Thursday, May 6, 2010

Snobs Can Be Ghetto Too

It’s hard to pass judgment on other folks when one’s own life is in a shamble-ish state itself, similar to the statement that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones- people whose lives are crumbling around them should certainly refrain from casting judgment anywhere besides upon themselves. Thus, the second installment of a series that examines the downward spiral of my life.

In today’s edition we’ll examine how now only am I stuck in a rut, but other elements of my life are in such a state that the word ‘ghetto’ is the only adjective that can adequately describe them.

Let’s start with my car- a perfectly good little, red Corolla. In years past she’s served me just fine, with little maintenance required save your routine oil change. However, of late, it seems every time I turn the key something new is wrong. I am 97% sure this is payback from the fact that the front headlight burnt out in December and it took me till April to replace it, but that’s beside the point. After fixing the previously referenced headlight and springing for an oil change, I followed up with a trip to the service station for the emissions and state inspections. Low and behold, my car failed…a fact that I took seriously enough to shed tears in front of the mechanic who delivered the news. Adding insult to injury, the cost to repair the problem preventing passage (alliteration!) was $400. This is not a sum of money that I have hanging around, and if I did I surely would have found something more fun to spend it on than brake pads. Anyways, with a little help I finagle a deal and replace the offending pads, allowing my car to pass inspection and clear the way for it to become a registered vehicle in the Commonwealth of Virginia.

I thought this would be the end of my car related expenses and efforts for at least a week, however I was incorrect. A few days later, upon starting up my car, the check engine light lit up. This did not please me. Not only did I lack the patience for this nonsense, I certainly did not have any money to remedy the situation. Thus I continued to drive it at my leisure, ignoring the angry orange engine shaped light glowing on the dash. Now this may not be the smartest thing I’ve done, as experts (to include my roommates, my brother, my parents, and coworkers) all warned against doing just that, however I bravely took my chances and am sure glad I did as last night when I got into my car after a brief excursion to JoAnn Fabrics (I live dangerously.), the light had turned off. I take this to mean my car has fixed the problem itself, and while others have warned that this is not in fact the case, I stand by my assumption.

Next on the list is my Blackberry. Earlier this week when I was making good on my regular gym session promise, my roommate noticed that the track ball had popped out of its tiny compartment. I was unaware of just how this happened but did my best to pop it back into place and continue on my merry way. Fast forward to the same time the next day- the little round circle that holds the ball securely in place has permanently detached itself from my phone and is no where to be found. I am left, instead, with just the trackball and the little cradle it’s attached to to hold it loosely in place. And by loosely in place I mean not hold it in place at all. Thus my phone currently sits in a Ziploc bag, ensuring that should the ball dislodge itself (it will), it cannot venture further than the confines of the plastic bag. All day I have been conducting furious BBM conversations and Facebook stalking through the protective covering of the plastic.

Genius? Debatable. Ghetto? Definitely.


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