Yesterday sucked.

I get to work early because I'm scheduled to have an 8:30 call with this gal who was sort of filling in on my team when I was out on leave, but who is no longer with the company. I'd called her out of utter desperation after inheriting this half-baked, shitty work she'd done when I was gone that now I have to have finished by September 5th. And this project is about some pretty complex stuff--the Dietary Supplements and Health Education Act of 1994, to be exact--which I know zilcho about. Well, she was absolutely no help, so I'm fucked.

Then I got sucked into one of our famous "Team Meetings." These things always go waaaaaaaaaaaay long, and this one was no exception. Two hours, fifteen minutes. So there went my morning.

Decided to go to Maudie's with a work friend to have the Maida's salad that I'd been craving since Monday. Had a nice lunch then go out to my car, start it, and it won't go out of park. This "Electronic Panel Control" indicator light is glowing on my dash, and the indicator light that looks like a foot pushing a brake pedal would not go off, no matter how hard I pushed on the pedal. It was as if the fact that I was pushing on the brake wasn't registering with my car's brain, and it wouldn't let me shift into gear. Apparently, my car had gone temporarily retarded. My coworker called someone to come get her and take her back to work while I called VW roadside assistance. No lie: Here's what the chick on the other end of the phone told me to do.

• Pump the brake 5 times
• On the 5th time, hold the break down and start the car.
• Let the car run for 5 seconds.
• Turn the car all the way off.
• Then turn the ignition key 1/4 of the way back toward the dash.
• Move the gear shift to in-between Neutral and Park.
• Start the car.
• Jump down
• Turn around
• Pick a bail of cotton

Surprise, surprise--this didn't work. So she arranged for a tow truck to come get me "in about an hour-and-a-half," and I called the dealership to let them know a) I was coming and b) I wasn't a happy camper, considering it was a month TO THE DAY since my car was last in there for three days having some major warranty-covered repairs done. Then I sat there. In the August afternoon heat. Waiting. And sweating. It wasn't pretty, people.

The tow truck dude showed up after about only about 45 minutes (thank God), and I rode with him up to the dealer, rocking out to hard-core rap the whole way. When I got there, the in-take guy told me, "Yeah, this is a common problem with this model year...it's a quick fix. We should have you out of here in about half an hour." And indeed, I did get out of there within an hour.

Drove my stinky, sweaty ass back to work, and managed to get about one hour of actual work done before it was time to go get the Geej.

Did I mention that I'm fucked?

"But Karla May," you say. "If you're so busy and stressed about work, then why are you blogging on the clock?"

Well, it's lunchtime, and I'm also shoveling food in my face as I type this. So really, I'm multi-tasking. Also, I needed a break because my head was about to explode due to the influx of knowledge about what you can and can't legally say to customers when you're talking about dietary supplements versus homeopathic versus OTC medicine products.

Envy me. My life is just as glamorous as it sounds.