of averages! I exaggerate a little, but I'm shattered, I didn't get more than a couple of hours. I'm now regretting the 'one for the road', and the 'one for the friend's road', and the 'one for anybody who we could name by that stage of the evening's road'. I have a hangover that's emerging with the subtlety of a sledgehammer to a peach. I need to wake up. I need to drink lots of water. I need to get ready for work. I think I'll take an early shower since I'm definitely up now anyway. No water pressure in my bathroom, and I mean none, not even a dribble. Ok, use the guest bathroom. There's a roach in there. And it's a mean mother. So I scoop up my cats and shut them in there with it for a few minutes. I am convinced that they will at the very least frighten it - and at best disable it and dispose of the evidence. I open the door (hopefully) and two terrified, badly mauled felines fly out in a flurry of furry fear. Roachie takes a scuttle forward. I take a step (actually big stride! back) shut the door again. Think to myself, not a problem, I can take a shower outside. (There's an outdoor shower to deal with those hot gardening moments - no doubt! And it runs from a different water source) I go out into the garden to see that I've left the sprinklers on all night (oops) with the pump running (double oops). I switch off the sprinklers, remember I haven't got my shampoo and stuff, so turn around and head back inside. The lawn is beautifully watered, but so is all the patio area too, and I have bare feet. I get into the villa - tiled floors remember - and aquaplane about 10 feet on one heel, in the most ridiculous manner imaginable, before crashing to an ungainly halt with the help of a coffee table and a sturdy Poinsettia, which has resolutely refused to die since it was given to me at Xmas time, despite my neglect and refusal to water it after March. I am now the epitome of abject -everything-. I am leaving little wet sandy footprints all over the house. The cats have got out because I didn't close the door properly. I gather up my bottles and potions and trail back outside again. Contrary to expectations, the garden shower is lovely, the cats have a little play and then retreat in disgust once they get their paws wet on the grass. I open my hair-care thingy, for which I have just paid an obscene amount of money, to find that it's scented with coconut. Now fresh coconut is fine, but this fragrance is making me gag. I have to finish my shower holding my breath so I don't inhale any more of the stuff. I get back inside, I don't slip this time. My feet are sandy once again, so I add to the first set of prints, which has been added to by tiny cat paw prints also. I want a drink of water. Not coffee, not tea. Today I need water. Take a glass to the cooler to fill it. The water bottle's empty. Not knowing whether to scream or stamp, or laugh hysterically, I go to the garage where the full bottles are kept. It is about a trillion degrees in there. I have to squeeze past the jeep. (There is a 2mm gap. LOL!) Get to the bottles. Can't get the bottle out without moving the jeep first, unless I haul the bottle over the bonnet and off the other side. (I'm not that strong.) I can't find my keys. Where are the spare keys for this wonderful vehicle? I've no idea. They are probably in "a drawer" How many drawers do you have in your house? Exactly. Amazingly, after what seems like three and a half years, I find the keys. Stick on some shorts and a T. Shift the jeep out, and try to roll the bottle. It's heavy. It's early. My head is throbbing. Unlucky I may be dear readers, but resourcefulness I have aplenty. I formulate a plan: 1. Get wheeled computer chair 2. Push said chair to garage 3. Lever seat to lowest height 4. Haul bottle onto chair 5. Wheel chair back inside 6. Lever up seat to highest position 7. Dump water bottle atop machine Basic - yet utterly brilliant - and with the simplicity in execution that every outrageously hungover person craves. Unfortunately... I am so hot now, I need another shower. It was by then 7.40. I had had 2 successful showers, one failed shower, and one thwarted shower. There was a broken plant in the lounge, soil on the floor, a roach warrior on the loose, a skewed table, footprints everywhere, and my hair decided it did not wish to be sleek and chic that day (That's a laugh - like it is EVER - but I do try!) It wanted to dry by itself and be a tumble of curls and wisps. FINE! But I had my glass of water. Oh yes. I had it. I got to work at 8.25 my class was at 8.30. I needed to copy some sheets and flew to the copier, prayed for paper & toner to be all present and correct. On the third copy there was a paper jam. Some kind soul stuck a coffee in my hand, as I lunged at the machine in a frantic attempt to get the damn thing open. I yanked the concertinaed sheet out, slammed the compartment shut again, pressed 'Resume' and do you know what message I got from the copier? "The photocopier is recovering, please wait 2 minutes" Recovering? RECOVERING? It's a damn machine for crying out loud! I had to breeze into class and wing it! LOL! The first comment I received? "Your hairs are crazy, teacher." And at that stage of the morning, I quite agreed.
