Nothing Is Coming Up Alisyn

Lately, everything I touch turns to crap. No, really. Do not let me into your house. Do not let me hold your purse! Take your blenders, your hairdryers, your battery-operated toys, and hide them if you see me coming.

It all started a couple of weeks ago, when Hazel and I went on a date to a friend's birthday party. We were running late, as usual, and because the party was SF, in a neighborhood with notoriously bad parking, I was anxious to leave earlier that I normally would have. Hazel and I argued a bit because she insisted on wearing one of Violet's dresses (I caved). I had trouble deciding whether or not my skirt was too sparkly for a late morning party.

We made it out the door and into the car, but had not moved the car twenty feet yet before... CRRRRRRUUUUUNNNCH. I bumped the car parked directly across from our driveway, on the other side of our very narrow street. Living on a fairly busy street, and not knowing very many of our neighbors, I had no way to know whose car it was. I had to get out, and leave an apology note and my contact information. Mike came out and took some pictures of the (minimal, thankfully) damage.

Shaken, but determined to get our date on, Hazel and I struck out again for San Francisco. We made our way peacefully, signing Hazel favorite Dan Zanes songs. After a full half hour of looking for a parking spot in our friends' new neighborhood, we finally scored a crappy one, six blocks away from our destination.

Now, I'm a former city dweller, so I know how to take my parking lumps like a man. But if you ask me, the only thing worse than walking six blocks, in espadrille wedges, with a 3 1/2 year old in a size 18 months frock ("Mama, this dress is hurting my throat!"), is returning to your car with the 3 1/2 year old all jacked up on frosting, and finding that some complete jerkwad has gifted you with a massive dent, and a hideous scratch on your passenger side rear door. The jerkwad didn't even leave a note. No note! Nobody waiting for me to return to my car to take responsibility for their dumbass move. No one to repay me my good car karma.

Mike tried really hard not to be upset, and kindly told me he didn't blame me at all, but I still felt terrible. I mean, it looks really bad. And truthfully? We're the kind of people that just shudder at the thought of spending hundreds of dollars on car body work -- there are just so many other places that money could go. So my cute, black Subaru wagon will be a little less cute for a while. Jerkwad, if you're reading, you best 'fess up.

To cap my week off right, I tripped over the garden hose one hot afternoon while Hazel and I were gardening, and sent our digital camera crashing face down onto the sidewalk. That poor thing's taken a beating since we got it four years ago, but I think I may have finally KO'd it for good. When the little door slides open to reveal your previous pictures or show you what you are currently aimed at, nothing happens. No pictures. No little square in which to frame your shot. Just a gravelly, greyish splotch of weirdness, and a big-ass crack.

Two weeks later, Mike and I set out, with all our friends, to enjoy The Flaming Lips show at the Greek Theater on the Berkeley campus. It had been over 100 degrees that day, and I tried to stay hydrated, tried to do everything right. But the crippling heat, combined with the cross-campus walk to the venue, my one measly beer and the massive crowd resulted in me passing out directly in front of the stage, in front of.. oh, I don't know.. a few thousand people. I don't know if you've ever passed out or not, but it's horrible. I thought I was dying. I was totally out of it the rest of the night, and the whole next day. I saw some of the show from the medical tent, though, so that was cool. But the night was pretty much a wash.

Last weekend, I had my first windsurfing lesson, against my better judgement. I was considering calling it off, not wanting to decapitate myself, my teacher, or anyone else within a ten foot radius. Shockingly, I was rather good at it, and despite taking the sail to the head more than once, the only injury sustained all day was when I tore my foot up on a rock under the water. No one died. Nothing broke. All things considered, it was not bad. Not bad at all.

I thought that with the dawn of a new month, my karma might shift into slightly less dangerous territory. And I guess it did, kind of. No one's been hurt in the last two days. Nobody passed out or crashed a car. But the vaccum shorted out and died yesterday, sending sparks spraying out over the carpet. By some totally un-Alisyn-like stroke of luck, it did not result in a house fire. The three year old cordless phone also went belly up, as did my trusty old laptop.

Looking on the bright side, the kids are all right. The dog's alive. Mike's not thinking of divorcing me... yet.

But seriously, what the hell? What is this about? Am I paying for some abuse I inflicted on some innocent electronic devices in a former life? Am I just a huge spaz? Is summer just not my season?

I don't know, but something tells me I should not left in charge of two small children all day... alone. Cooking. Driving. Operating household appliances. I fear that it will end badly.