I went to tutor my class of SAT students again. It went marginally better than the first lesson, although when I implemented my one-on-one homework plan (putting the rest of the students in groups to work on analogies) I did have one girl going, "This is dumb. Why can't we all go over the homework together? This is a waste of time!" But a lot of the other students seemed to appreciate the personal attention.

Today, the director called and ask me if I'd want to teach another one. Like a fool, I said sure. You know, actually, I do not want to teach another one. I'm in over my head with these high school kids. But it's too late now, because I'm getting signed up for another one. Why do I do this to myself?

After class I go to the parking lot, thankful that it is all over, and get a phone call from my regional director. It seems I said something against policy with a couple of my students (nothing interesting or scandalous, but against policy) and I am in trouble for it. So while he is telling me that I need to never, ever, ever do that again under any circumstances, I try to open my car, and the door won't open. I try to open the passenger door, and the alarm goes off.

So now I am trying to shut the alarm off, and my director is literally yelling in my ear, "START the CAR. Monique! START THE CAR!" And I am yelling back, "I'm trying! I'm trying to start the car! It won't shut off!" And the alarm is going off, and I am going all frantic, and it rapidly devolves into a very embarrassing scene with my car alarm blaring and me looking like a twit.

I hung up with him, then called my VW Masterguard wallet-card phone number. I got a recording, since the office was closed But I thought I had 24-hour roadside assistance!? What the hell is that? I called my car dealer, who told me to drive the car in tomorrow morning. After much eye-rolling, I explained that the car won't start unless the alarm has been disabled, and the door won't open and the alarm won't disable, and he finally tells me to have it towed to the lot and they will pay for the tow. (Which, by the way, I have come to believe is a lie.)

I sit out in the cold for an hour until the tow truck gets there, get the car towed, and walk home from the dealership. By the time I get home, I already have a sore throat. Fucking fabulous.

I wake up the next morning feeling completely wiped out. I have no idea what happened on Wednesday, because I spent the entire day in a fugue state, accomplishing absolutely nothing. No, wait-- I eventually worked up the energy to walk to the supermarket and get some food. I got a random assortment of food, including broccoli and Oreos, and other foods along those divisions.

The dealer finally got my car to the service center, but they didn't begin work on it until today. Then I found out that the repairs weren't covered. Pardon me while I convey my ire via capital letters:

What the FUCK is the point of spending two GRAND on a fucking WARRANTY if something like "door lock" isn't FUCKING COVERED. In the end, this only cost me $50 or so beyond my deductible, but it is the principle of the thing that pisses me off. What is my recourse here? I feel the need to write a strongly-worded letter to... well, to fucking SOMEBODY.

Anyway. And Mr. Rogers died. I loved Mr. Rogers. We shared the same birthday, for one thing. Also, when I was a kid, I used to get Mr. Rogers confused with my pediatrician. I thought they were the same guy. Both were very kind and they had similar features and soothing voices. God, I loved Mr. Rogers, and I am sad that he is gone.

Finally today I got my car back, after much uselessness. In the meantime, I've done nothing. I haven't had the energy to go bike riding, or even clean my place, or get anything accomplished. The days off that I had been so much looking forward to had been a total waste. The one thing I had on my to-do list that I could still do was get a haircut, and I had just enough time before my WW meeting to go and do that.

She looked at my hair and said, "You want the same cut?" and I said yes. She said, "You want me to take off an inch? Inch and a half?" and I said yes. Thinking we were on the same page here, I took off my glasses and she started cutting. Half an hour later, she handed me my glasses back and I put them on. I had been transformed.

Into a lesbian mushroom.

She cut off all my hair. ALL MY HAIR. It's terrible. It's... she cut off at least six inches and it is not the same haircut at all. My haircut is so awful that I spent my entire Weight Watchers meeting in tears. Literal, actual, running-down-my face tears.

The topic was "self esteem" and the leader was all, "Okay, everyone make a list of your good qualities!" Normally, I would be all over that list. As you all well know, I have self esteem coming out my ass. But tonight, the only thing on my list was, "I have ugly hair." Great list. Very empowering.

Of course, according to the scale, I lost 7.4 pounds this week. But since that's utterly impossible, I have to believe the universe is fucking with me further, and next week I will have gained eight pounds or something.

The night did end up being a good once, since Jenfu and I went and tried out a new sushi place by me which was delicious, and then caught a movie. Okay, I made her see Old School with me. She didn't want this made public, but maybe it's okay if I tell you that she saw it completely under duress.

It made me laugh though, I am not ashamed. I love Will Ferrell. And Jen gave me little pink hair clips that made my lesbian mushroom head look slightly more acceptable. And we did interpretive dance in the car. You haven't lived until you've seen our rendition of "The Gambler," you really haven't.

So, I don't know. It's been a mostly crap-ass two days. I fervently hope that the next two days stem the tide of suckage. I'm going to see some more friends, do some more things, and maybe get around to doing something productive in terms of work and housekeeping and so forth.

Or maybe the rivers will turn to blood, and I'll just take a long nap.