there was a concerted collective of wha happen emails in bras and ranties’ mailbox over these past two days. if you’ve been reading our twitter feed you have some idea as to our ranties about this week of shit, but we’ve finally processed and are ready to post so why spoil the fun now?
it happened just after our last update to the blogette, a rantie on real world chi busters and how they agonize us so. after a terrible day, we felt like we’d been figuratively punched in the esophagus, but had two fetes in the calendar for the evening, both promising good times, good fun and good vodka. well-needed.
we were impressed with our determination (hell, we even wore thigh-highs to mark the occasion) and intended to post a wrap from our evening once we returned to our abode, something about changing perspective to change your mood and the importance of malleability of our frames of mind. bullshit.
the long story best condensed (considering our propensity for verbosity) involved bras and ranties being in our very first car accident en route to the party. it involved two cars, king west and a terrifying ttc bus situation. we weren’t hurt and our wheels have little more than a lipstick smear to mark the occasion, but the other guy’s car perhaps didn’t fare as well. unfortunately, that was only the beginning of the mess we’d just gotten ourself into.
let’s just say we haven’t exactly been on the ball lately. there were things that we should have had in the car that were definitely not in the car – our paperwork not what one would consider in-order. visions of our omni-draining bank account flashed across our panicked brain as we tallied our missteps. fuck. fuck. fuckity. fuck.
and then the chi-gods intervened, perhaps realizing that this day getting worse could mean the end of bras and ranties. like, the actual end. and as we promised the officer with our best smile that the following day would consist of nothing except the 47 errands it would take to get our affairs in order, we thanked the chi-gods we were lucky enough to drive away unharmed and (relatively) untroubled.
the incident (and our looped nightmares of how very differently things could have gone) has certainly incited fundamental change in the happenings of bras and ranties. the lazies have a place here no longer. we need to get organized and be better prepared, throughout all facets of our life. if we choose to live, work and love within urban society, we can’t ignore the bureaucratic process required of us, despite our expressed disdain for it. we need to grow the fuck up and get it together.
and the real moral of this story? always wear tight dresses. they really do come in handy.