The Monday to end all Mondays

But first, I must give you a brief rundown on some of the weekend's happenings:

On Friday night, my clutch started slipping.
Saturday morning, I call the Mini dealer and they tell me to bring it in on Monday at 1:30.
Sunday night, I realize that I must have a valid driver's license to get a loaner (mine was expired, had the wrong address, and not my married name).

Let's move on....

Part One

Monday morning, I get up, get the girls dressed/fed/brushed/muzzled, and off to their places of destiny--Jenna, bus; Clairey, babysitter's. And then, thinking I am oh-so-starting off my week responsibly, I head on out to the DMV to renew my license. I'm driving, driving, driving, and realize that the DMV is not where I left it last. I KNOW I'm on the right street, but it wasn't this far down last time. I'm pissed. My car is running like crap, and I need a license. I'm screaming out expletives because the fucking DMV has relocated. My phone informs me what street it's on, and I KNOW i'm already ON that street. I look around. Shit. I'm actually NOT on that street. Sonofabitch. I find the right street and still can't find the DMV. I turn around, go back, and there it is. I passed it. Find a parking spot, walk to the front and realize that I forgot to pull out cash. &*$#%$**!! I think, "Oh, maybe they've come into the 21st century and accept debit cards now." I walk in. "NO CREDIT CARDS ACCEPTED. ONLY PERSONAL CHECKS AND MONEY ORDERS." I don't have any checks, and it's not like I carry around money orders. I go home--fighting the urge to cry.

Part Deux

I go home, answer some emails, and get the courage to go back out. I go to the bank and get a money order. Of course, it takes 30 minutes because I am coerced into opening a new savings account and accosted about how I should own one of their credit cards. No thanks. I get my money order and head back to the DMV--taking the correct street, mind you. I park, get out of my car, and go to the doors. There's a large sign posted to the door that says, "COMPUTERS DOWN." WTF? I open the door, and the 90-year old DMV worker says, "We can't do ANYTHING. All computers are down." I go back out to my car, lock the door, and curse the gods. The closet DMV is frickin FOREVER away, down a major freeway, and in a car with the clutch slipping...UGH.

Part Three

Fighting back tears, I start the trek to the other DMV. My car goes from 0-10 in 2 minutes. Sucks for the people behind me. I FINALLY get to the other DMV, and can't find a parking spot. I find one, but there's a sign by it that says, "Parking only for [blah, blah, blah]." Whatever, I park there. I go in, wait for 35 minutes, and get a number: A15. I look up at the counter: 36. Hooray. It's got to go all the way to 99, then count up to 15 before it's my turn. Geez almighty. Two-and a half hours later, I'm on my way home. Whoops, no i'm not. It's 12:30 and I have to be at the Mini dealership at 1:30. I'm on my way to the Mini dealership.

Part Four

I'm going 65mph down the freeway. My clutch blows. Totally. I pull over and am stranded on the side of a busy interstate. Do I cry? NO. But I want to kill people now. I call the Mini dealership. They tell me to call Mini assistance or some crap like that. I call them. They send a tow-truck. 35 minutes later, the tow-truck is there. He loads up my car--while he's doing so, I get into the truck and do a quick inspection for any type of deadly-looking instrument--there's a UT shirt and a pair of boots. I think I'm safe. The driver gets in, and takes me to the dealership.

Part Five

I find out that if it IS my clutch, it's going to cost me $1800 to fix. Oh yes, and it's NOT covered by my warranty. They give me a loaner and I drive home. I'm STILL not crying, but am oh-so-close. I spend the drive home thinking of which corner would be best to sell my body to earn the $1800.

Part Six

Mini-lady calls--I'm giving the girls a bath so I don't hear it ring. It IS my clutch and it's going to cost $1825 and change. I go into the bathroom to either puke or pee. I decide to pee. My phone rings.

Part Seven

I get the message. It's my boss. Yelling at me. The client is EXTREMELY pissed at me for something. I consider drowning myself. I sit on the floor and instead of crying, I eat a popsicle. It didn't work. I still feel like crying.  I wake up on the couch. I go upstairs and go to bed.

Exuent Monday

P.S. It's Tuesday. I just found out that my boss was laid-off and that my company has lost our account and all our work is being outsourced to India. We have a big meeting at 430. I hope I still have a job.