Peredhil Posted October 1, 2001 Report Posted October 1, 2001 Cerulean, whatever misfortunes you suffer, whatever pains you've endured, you're ability to wag them into whimsical tales of painful humor and tear-wrenching mirth are no less than marvelous. Thank you Desert Union Jill. Peredhil
Wyvern Posted October 1, 2001 Report Posted October 1, 2001 Hmph... Just when I thought I might be able to beat Cery's bad luck, she writes me saying the hard drive of her computer has crashed and she has to buy a new one. Blast! As Peredhil said, all hail Cerulean, the queen of misfortune. ------------------------------ Almost a Dragon... "My life is like one big crime: I try to scheme through it." -Common, "The 6th Sense" Owner of the Decanter of Endless Booze.
Guest Morganex Posted October 2, 2001 Report Posted October 2, 2001 oooooh u sure love water don't u . well here is mine once upon a time mommy dear was driven crazy by constantly dribbling water...plop plop plop it went day and night or PONK PLONK PLONK if there was something in the sink. Now mommy dear is a do it yourself kinda person (I never touch repair things I'm not mad) so one fine sunday she decided to change the washer...... She knew enough to turn off the main water supply. She screwed off whatever it is called u are supposed to screw off to chnge the water and this is the point where I enter the fun. Little Kathi ambles up the stairs to the appartment and opens the door to be hit by STEAM. Hot water in the hall OOPS. My mum in the bathroom screaches hysterically "hold the pot". The pot was placed on the pipe which spewed water at 60°Celsius at high speed and even higher pressure. So there I stand and hold the pot my mum takes off and there I stand...my feet are getting hot (did i mention it was winter) my nice warm boots getting soaked and soakeder, from somewhere int he appartment i can hear the cats howl. After a while my mum returned with the handyman in tow...he turned the house hot water supply off.....now we are in the ground floor so we only had to wait till the pipes emptied themselves....the house has 10 floors. by then I was freet from the pot and had splashed through the appartment, shored off the living room with ALL our clean bed linnen, rescued the cats (they sat on my desk in the flooded room screaming) and banged my shin on a chair. Finally the rescue squad of the firefighters came and hovered up the water. Mum and i sat in an extremely moist appartment watching the wooden floor curl up nicely, the carpets weighed tons and left nice smears of colour when we dragged them to the bathtub to drain....all windows were open the heaters ran full blast and I spent the evening drying my bed with a hair-dryer of all things . I made mum promise NEVER ever to try and repair our water supply (though in her defence how was she supposed to know that the washer of the main water turn off thingy was also a goner). So my dear U are not the only one with domestic crisis...though they happen to us but rarely THANK GOD!
