This weekend was made of the stuff bloggers dream of: Personal failure, too ridiculous to be truly tragic.  I recommend you pack a lunch as I lead you down the primrose path of my journey into Red Hot Mess-dom.

It all started out with hot cocoa.  At my work, we have a large 3.5 lb. 54 ounce container of Swiss Miss hot cocoa mix.  I had a hankering for some of that chocolatey goodness, so I grabbed a mug and started mixing.  As I was carrying the hot cocoa container back to the shelf, it slipped from my fingers and landed on the ground in an atomic cloud of cocoa.

Even after vacuuming the carpet and cleaning the cocoa off the walls, it smelled overwhelmingly like cocoa in our office all day on Friday.  Nobody complained, because cocoa smells so nice, but it was rather embarrassing to be that chick who flings hot cocoa around the office like a monkey chucking excrement.

Then, I left work.  In my car.  Which I steered over a piece of metal in the road.  Said piece of metal punctured my tire so thoroughly that when I inspected the damage you could hear air exiting the tire from ten feet away.  Luckily for me, I was a block away from both my mother in law and sister in law, one of whom called AAA to change the tire and the other who let me occupy her couch while I waited.

My dignity and car destroyed, I went for the piéce de resistance: Damaging Wesley’s car.  I took his car to the grocery store on Saturday (Kermit was out of action due to his gimpy spare tire) and, as I was backing out of the garage, smashed his side mirror into the side of our garage.

So forceful was this impact that one of the pieces went flying clear across the garage.  It’s not that I was being careless and fiddling with the radio while backing out.  It’s that my brain simply does not work anymore.  I have a brain cloud, but no one’s offering me a vacation and unlimited shopping spree in payment for jumping into a volcano (If this statement confuses you, I recommend watching Joe vs the Volcano).

So, I added Krazy Glue to my shopping list and came home chagrined to tell Wes that he now had yet another thing to do around the house.  He glued his car back together (he wasn’t even mad at me for smashing it!) and we moved on to bigger and better things.

Unfortunately for me, this included washing a light blue baby blanket with a bright red baby blanket, thereby turning the back of said light blue blanket (which, pre-wash, was a lovely cream color) a not-so-masculine shade of pink.  Laundry fail.

I showed my handiwork to Wes, and he suggested that perhaps I should retire to our room to fold laundry.  He said, “I’m pretty sure you can’t break anything just by folding it.”

And he was right.  But still, I feel like I accomplished a lot (of destruction) this weekend.