Murphy's Law

Everything was going too well. I lost 11 pounds. My bank account was resucitated. My vacation was wonderful. I found the perfect white purse and even more perfect white sandals. Life was humming along nicely. I even came home from Miami to an unexpected refund check. Maybe that check was the straw that broke the camel's back. Maybe it tipped the scales too far, and balance needed to be restored. Whatever the reason, ever since 6:30 p.m. on Sunday, everything that can go wrong, has gone wrong and worse.

It all started with the funny smell that pummeled my olfactory nerve the second I lugged my suitcase in the house. The scent of wet dog and garbage converged on my poor nasal passages alerting me to the fact that something was wrong. I checked the kitchen and the sink was empty and the garbage had been taken out. I had no idea what could be wrong, so I left the windows open and hoped the aroma was the remnants of a rotting meal that had since been brought outside. But like my parents often did when I was a child, I was pointing the finger in the wrong direction. When my roommates (just got a new one) arrived home, they showed me the real culprit. The basement was drowning in an inch of water, lovely stagnant, bubbling, brown tinged water. I attributed the problem to the ever problematic roots that like to grow into my main pipes and called Mr. Rooter to fix the problem. After wasting enough water to hydrate the Sahara, Mr. Rooter determined that my pipes were A-Okay and charged me $24 just for showing up and doing no work (which makes me wonder how I can find such a gig).
First thing the next morning, I called the city in an attempt to blame the problem on a sewer back up. Unfortunately, the sewer wasn't to blame either. Turns out, my trusty water heater decided to overheat then throw up all over my basement. FUCK!!!
Knowing the source of the problem was a good thing, learning about the remedy has sent me into a tailspin. Replacing the water heater was damn near $600 bucks. But then there's the clean up. Since the water had been sitting in my basement for approximately 72 hours, I now have millions of microorganisms as pets. Yippee! I hope there's enough kibble in the cabinets to feed them all. Fortunately, I found out that home owner's insurance will cover the damage. Unfortunately, there's a $1000 deductible. FUCK!! Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck!!!
It's not that I don't have the money. I've been saving for a rainy day, and it fucking poured. The thing is, I don't want to spend over $1500 on home repairs. That's $1500 that I can't put towards a car, or moving expenses, or a yacht party with strippers. What the hell am I going to do with a water heater? Cold showers would probably do me some good.
On top of this calamity, I got a heartfelt "thanks but not thanks" letter about a job, I was just sure would get me back to civilization. It's back to the drawing board, searching job postings, submitting resumes, interviewing, ass kissing, and so on and so forth. I hate this process. To add insult to injury, several hours of searching monster.com have shown me that even with a B.S. degree from an Ivy League school and 3+ years of work experience I'm not even qualified to be a junior administrative assistant. FUCK ME!! Please.