Falcon2001 Posted October 3, 2001 Report Posted October 3, 2001 Wow, Cerulean's a teacher? I never knew...hmmm...love the stories though... YES I have finally decided to turn in my resume to the recruitment board...shouldn't be much of a problem as I wrote a ballad that I consider my best work as my entry test, so I'd say I'm in. Those who know me(the few, the insane, the trying-to-forget-my-name-through-drink) know I should have tried long ago, but I never got around to it. ANYWAY, here's Will's story. It was winter. To quote: 'Tis Nary a night, for MAAAAAN or beast'(here a blast of snow hits falcon, causing him to look around)...anyway, it was a bitterly cold winter, and I was still a young and naive 13, so I decided to go down to the lake near my house. Now, this isn't as much a lake as a huge puddle, but it was still big enough to afford property on it's shores...which were what, a couple hundred feet apart? Anyway, I decided to crack some of the foot-thick ice, so me and my brother got a stump and threw it out onto the lake. When the stump didn't break it, we decided that we were safe. My neighbor has an interesting little theory about children and stupidity. One kid, by himself, can only be so stupid. But when they get together, they idiocy multiplies. This proved true when me and my brother thought that if a lake could support a thirty-pound stump, it could also support a 135 pound kid. Anyway, I decided to...wait for it...JUMP ON THE ICE! As anyone can tell, I fell through, and was immediately greeting by thirty feet of sub-freezing water. When I kicked to the surface, I was able to pull myself up and walk the mile and a half home. Dripping wet and cold.
Guest Cerulean Posted October 4, 2001 Report Posted October 4, 2001 Thanks for your add-ons folks I'm now kitted out with a brand spanking new PC -- so normal service will resume shortly... PoQ - You're a star, thanks. Wyvie - If I'm the Queen, then the loopy lizard has to be the King! Cery
Guest Portable Machiavelli Posted October 5, 2001 Report Posted October 5, 2001 All hail King Wyvern and his Queen Cerulean! May their reign together be a happy one. And if you two ever find there are any young Princes that need teaching.... you know who to come to . Machiavelli says: "It is customary for such as seek a Prince’s favour, to present themselves before him with those things of theirs which they themselves most value, or in which they perceive him chiefly to delight. Accordingly, we often see horses, armour, cloth of gold, precious stones, and the like costly gifts, offered to Princes as worthy of their greatness.... ....I have found among my possessions none that I so much prize and esteem as a knowledge of the actions of great men, acquired in the course of a long experience of modern affairs and a continual study of antiquity" And with that, the Portable Machiavelli falls back into itself, retreating back into Wyvern's pouch whence it came. Portable Machiavelli Melts in your pocket, not in your Kingdom
Guest Cerulean Posted October 6, 2001 Report Posted October 6, 2001 Cerulean pauses to observe the stranger visiting the Caberet Room. She heeds his speech closely, and watches thoughtfully, carefully, head cocked to one side in silence as the PM moves to reclaim his position in Wyvern's pouch. She considers his closing words about laying down gifts for Princes - and wonders what she could offer by way of a worthy contribution. His speech patterns resonate around her head, as she unconsciously draws something from the depths of her self. The woman extends one hand dreamily towards the visitor, and bestows upon him a small thing. It fractures the light, shimmers softly like a bubble and then dissipates within him. "Though it is not my place to say it - welcome stranger", she whispers...
Falcon2001 Posted October 12, 2001 Report Posted October 12, 2001 Thank you, thank you! *Gets up on a dangerously unsteady podium and clears his throat* As you all know, Cerulean has graciously awarded me...wha?! *Suddenly a thrown apple misses him, hits the podium, causing it to topple into the microphone and then off the stage, rendering Cioden unconcious. CiodenDarkeye Initiate of The Pen Hopeful Patron Saint of Impatience
Guest Cerulean Posted October 12, 2001 Report Posted October 12, 2001 Since I'm in a puzzlingly generous mood this morning, I've decided that the trio of tradegic tales of misfortune posted here, each merits an award. Ouija - You will receive first prize simply because fire is, as a familiar in my life, and so is getting drenched with beer. Thus the sympatico of nepotism prevails. Morgane and Falcon - excellent tales too, nothing to choose between you. Accordingly, I have at almost no expense, had crafted three pin-on buttons, bearing as promised, the legend: Cerulean attests that I am officially unlucky and incompetent I wear my own with utter embarrassment, yet good humour, I hope you guys will too! Thanks again for the smiles you provided, a much needed commodity. Cerulean, Queen of Misfortune.
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