bad day anyone?

my bad days aren't your average bad days... they are usually a succession of unlucky accidents, which ultimately turn the day into a self-fulfilling prophecy, or so I theorize, for I just cannot believe the way things go when I have a "bad" day.
Generally, I am laughing out loud my mid-afternoon because the turn of things are just too ridiculous to be really happening.
Today...so far...a quick run-down on what's been happening.

wake up late. get kids ready for babysitter and school, respectively. by the time D is ready to leave the house (and take Maia with him to school), Maia has fully undressed herself again and sits happily on her bed announcing she isn't going. don't have time to argue. tell D to leave and I'll take her in. remind myself, not to forget family-day at her school today. go check flyer for event details. notice was supposed to make home-cooked dish as contribution to event. check fridge for any kind of left-overs not more than three days old. no luck. make mental note: throw out spaghetti from last week just sighted in back of fridge.
get on computer quickly to check workload and mail to give impression I'm starting early as opposed to real-time estimate of serious settlement in front of PC probably way past 11a.m.
have to get Maia to school, engage in family-event a bit, AND make it to 12 o'clock appointment I secured the day before at 57th St. super-haute-couture-can't-afford-services-but-have-giftcertificate-spa. (note: had left-over balance on gift-certificate dating back to pregnancy. $35.- remaining. looked through spa-booklet and realized have to add about 60.- to these $35 to be able to pay for any kind of service at this nyc upper east side place. would love to have booked "count-down to butter-massage" but can only afford "30.min.rapid.rub" <- actual names of bliss spa massages. decide I deserve...and actually need massage, for knot in my back is now the size of small state.)
Anyway, let me change this telegram-kinda writing style cause I'm losing track of the beginning of my sentences.
So, at 11 a.m. I shut down computer, realizing I'll be late if I don't get my butt out the house. Of course, it's too late now to get Maia to school and wait until she's ready to be peeled off my leg (still adjusting to preK), so I drop her off at the beloved babysitter instead.
Jump into the elevator, which goes up and down a couple of times first, before finally leaving me in the lobby. Run into Rosa, who has almost as many bags as I do (don't know why I have so many bags..let's see. handbag. plasticbag with stuff that doesn't fit in handbag. babybjoern baby carrier, which has been recalled and needs to be returned, outgoing mail, and a cup of coffee I dream of drinking at some point during this hectic morning - don't know at that point, of course, that I won't.) I manage to free up two fingers to help Rosa carry one of her bags. Pick super heavy and super-thin plastic bag which, with all the other things in my hands, I cannot keep off the floor. So, I make it down the hallway, bag semi-touching the floor but then it rips and all insides are now strewn in front of exit door. bag of sugar, mayonnaise, ketchup, etc. I try to find replacement bag in my car, Rosa urges me to get out already as not to miss appointment.
So, I am racing to the train-station. Planning to leave car somewhere parked around there. No parking. Alternate Side Parking rules in effect? ... Continue driving south to find parking along the way. Decide to get off very traffic-heavy Jerome Ave. and take a parallel route. Of course, I end up somewhere elevated, full of dead-ends ghetto-looking kind of area. See the 4 train at bottom of hill. Call D at office, to look up Alternate Side Parking rules, for I notice people have still not moved their cars. Dude pulls up next to me with music blasting SO loud, my van is vibrating and I cannot hear a thing Dario or even I am saying. Have to wait 'til ghetto-brotha moves. D announces "no ASP rules in effect today". Wish I had known earlier. Park car next to drug-dealer guy standing at top of stairs leading down to Jerome. Run down eight hundred steps to 176 St. station. Turns out the station I picked to enter subway is closed for very active, fire-sparks flying maintenance. Run back up eight hundred steps, now feeling like a thousand; creating new curse-word with every step I climb; drug-dealer guy actually makes me feel better by giving me sympathetic smile, but not good enough to hold up my cool, for when I then finally give up and call spa to cancel I am being reminded of policy and enforcement of policy that I still have to pay for full service. I break into tears and hang up. Mad at myself for crying about missed spa-date. Remind myself, crying about whole bunch of shit -> over-exhaustion. irony of me stressing to get to appointment for relaxation. 1/2 relaxation with 1 hour stressfull commute each way. wonder why I'm so stupid. want to call spa back and tell them that I'm no 5th-ave-got-too-much-money kinda costumer but will actually be quite hurt by losing 60.-, or in this case 100.- for a service I never actually received. What kind of costumer service is that? Isn't it the spa's sole function to get rid of the physical stress build-up in my life as opposed to adding to it?
Sit in my car wondering who I could call to calm me down. Want to call Rosa. Tell myself:
"don't you dare call Rosa...she has a son with leukemia who just got back from yet another stay at the hospital...she has a full-time job, is a single-mom and at the moment probably just as stressed as you are." boom. I'm back to reality. Stupid little problems of mine. Get over it.
"Don't see you crying when you receive $100 parking ticket" (although, I must say that's not true, ...if the day has been really bad I might crack at that moment of ticket issuance. $100 bucks is a LOT of money to be throwing around, dammit...I better be getting some kind of pleasure out of it).
So, I decide... let me just hop into the post-office and return that baby-bjoern carrier, which has been recalled by the manufacturer. had been contemplating for a while, whether I shouldn't just keep using it and save myself the hassle but then reminded myself that if Nayla does fall out I won't be able to live with the guilt. Parking meter swallows my quarter, but of course, doesn't show the receipt of money and keeps blinking "0:00" time left straight into my face. decide I won't take it up with the meter but do kick and punch it a couple of times, just in case. no luck. no "FAIL" annoucement, so it'll just continue appearing like an expired meter (mentally prepare for ticket).
At post-office I stand in line for 20 minutes and realize at last moment I don't know which address to send baby carrier to. Call company. automated message: "go to blah.blah.com and request self-addressed envelope. blah blah blah." Step out of line, which I have now been waiting on FOR NOTHING...like so many things during this morning.
Return home, now no time for lunch, for have wasted time driving around throwing fits, and such. Eat bowl of left-over chicken-rice with no chicken left inside. Dig for ketchup and BBQ sauce in fridge door to add some flavor. Maple Syrup glass bottle slides through shelf holder and shatters into a hundred pieces on my kitchen floor. Syrup and glass everywhere.
I give up. Day ... you have beaten me. I am going back to bed.
Of course, can't because have double-workload on me (-> colleague on 1-month wedding/honeymoon vacation) and need to sit my ass in front of computer already.
Clean up syrup and sit into office. Take a sip of cold, watered down morning coffee, eat ketchup rice and begin weeding through e-mail. 2 minutes later, Rosa knocks on my door to emergency baby-sit her 2-year old son. No problem, bring it on. ;)