The only certainty is bad grammar

So yesterday my Aunt Flo stopped by. And she’s kind of a bio-tch, so I needed some Advil.

I knew me and my roommate had like a 200-count jar of Tylenol somewhere in the apartment though, and that in 200-count bottle of Tylenol there was some random Advil pills mixed in. So, at about 3a.m., when Flo started to through her usual fit, I went to the bathroom to grab a couple red capsules.

Except I couldn’t find them. Anywhere.

I looked in the cabinet under the sink. And in the one to the right of it. And in the one to the left of it. And I pulled all my make up out of my make-up drawer, and all the band-aids and cotton swaps out of the drawer below that. But they weren’t there.

So, then I looked in my Rubbermaid cabinet thingy that I have that April (my roommate) hates because it’s really just a symptom of how I don’t like to throw things away, because that broken fake pearl necklace might be just the thing we absolutely NEED when aliens attack us and the world ends.

I looked through all three draws though and I couldn’t find the pills, so then I decided to start pulling everything out. I pulled out seven boxes of cold medicine, some costume jewelry, five  bottles of nail polish, an old diet cleanse I bought like three years ago and never use, an old ID badge from when I interned in the statehouse in grad school, seven more boxes of cold medicine and a nail file, but I still couldn’t find the stupid bottle of pills.

And I started crying a little silently, because holy crapola is my Aunt Flo meaner than cat on a cactus when she wants to be. So, then, out of desperation, I went through every single cabinet again. I littered the whole bathroom floor with cold medicines and cotton-related products, and I didn’t even care.

That’s when April woke up, all, “Crystal? What TIME is it?”

And I was all, “Umm. 3 a.m. I have really bad cramps, where’s that bottle of Tylenol we have?”

And she was all, “Oh that. I got rid of it.”

“What!!! Why??”

“Nobody was using it.”

“I WAS USING IT!”

“Oh. Sorry.”

And in that moment I wanted to kill April.

I did. I wanted to go in the bedroom and kill her in a way that’s too mean to write about here.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I took a breather deeper than the Pacific ocean, and I cried a little more and then I went to lay in my bed in the fetal position.

In the morning, she ended up finding me some stray Midol pills with a 2007 expiration date that I hadn’t seen in my hunt, and that helped a little bit. And she told me latter that there wasn’t any Advil in that bottle she threw away anyway, so even if she’d kept it, I wouldn’t have found what I needed.

And now, about 17 hours and a fresh bottle of Advil later, I’m pretty much over it. We’re friends again and I don’t really want to kill her now. But last night. Woh-ee, if she only knew how nice I was and how close she’d come to death, she’d probably totally stop giving me crap about my Rubermade cabinet thingy.

Just sayin.