I've been PUNKED - for sure.

I know I can be dramatic (shut up, some of you). But today’s lunch hour was SO absolutely insanely WRONG, I have to document it. I have to! So, bear with me… I’m kind of laughing about it now, so you can too.

It’s okay, really.

First of all. We get an all-staff email saying that they’re really cracking down on lunches - we HAVE to take them at our designated time and we HAVE to be back on time. So, I don’t really feel like pressing my luck as it is; as the shining example that I am (haha) I leave at 1pm exactly.

My lunch “hour” is actually only thirty minutes, so time is really of the essence. I have a birthday party this weekend, formal, which is requiring me to be in the token “little black dress” I mentioned last week – which, by the way, I still haven’t found. So, with the 30 minutes I have, I decide I should probably go tanning (hold the critique please, this little fact is really beside the point). I’ll go in a Super Bed to maximize my time. Perfect; I’m planning ahead.

As I go to pull out of the parking lot, I weigh my options. Option A takes me down Lakewood Drive, which I usually avoid all costs although I think it’s much faster, because a stupid sneaky cop usually sits somewhere in the school zone, pulling over ANYONE going a half a mile per hour over 20. I don’t think my car can physically even do 20mph, so I decide on Option B… a bit longer of a route, but safer for my driving record.

Well.

Option B is five straight miles of road construction, which I don’t realize until I am too far into it. And you know the flaggers holding the Stop/Slow signs? Well, all eight of them must have been communicating, via walkie-talkie, the look of absolute annoyance written all over my face, because I got the fresh STOP sign.

EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

As in, every car down to the one in front of me got to pass go. Except for me.

I love that God has a sense of humor.

Eighteen minutes into my 30 minute lunch and clearly with not enough time left to tan, I opt for Taco Time… my guilty pleasure. I love the ranch there. And I love their salads. I’m grumbling about the fact that now I have to tan SOMETIME after work and before church, but it’s a quick jump over to South Tacoma Way and I’m starving. I figure I’ll be back in plenty of time to stroll into the office at 1:29pm. Perfect, as always.

Oh, did you know there’s ALSO construction on South Tacoma Way? Yeah, me either. I swear, the city of Tacoma just LOOKS for ways to make commuting more of a headache. Why “construct” THREE different major travelling routes into and out of Lakewood at one time!? Are you kidding me?

I hear my phone now going off in my purse; MADLY. I’m talking some insane ring that I’ve never heard before and it won’t stop. I’m dodging orange cones, digging through my purse for my stupid wannabe iPhone and watching for the turn into Taco Time… I come across my phone eventually – unlocked and with 64 new calendar entries. I don’t even know that that means.

None of these “calendar entries” I entered intentionally; they were, in fact, entered by my wallet, makeup case, and various other items in my purse bashing against the screen of my phone during the past twenty minutes. I’m trying to shut up my stupid “alerts”, and right before I resort to throwing it against my dashboard, I realize that I can mass delete all 64 random calendar entries, therefore silencing the alerts I had “selected” to go off every sixteen seconds. I mean, really.

Oh, then I randomly turn into Wendy’s, rather than Taco Time. I do not want Wendy’s. I want Taco Time. I turn the wrong way down a one way parking lot, turn around and realize I can not RE-enter South Tacoma way this direction because of – yep, you guessed it – construction.

I won’t go into detail about how I got to Taco Time because I’m pretty sure I broke about fourteen laws and almost killed a pedestrian, but I got there.

I was happy for my taco salad. Ordering went smoothly. I am now on the homestretch of my lunch, returning to work. Annoyed, yes, but it’s almost over.

I have a killer migraine at this point. Almost to the point of tears.

I swing into the gas station for pills of some sort. Don’t judge me. Anyway, swing into the gas station and run into my ex-boyfriend. Yeah. I’m NOT kidding. Not much happened there, because I honestly just looked up to God and asked Him if He was kidding me, got right back into my car, and left – avoiding a conversation I really didn’t want to have, a conversation I made every effort to avoid at all costs by keeping this part of my past, in my past. The only thing I suffered was an awkward silence as we stared each other down for a moment as I weighed my options, and then an even more awkward silence (for him) as I mumbled some lame excuse about being late for a meeting, and got back into my car. It was painfully obvious. For him, not me.

Disaster avoided. And now my headache was gone from the sheer trauma of the events of the last half an hour – nice.Yes, and I did say “half an hour”… I was supposed to be back at work and was not. Awesome.

I get back into my car, start it… and you know how sometimes there’s a random CD error that spits out the CD you have in the player and resorts back to the plain old radio? Well, it happened… which would have not been so dramatic had the song not been Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry” – quite possibly my most hated song of all time.

I FINALLY get back to work, and get out my salad… sans ranch. The moron at Taco Time was in on this mess too. He forgot my freaking ranch.

By now, it’s all I can do not to burst into a fit of rage, but I stomp to the kitchen and find some random dressing in the refrigerator that I can use, begrudgingly. I eat my salad, begin working…And then notice the ranch. Which had been hidden UNDERNEATH the taco shell… which ONLY could have been seen AFTE R THE SHELL WAS CONSUMED… which made the USE of the freaking ranch, NULL and VOID.

I’m now debating blowing up Taco Time, South Tacoma Way, Gravelly Lake Drive, and the gas station, just by association.

The icing on the cake? As I’m finishing this sweet little note, my coworker just brought me my keys, which I had left in the kitchen. Typical Corianne.

She also asked me how I’m doing today.

And you know how I replied?

“Blessed.” :)