The past 18 hours have been less than stellar.
To start the strange cluster of events, I found a handwritten note on my driver's side door as I walked to my car to leave work. The author very rudely noted that he/she "saw" me back into his/her car. Apparently, he/she knows my name, too. It is Asshole.
Grrr. Not only have I never in my life backed into a parked or moving car, I never moved my car once I arrived at work yesterday. There was no name or phone number left on the note, just an ominous warning that I'd be hearing from them.
So, I called the campus police in an effort to file a non-complaint or something. Dark, dark memories of fighting for years with insurance companies (EVIL BASTARDS) when I got run over by a drunk driver who plead guilty washed over me and I was not about to let someone's insurance company get any ideas. Goddamn it. Over-reactionary? Sure. Do I care? No. I just wanted to be on record as not being an this so called asshole, damn it.
The officer looked at my car and noted in my case file (no, really) that indeed, the copious amounts of dust on my car had not been disturbed in any way and therefore it is extraordinarily unlikely that I would have backed up into someone's car. Cheers for a filthy car!
Later in the evening A. and I went to the Cowgirls basketball game where they just never came out of the shoot, you know? The fought like hell in the second half, but lost to a lucky three-point shot by Utah in the last five seconds of the game. My heart was broken. BROKEN.
Returning home, Buster and Belle greeted us at the front door. They were supposed to be in the back room, secure and warm and inside because it was too cold to leave them outside. Hmm? How had they gotten out? By chewing and scratching and generally ruining things.
Where were the four dozen chocolate chip cookies I'd baked the night before?
In the content bellies of Buster and Belle. Chocolate. Dogs. JESUS. I made a frantic call to the vet's emergency line and kept an eagle eye on the two little shits to see if they were acting funny. The vet called back and said because it was milk chocolate they were fine, it wasn't enough to hurt them. She said I might have a night of cleaning up diarrhea and barfing ahead of me, though.
Thankfully there were no messes to clean up, but Buster did keep me up all night whining with a belly ache.
I am whipped.