A recipe for red cabbage slaw with apples and raisins and a sweet honey dijon dressing.
This is a story of how a day goes from relaxing, productive and relatively good to utter crap in the span of just over an hour.
You write a post waxing poetically about loving your new workout, how you’ve never looked forward to sweating so much in your entire life, blah blah blah and then you walk in the door for the 6pm class and see this written on the board:
Hang clean 1-1-1-1-1-1-1
You leave 57 minutes later wanting to kick barbells and punch things because you can’t get under more than 73 mother effing pounds on the damn move.
The “you” by the way, is me in case you haven’t guessed.
Then you come home and your dad calls your husband to say the bank called his house looking for him. Odd.
So you call the bank back only to find out that a payment that you totally know you scheduled apparently didn’t get paid like it was supposed to and things were past due. Awesome. Nothing like talking to the debt collection department at 7pm at night.
10 million transfers from one department to the next you’re expediting payments over the phone, pleading to have late fees removed since you’ve never missed a payment before in your life and running up and down the stairs asking your husband for his social security number, drivers license number, DNA samples because you’re technically not an authorized “user” on the account. And riiiight before you just about lose your shit with the rep on the phone wanting to scream “I’m his FRIGGIN WIFE and I’m trying to PAY you”, your phone drops the call because you have AT&T and that’s just how they roll.
That’s when you actually do lose your shit, practically throw the phone at your husband telling him to deal with it while you go cool off in the shower.
20 minutes later you come downstairs, sit down at the computer and log into your account to see if the payment posted and you realize your account is displaying in pounds, as in the symbol for money in the UK and not dollars. Obviously, this can only mean one thing in your mentally distraught state, your account has been hacked in some way shape or form so you spend the next 30 minutes trying to get the (appropriate) rep on the phone to tell you what the hell is going on. After finally getting the only competent Bank of America employee all night, she assures you she sees dollar symbols and not pounds on your account and it must just be some weird glitch. You hang up still weary and then it hits you…you set your computer’s keyboard language to English (UK) when you got annoyed by some stupid red squiggly spell check line that kept appearing when writing blog posts. You log on to the bank account using your work computer and sure enough….dollar signs.
Palm —–> Face.
Redeeming factor of the day?
Your husband had dinner ready within 5 minutes of walking in the door after that frustrating workout and you got to devour these leftovers before the bank madness ensued. A small little glimmer of positivity in an otherwise shitfest of a night, but I’ll take it.