If it's gonna take my leg, the bitch better take all of me.

I must have angered the gods today. Maybe god is a really a dog.

After the Paper Cut of Death incident this morning, I nearly got my leg torn off by the god damn metro turnstile. I was rushing through, swiped my SmarTrip card like a good DC citizen, and kept on walking without nary a pause. Except. Except! One of the nasty yellow jaws refused to open, so my thigh smashed right into it, as the rest of my body kept going forward. Fuck. I hit the thing so hard I actually made a noise, and a very large man approaching to exit the turnstiles, shocked by the entire exchange, yelled, "Whoa!" to his traveling partners. I fully expected to turn around and see my leg lying there on the platform tiles, getting stomped on by commuters who could care less if you're dying because they need to sprint to catch the train that will be followed by another in two minutes.

I know quite a few of my readers are not in DC and maybe don't know what our metro entrances look like. So I thought I'd bust out my mad art skillz for you. I know these babies aren't Palm Springs quality, back in my hey-day of MS Paint (holla!), but these were done on Adobe Illustrator, which kicks some serious ass if you can use it, but look who we're talking about here. I couldn't even figure out how to use the color. I decided on classic black and white for you. Each drawing will be auctioned off on Friday, proceeds will pay off my legal education. Which is worth exactly the same as my drawings, funnily enough, though my lenders keep asking me for way more than its street value. Weird.

Here we go - you swipe your metro card on the top there, while the two yellow triangle things regress into the sides to allow you passage.

Evil Metro Jaws of Hell Before: (click to enlarge)


But! This is what happens when one of the jaws malfunctions.

Post-Ripping of Leg by Evil Metro Jaws of Hell:

Look! Someone even stole my bags in the second one. Not cool, people.

Remember me the next time you choose to ride Metro. Metro may open doors, but you can't enter them without losing a limb.

Lord, save me now...

I just got a paper-cut so bad it necessitated the use of a first aid kit. I nearly bled out on the way to get it. I may have hit a vital artery. As opposed to all those un-vital ones.

Somehow, I knew it would all end like this.

A Request:

Do any of you out there on the internets know of a reputable general (or cement/exterior) contractor in the DC area?

If so, I'd love it if you could pass on a number. I don't care if they're a little expensive, since I'm not the one who's paying for it. My roommate and I are still embroiled in the battle to the death with Starving Students and - despite the fact they took nearly five months to even recognize we submitted a claim - now want us to give them an estimate for the damage the movers did to our front step in less than a week. Of course, it's been two (whole!) weeks, so they've already sent me a "if you don't get back to us, we're forwarding your bill to the creditors" letter. If these fuckers ruin my credit, I will - much like our rabid house dog - sink my teeth in and not let go. Then I'll haul their asses into small claims court. It wouldn't be the first time.

I am losing patience with the devil dog.

I'm not having the greatest day to begin with - I just took one of my best pair of pants out of the washer to find them covered in brown spots. Do you know how hard it is for me to find a great pair of pants? Do you? The fashion industry does not take kindly to women who actually look like real live women. I'm just saying. I have hips, people.

This followed the breaking of the one hairbrush that can straighten this crazy hair of mine. How did I break it, you ask? The devil dog. No, I didn't beat him with it, but man, was that tempting at the time.* The poor thing (my hairbrush, not the dog) ended its long life by smashing into the bathroom tile, as I swung down my arm rapidly to point at the floor and screamed "CHASE, GET BACK HERE!" God, my blood pressure is rising just thinking about it. See, after a full day of viciously eating the faces of my friends and any deliverypersons who dare visit, Chase likes to wind down by viciously attacking the washing machine as it changes cycles every three minutes. Every. Single. Time. We. Do. Laundry.

Chase, for some reason, often likes to sit with me in the bathroom as I'm getting ready in the morning, so I had managed to cajole him in there with me while I was blow drying my hair, and after saying, speaking sternly, and finally bellowing and pushing his back-side, managed to get him to sit down. A few times - though he motioned as if he was about to spring into attack-mode - he actually stayed in the bathroom as the washer changed rhythms. I should have just closed the door, but it's a very small space so I felt bad trapping him. Then suddenly he burst into action, running full tilt at the innocent machinery that was blindly going about its business, and slammed into it, growling and barking like a rabid rottweiler. This is where I lost it - both my mind, and the brush as it slipped through my fingers. And, by the way, I was only straigtening my hair because I have to get up really early tomorrow and wanted to save myself some time, but instead I just wasted half an hour, with half my hair nice and shiny and the other half frizzy and sticking out in all directions. I know you care.

To round out the evening, Chase promptly went upstairs and tore up half the trash in my bedroom. So it's come to this: I'm just going to have to put him down tomorrow. Sorry, buddy, but the devil's been asking about you anyway.

*Two-Timing the Cosmos does not endorse the beating of dogs with hairbrushes, or with anything else for that matter. Unless he actually turns out the be the devil; then I suppose you gotta do what you gotta do.

Moving on up. Sort of.

Good news! I received both my certificate of good standing from the Cal Supreme Court and my letter of "no she never cheated" from my law school this week. Who knew these people would be so on the ball? Now I've just got to get my certified checks ready and find a notary. Maybe now I can find one of those temp jobs that consider "DC pending" to be enough to make the big bucks, while I continue to toil around looking for a real job. I'll almost feel bad leaving my current job though, I know now how rare it is to get one of these gigs where your boss is actually a cool guy who looks out for your interests, but, that's life.

Happy Superbowl watching, if you're into that sort of thing.