Monday, March 7, 2011
Nothing helpful with the horse has been accomplished. Nothing.
This weekend was going to be a doozey regardless given the INSANE to-do list I had procrastinated myself into in order to have the loft all ready for its closeup this week so we can take some pics and get the damn thing on the market.
However, while on our way home Friday, the Boy and I were discussing whether or not he was going to convince me to walk (in the rain) to our favorite watering hole, or if I was going to convince him to drive me the few blocks and save my (obviously) adorable shoes from the puddles.
Right about the time I was making a critical point about a block from home, WHAM
When I looked up again, we had spun 540 degrees and were now facing the wrong way staring down oncoming traffic.
Hmm. ( I thought). This isn't ideal.
Turns out some asshat who decided that cutting through a church parking lot was faster than going around the block, t-boned us going about 40 mph as he entered the roadway.
Thankfully no one (including the very cranky french bulldog in the back) was injured and we quickly got to sorting out the particulars. Unfortunately, I was delayed by the fact that my door no longer opened on its own and The Boy was so concerned about my well being that we were unable to get a licence plate off the offending car before he RAN AWAY.
For a moment, I actually thought he would be coming back. But that shows my naivete in these situations (why would you leave!?)
At that point I decided that calling the cops was prudent, so I spent the next 10 minutes assuring the dispatcher that I would not being hanging up (mam, no. I'm still here mam. Yes, I'm here. No mam I'm not hanging up..). And trying to convince the only witness to help me out however I could (car make/model?). He was obliging, but very upfront about the fact that he could not be there when cops arrived. Which led to a fairly entertaining juggle of trying to keep the dispatcher happy and still cajole as much info out of the witness before he scampered off into the night.
One helpful bit of info? Apparently the asshat who hit us, ran across the street. And not only that, he ran into a secure parking garage WITH his (presumably now) effed up late 90's white honda civic.
Didn't strike me as the best possible hiding spot, but what do I know about hiding from the cops...
Anyway, long story short, Seattle PD finally showed up (not that impressed by the response time) took down all the info that I had already given over the phone then sent us home while they attempted to track down the perp. (Uhhh, he's in that garage, right there. I suggest looking there first?)
Anyway, we limped home for the last block. I held all the airbags up out of the way and The Boy drove at a speedy 2 mph, which was all the screwed up rear axle would allow us.
Long story short, the time spend with SPD and towing the car someplace it can get fixed absolutely KILLED my weekend and left me wheel-less which in turn left the mare motherless.
Just when I thought I was getting back on track with the cute beast. Turns out I'm screwed again for the week. I've got two days on the books for possible rides between now and the weekend, but that's it.
I'm cranky. I want to ride, I want to smell my pony and I want to go breathe in the sweet hay smell and relax for a few hours safely away from work and my (now impeccably clean and tidy) home.
The shining star of the weekend? A late night hot dog that was topped with (get this) MACARONI AND CHEESE. It nearly made everything else a-ok.