Luckless

They say bad things happen in threes.

Last week I found myself ranking all of the recent unlucky happenings in my life, trying to figure out exactly which qualified as the official three.

Every time I'd pick a third, another whooper would give it a run for its money.

In two short weeks:

I took an icy fall on a snowboard and sprained my tailbone. (I'm still sitting on a foam donut at work.)

My debit card's pin number was stolen by some evil scammer in Amsterdam who cleaned out almost $1,000 from my checking account, on rent day.

I came home to (brace yourself) a swarming fly infestation caused by the crazy old ladies who live/may or may not be dead in the apartment upstairs. (The exterminator got rid of them but I spent at least 30 hysterical minutes swatting at black clouds of bugs cursing the day I ever moved to this god-forsaken filthy city.)

Then there was my lost iPod, the un-returnable kitchen table I ordered online that arrived in 4 broken pieces, and, most upsetting of all, my love life got real wobbly.

I debated writing this post. Nobody likes a Debbie Downer and we're all dealing with our own strains of misfortune. I realize a broken butt and biblical plague hardly qualify as blogable. But, I'll admit, this loss of mojo has me a bit out of sorts. Mostly because I'm usually a pretty lucky gal.

I'm that obnoxious friend who wins raffles, runs into Madonna at the grocery store (true), scores last minute tickets and pretty frequently stumbles into great opportunities/free stuff.

Sure, I'm no stranger to the occasional funk but it's really been a while since I've taken so many punches, one after another.

After a quick visit to Tampa last weekend, I boarded the plane for New York reluctant to leave Florida's sunshine for my black cloud in Manhattan. Even after landing and pushing my suitcase through the taxi line at La Guardia, my stomach tied itself into a knot. Slouched into the backseat of the cab, I tried to psych myself back up. Then, we turned onto the Triborough bridge. The Manhattan skyline- giant, glittering in the mid-day sun, pouring over the river- grabbed me fast. It yanked me out of my slouch by both shoulders, shook me and slapped me around a little. That's where I live- in the middle of that beast. As we sped toward it, I finally relaxed.

Unlucky in New York is still pretty damn lucky.