…because it’s been ONE OF THOSE DAYS OH MY EFFING HELL.
Here we have: party socks (complete with hole [KLASS]), gaucho pants from like five years ago (elastic waistband and not fashion is key here), and some hairy legs.
What you can’t see in this picture are the five or six blisters that I got this morning traipsing through downtown after an appointment that was meh.
I passed a bread line. I’m not even kidding. There were some broke people in line and they were getting bread from some volunteers. So that was distressing.
Almost as distressing was standing at the bus stop for an hour and some change and watching every 71 ever roll past me while I muttered, “Can I get a 61? Can I GET a 61? NO? NO? WHY CAN’T I GET A 61?”
I finally called the husband and PAT’s site was down, so I decided to try that “stand on the corner and scream obscenities” thing that’s all the rage with the crazies. It was cathartic, certainly, but it didn’t procure a 61.
The husband called me back with the awesome news that PAT had discontinued 61 service to my particular stop but had never noted that on the bus stop sign. NYYYAAARRRGGGHHH. The husband and I shouted at each other for a few minutes before he declared that he would just drive me to work since it was like 11:45 at that point. I continued to steam and decided to call PAT and let them know that, hi, I’m no doctor or anything, but indicating exactly which buses do or not stop at any given point is kind of important, especially when you’re eleventy billion hours late for work and wearing heels and your feet are leaking.
I called 411 and asked for the number for Port Authority Transit. They texted me the number for Sports Authority. Thanks.
But now there is Annie Hall and beer and talk of cupcakes.