I hate the number 837.

This marks the 102nd post on SAVAGE. bread crust for the birds. The number 102 means that my last post was 101, which really, was a more sigifnicant entry number than 102. Number 101 is socially accepted as more special, because it is one more than a hundred--that's a lot! Of course, Dalmatians and other non-sensical bullshit had to do with it too.

Or whatever, I don't care about the numbers 101 or 102.

How about 111, and 837? Especially 837. I hate that number. 8:37 is the time that a bus is supposed to come at my stop, the bus that would ideally take me to work, the 111. Could it be just a coincidence that I watched it pass me by 3 work days in a row? The first 2 times I will admit that I had left the house late and didn't quite make it across the street, and had to pitifully watch it zoom by. But today! Oh today was different. See, I caught on, I knew about the curse, and that I'd just barely miss the bus if I had followed my routine; so I left earlier and Voila! There I stood, at the bus stop, waiting for my bus. No bus was to leave without me, not today, not the 111, not at 8:37am. But BAM! There it went, racing by just slowly enough for me to see the number 111 at the back of the bus. I had bent down to fix my pants and I MISSED THE FUCKING BUS, AGAIN!

Unbelievable! I'm disheartened.