Roth IRAs, Litterbox Poetry, & Hairscrews

Every once in a while I have one of those weeks where I'm reminded why I chose to name this blog My Defective Life. This past week was one such week.

1. In class yesterday:
   
   INSTRUCTOR: [catching me off guard in the middle of a physiology lecture] You should get a Roth IRA. [pointing at me] Just start investing $200 a month into it, and by the time you retire, you could have a million dollars easy.
   
   ME: [looking around slightly confused] Oh.
   
   INSTRUCTOR: [speaking directly at me again] Yep. A Roth IRA. You really should be investing your money. Because you KNOW there's gonna be no social security money around when you retire.
   
   ME: [looking around again, confusedly]
   
   INSTRUCTOR: Anyways... The SA node is in the wall of the right ventricle...
   
   Later, during break...
   
   C (a classmate): What the fuck was the deal with her insisting that you should get a Roth IRA??
   
   ME: I have no clue. She doesn't even know what I do for a living.



2. My cats keep shitting up the word THE and the letter Y in their litterbox. One of them must've ingested a couple of my tiny poetry magnets from my fridge, and whenever I think I've finally gotten rid of the magnets, I see the word THE (or sometimes THEY, if the Y is in close proximity) peeking out at me from their litterboxes. I keep hoping that their shit-messages will get more involved at some point, but no such luck so far.



3. The other day, when I went to shake out my wet hair so that it could dry a bit faster, a 1-inch Phillip's-head screw fell out of my hair. I have no idea how or why. And yes, I did look around at all the ceiling-fixtures near where I was standing to make sure that it hadn't coincidentally fallen out of one of them while I was standing there. But no. Apparently I was inexplicably walking around with a 1-inch, pointy-ended screw in my hair for a good chunk of the day.

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