Oh Punk

What are the odds?

The other day the following Facebook Status convo went down between my friend Liz and I:

Today, one day later, I get home from work. I pull into the underground. I use my remote to open the garage door. It violently ceases halfway up it's ascent. Frig! I get out. Push, push, push. No luck.

A few moments pass and a small group of business professionals gather infront of my condo's underground entrance. The garage door remains suspended a few feet above ground.

It will be at least an hour before we can get our cars into the underground. The ground is wet. It's cold. Three gents and I decide to be real men and wrestle with the behemoth door. Minutes later, it slowly recedes upward.


Actually no. During the process of this aggravating manual labour I manged to get salt, mud and winter sludge all over my hands, face, jeans and jacket (Ugh! My poor jacket! Thank God it wasn't one of the A-listers.)

"No big deal," I think to myself. "I'll shower and get the jacket to the dry cleaners in the AM."


I jump in the elevator. It skips the other parking deck, but stops randomly on the sixth. In walk FOUR gorgeous women.

*** Are you kidding me? ***

Normally I'm dressed fairly well. I can drop some witty comment, and charm my way into conversation -- but -- all I run into are couples, old men and attached women (Stop talking to me. I got enough friends... Yo, if you're a pretty girl and I see a ring on your finger and I don't know you, I ain't even holding the door for you so don't even look for help with heavy boxes)

Anyhow, how is that the one-day that I look like I'm a avian survivor from the Exxon Valdez, FOUR Victoria Secrets super models jump on board! WTH?

Damn you karma, what gives?


There are 2 comments:

At 9:58 PM, Anonymous Liz said...

Perfect!!! hhahahaaaa... Love it!

karma is a bitch!!

At 5:48 PM, Blogger Shaun said...

Damn it Liz! LOL


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