Cursed, I tell ya, CURSED!

I should've known when my alarm went off this morning and I awoke to find the latter part of my head stuck in the crack that formed between the mattress and the headboard that today - would not be a good day for me.

My first task of the day was to empy the "presents" that Phoebe had left in her litter box - which - for any of you out there with pets, kids, or elderly - know this is NO way to start a morning.  I then hopped (stumbled blindly) into the shower where I opted to not shave my legs in hope of creating man-made leg warmers for this cold snap we're experiencing here in good ol' Appalchia.  After the drying of the ten pounds of hair in which my locks keep getting tangled in my underarms, I finally scoot in front of the mirror to apply my face.  I pick up my trusty "blackest black" eyeliner from Cover Girl and twist it to push the product up to use. 

It's empty. The shower-scene music from "Psycho" fills my ears and I stare aghast at the eyeliner in hand.  I dive into my make-up bag in search of my black liquid liner - sometimes tricky - but entirely doable in an emergency situation such as this.  Panic pales my freckled face as I come up empty handed - except for a tube of bright, metallic liner in a gunmetal silver color.  I shrug and carefully apply a ring of the liner around each of my eyes.  I look a bit like an extra from "Star Trek: The Next Generation" - but since the alternative - naked eyeballs - makes me cringe, I leave it on.

Thinking that the worst was over, I ripped open the package on my brand-new tube of L'oreal mascara.  Screwing open the cap I pull to release the brush from its inky depths. 

It's stuck.

I pull harder.

Nope.

I give one final tug and the teddy bear brush is freed- all over my hand.  Somehow, it has been mushed into a ball - I try to straighten it out - but it was no use.  My cherished mascara - was no more. 

Thinking that my bad luck streak would be limited to that of the arena of cosmetics application - I grabbed my phone and headed off to work.  I am working my way through the sea of cars on Route 60 when I decide to call my dad - today's his 61st birthday!

The screen is blank and forboding.

It's dead.

I grip the steering wheel and curse the heavens.  A little blue car pops up into my peripheal with an equally tiny nun tucked behind the wheel.  I smile sheepishly at her in case she sensed my cellular-related outburst.

I'm totally convinced that whatever higher being resides among the clouds would totally understand and forgive my rants.  I mean, c'mon,  you just gotta know that Heaven is in a Roaming area!