Three is a magic number.

Most recently it has been a magical, shitty number. Have you ever noticed how crappy things happen in threes? I hate to bitch today, especially since my life is good, I'm happy in the new year and all. I had planned to post about what my outfit says about me today, indicating self-awareness and an affinity for costuming, because after all, that's all clothes are. My circumstances being what they are, I think I'll go on about the three most fucked up things in my recent adventures.

Shitty Thing #1: Kiln disaster. Luckily I was not killed like Fawn in Animal House, all I had to do was contact a bunch of students and tell them that their wares had been destroyed when the kiln over-heated. My sources tell me I did not in fact ruin this kiln, nor can I be held responsible for the loss of so many Christmas gifts. Nevertheless, when I opened the kiln to behold what I had hoped would be beautiful chip and dip sets, plates and free-form pieces, I nearly had a complete emotional breakdown when I instead discovered piles of clay and glaze puddled and hardened on kiln shelves. Shit. So much to learn. Also, it sucks this happened at 8am on a Saturday in the middle of December, but what can you do? It's good to be employed.

Shitty Thing #2: Clavicle Injury (but not to me). P. flipped over his mountain bike a few days before Christmas and fractured his clavicle. Turned out to be okay, seeing as we spent several impromtu days together, and also how I helped him complete his Christmas shopping by selected a few items I really wanted, and made easy-to-consume foods like Paula Deen casseroles Christmas lunch. It just sucks, though, to watch someone you love experience such pain. And difficulty opening Christmas presents. I am grateful, though, that no head injuries were sustained and we were picking out a sling rather than a wheelchair or casket. Man, my thinking is dark some days.

Shitty Thing #3: Crafty escaping pup. Well, not so crafty seeing as how the gate was left open. (Not my fault, nor Pete's.) But you can imagine my panic and surprise when I checked my voicemail to learn that Etta was found near the Quality Inn on (the very busy, four lane 50 mph traffic) Apalachee Parkway this morning. She had darked almost half a mile from our house but was picked up by a kind stranger, another non-profit employee who called me immediately. This scares the shit out of me, though. I plan for that pup to grow old, so that I can love her even when her little snout is gray and she has to be lifted onto the couch to cuddle up with me and Pete. So glad she's home safe and sound, and in lock-down (better known as her crate) until I can get home and watch her.