To the best of us

Bad stuff happens to the best of us, when what we're best at is utter failure. Enter: yours truly.

Lately my life has seemed like one mini-catastrophe after another.

1. I killed my computer. And it's not just any ole computer. It was my precious Macbook. Kurt and I each have a Macbook (and his remains in perfect condition). I don't use it for the artistic purposes that other people acquire Apple products, but Kurt prefers Macs over PCs because they apparently last longer (when they don't belong to me) and get fewer viruses, etc.

I often used my laptop as a portable DVD player. I'd watch Friends or Arrested Development on it while cooking, doing laundry, getting ready for bed. About 3 weeks ago, I carried it to the bathroom with me and sat it on one end of the counter (away from my sink) and proceeded to wash my face at the other end. While rinsing off the Proactiv, I heard a thud. My Macbook had taken a nosedive off of the counter, closed, and landed upside down.

The DVD player commenced making this really weird noise, which I then decided was kind of a groovy beat. Anyway, after Googling that and the other symptoms, I sent it off to the doctor for a repair estimate. The estimate ended up being hefty and almost what we paid for the laptop when we bought it new about 4 years ago. So...I might just get a Dell or something less expensive than a Mac since all I need a computer for is checking e-mail and Facebook. I might also invest in a portable DVD player. Just a thought.

2. I killed my foot. I hope to post pictures soon from a recent trip to New Orleans for a wedding. I love that city. Before a couple of weeks ago, I hadn't been there in about 10 years. It was a fabulous trip -- mostly because of how awesome the bride and groom are, their family's hospitality, and an all around much-needed vacation on my part.

We arrived in NOLA on Thursday afternoon and hung out with friends until I left to go eat with the girls for the bachelorette dinner/party and Kurt went to eat with the groomsmen. After dinner, we gals met up with the fellas and went to Pat O's on Bourbon Street. After a night on the town, we got in the car and drove back to the condo where we were staying. My feet hurt after all the walking around, so I took my shoes off when I got in the car to go home. Upon arriving at the condo, I took my shoes in my hand, stepped out of the car -- barefoot -- and immediately felt something burning and stinging on the bottom of my foot.

I immediately knew what I had done because of a conversation I had with Audrey (the bride) earlier that day. We were having afternoon cocktails outside at The Columns (glorious) when I saw a large caterpillary creature with spikes inching around on the ground. "What is that?" I asked her, disgusted and a little frightened. She told me it was a stinging caterpillar, a common species in Louisiana, not found in MS. She said they dive-bomb people out of trees and it hurts badly when they sting you. She was right. I hobbled up the stairs to the condo, certain of my death. The fire in my foot burned all weekend, despite anti-itch cream and toothpaste applications (apparently the toothpaste thing is the cure, but only immediately after the sting ensues. Not the next day...my mistake). I removed the "stingers" from the bottom of my foot (with tweezers) last night, nearly two weeks after the attack. It is still sore.

3. I killed my phone. Nearly a week ago, I flushed my cellular phone. I was texting and tee-ing (Don't judge me. You've done it before.) when I heard the doorbell ring. In my rush to get to the door, I simultaneously flushed the potty and dropped my phone. Upon arrival at the door, I realized Kurt was trying to get in the house without a key (I still swear the door was unlocked) and needed me to let him in. Sheesh. So after I fished the phone out of the empty commode (NOT cool), we did the old disassemble-the-phone-and-put-the-parts-in-a-bag-of-rice trick so it could soak up the moisture of the water. My cute red $10 phone stayed in the rice for 2 days, but was still dysfunctional when we reassembled it. It kept buzzing and the keypad wouldn't work.

So, I went without a cell phone for about 3 days. Kurt kindly got me a cheap, ugly, worse-than-my-last-phone replacement until I can get an upgrade phone in a year. Bummer. Well, last night...

4. I killed my new phone. That's right. Laugh it up. I dropped my phone -- you guessed it -- in water again. Water, people! What is wrong with me? I was leaving church with a Styrofoam cup of ice water sitting in my cupholder. I hadn't started my car yet, and I took my celly out of my purse to take if off of "silent mode" in case someone called me. I fumbled it and it dropped in my cup of ice water. Swish.

I hurriedly grabbed it out of the cup while simultaneously letting loose a string of words that shouldn't be thought, much less shouted aloud in my car, in a church parking lot. I continued the word-slur all the way home while trying to dry off the phone on my shirt. No success. I could feel it getting colder as the water settled in, and then the screen went blank. (I felt like Rose on Titanic: "I'll never let go, Jack.")

I had planned to do the rice trick again, confident it would work since this phone had much less exposure to water than the last one. Upon arrival, however, I discovered no rice in the pantry. So I disassembled the phone, dried off the battery and SIM card, and started beating the water out of the phone. I then let the pieces dry while I watched LOST and performed minor foot surgery on myself. When I reassembled it, it worked! Hallelujah.

However, when Kurt got home shortly thereafter from a meeting, I noticed it wasn't working. When he took it apart and noticed the censor on the back that turns red when it gets wet (who knew?), I admitted what had happened (again) and he decided we should leave it alone and let it "rest" until morning.

As of this morning, it is working, but the screen is growing dim.

How long will it last? What else will go wrong? What else will I ruin upon touching, King Midas?

Warning: If you prize any of your possessions or personal safety, steer clear of me: Clumsy von breakseverything.