(And also, I might start blogging entirely in lists.)

Seeing John Hodgman and Johnathan Coulton at Union Hall. (Tickets are a mere $10. Rob and I needed something cheap and special to cheer us up. It’s been a rough week.)

Going to the Renegade Craft Fair, which I have been looking forward to for ages.

Going to a late showing of Away We Go with Carissa. It’s finally out!

Happy weekend.

Yesterday was a series of circumstantial bell curves.

I got an appointment last minute with an optometrist. Rock! Three minutes before, I was 1000 feet away from the entrance of the door (according to my GPS), and an access-a-ride truck decided that the middle of the street was a great place to unload slow-moving seniors. Suck.

I drove around and couldn’t find a good parking spot. More suck. I was late.

I finally found a spot, and the guys who worked in the shop I parked in front of told me that, yes, this too-good-to-be-true parking spot is valid. Rock!

I was late for my appointment and had to reschedule after lunch, in an hour. Suck.

I simultaneously discovered a crumpled twenty in my purse, and a diner three doors down from my appointment. I ordered a grilled cheese and coffee. Both were perfect. Rock.

My appointment went well; the doctor was nice and, after two minutes of me being a baby about it, didn’t make me suffer through the glaucoma test [for the unfamiliar: you stick your head in a machine and have to get your eye just right, and then the machine poof!s air on your eyeball, and no matter how much you're prepared for it, you nearly pee yourself every time.] I picked out glasses I love. Awesome.

I stepped out onto the street, looked out, and panicked; then rolled I my eyes at myself. I am forever thinking my car has been towed.

“Not this time!”, I thought. “The parking gods have given me a gift, and I double checked with a guy from a shop. A guy from a shop! He’s a guy! He’s local! He knows what’s going on. My car is just behind that garbage tr… Oh.”

My car had been towed. My cell phone was broken, too, and the pay phone ate about three bucks worth of quarters before I got a connection, in what I call you-should-have-fixed-your-cell-phone-earlier tax. It has to be called something; a phenomenon with a name is not as bad as plain old “robbed by a piece of machinery”.

The cop on the street had given me the wrong number for the tow company, and it took me three minutes on the phone with a bewildered receptionist at a Spanish-speaking nursing home to figure this out. Someone else had their last quarter eaten by the pay phone, and, in an effort to reverse my karma, I gave him one of mine. (Not that I believe in that stuff, but it couldn’t hurt, right?) The cabbie I managed to flag down refused to drive to my neighborhood. I had to take a convoluted subway ride home. Suck.

I finally got home and Rob wasn’t mad, because he’s awesome. I was somehow able to shower, dress, and get out the door again in time to keep my iPhone appointment and see John Hodgeman’s Apple Store talk. (They only let ONE hot girl go ahead of me this time. It’s an improvement.) John was taking questions from the audience, and he answered my question, which was “Who inspires you?”; a total high note way to end the day.

Rock.