The Ultimate FML

I haven't posted much over the past few days, primarily due to the fact that I've had nothing but FML moments; one on top of another.

I'll backdate to Sunday night. I'm getting a cold. Or I have a cold. I'm not really quite sure what stage it's in right now, other than miserable sneezing and a nose that runneth over. Jane's got a little bit of the same thing. I'm always, always that one who gets that last cold right at the ass-end of cold-season. Right when the weather's breaking and the sun is shining. I can never fully enjoy the first few weeks of the Vernal Equinox because I'm usually laid out on the sofa for it.

Sunday night approaches and I'm stoked about getting to bed early. The husband's working a long weekend, Jane's relatively calm (for a seventeen month-old) and I can just tell she's going to go out like a light. I'm sipping a steaming cup of tea, awaiting bedtime. For the both of us.

Eight-thirty rolls around and she's half-asleep. I am, too, for that matter. I, happily, place her in her crib, cover her curled-up little body with her afghan and tiptoe off to my awaiting bed. Smiling, I crawl in, so content, despite the fact that I'm not feeling well and I doze off probably within minutes.

It's amazing that people talk about the "calm before the storm". Things had been going so unnaturally right for weeks and months up until this point that I was almost beginning to question where the fuck up was going to occur. Things had been so pleasantly placid, just swimming right along with all of our moving plans and the massive pay-off of some bills; I couldn't have asked for a better start.

I wake up, around 1:30 AM and practically fall out of my bed, I'm so startled.

There's music absolutely blaring - to the point that it's literally rattling the windows half out of their wooden frames.

I live in a relatively quiet, secluded neighborhood, but alas, as all good things must come to an end, we've most recently had some "questionable folk" move in next door. Need I say that this is even more of an incentive to be moving away, as if being one-half mile to the beach isn't incentive enough. It's been nothing but moderate chaos for the past few weeks, since these people moved in.

I've seen these people (with children, mind you) on their back and front porches all hours of the night and day, barbecuing, drinking, smoking; generally being irresponsible and disruptive. Not to mention, poor examples for their young children. People come and go all hours of the night, in and out of the home at fifteen minute increments. The imagination doesn't need to stretch too far to imagine what's going on in that hellhole.

I digress, as I always do.

This night, in particular, was really horrible. I made several attempts to get back to sleep, but it seemed that each time my eyes began to close and I began to drift off, the music would thud back on in the house next door, and I'd be startled awake, once again. This went on for about another hour and I decided to just get up out of bed, sneak outside and have a cigarette. I was awake, anyway. Why the hell not.

The moment I set foot on my back porch (which is relatively shielded from the neighbor's view), all I could smell was pot smoke. Like, really. With kids in the house. A gigantic drinking, binging, smoking party with children in the house. I've seen these kids; they probably range from eight months to about three years old. There are four of them. I saw them earlier that night, at the house, playing in the dirt. I was enraged. Disgusted. Appalled that these people not only had the cojones to disrupt the peace of the neighborhood at 3 AM, but to do it in front of children. There's all sorts of fighting, screaming going on; hooting, hollering and laughing.

I did what any annoying citizen would do.

I phoned in a complaint to the local police department. FML. The conclusion to this particular matter will follow.

Monday, I make the attempt to set up my utilities at my new house and find out that there are massive problems with procuring the utilities, to the error of the current owner. I try to make contact with the woman, and she's on a business trip for the next two weeks, unreachable. I'm moving in three weeks. FML. I still can't get ahold of the woman.

Tuesday rolls around. My husband and I awaken, only to find that his ridiculously over-priced windshield (for an SUV) has been busted. In our own driveway. Refer to the first occurring incident. Gee, wonder who did that. FML.

Tuesday, revisited: My paycheck, in an error by my workplace, isn't direct deposited on the day it should have been, and due to auto-drafts on my checking account, I am overdrawn by $210 dollars. FML. FML. FML.

Today. Oh, for the love of God, today. After dealing with my insurance company on the phone all morning to file a claim and set up service to have the windshield replaced (not repaired, replaced), I get a call from my husband, who tells me to get back on the phone with the insurance company.

He was rear-ended in the parking lot at school.

F my Effing L.