huda kazi in the big city

I have in the past accused Ivan of being a Portent of Peril. I did not know then what I know now, namely that I was not actually exaggerating in the least because Ivan really is Captain Doom. I should probably have had a clue when they named a hurricane after him and that hurricane proceeded to wreak havoc over the entire eastern seaboard and then again in Louisiana.

On Thursday, as I was preparing to leave work and frantically go shopping for gifts and such before making an 8:30 birthday party, Ivan said, “Traffic’s great! And you’ll have a great time at the birthday party!”

I experienced a slight feeling of nausea. He’d said it so cheerfully. Nobody spoke that in that tone unless they actually meant the exact opposite of what they’d said and were secretly wishing for hailstones the size of potatoes to fall on your head. I left work around 5:45 and promptly got stuck in the worst traffic mess I’d seen in ages. Cars were backed up three signal lights before the interstate on-ramp — for both possible entry points. The surface streets were no better as everyone who didn’t want to wait in the highway mess was now on them instead.

I finally made it to the Borders in Buckhead around 6:45 (a mere seven miles, for those of you who may not be familiar with Atlanta proper) only to get stuck in a traffic jam in the PARKING LOT. Let me repeat that: A TRAFFIC JAM IN THE PARKING LOT. Apparently Rachel Ray was doing a book signing, and not only was there not a parking space available for love or money, it took an entire thirty minutes to get out of the lot once I’d gotten in.

And then, there was the rest of the evening that I will not recount so as to be kind to my friends. It will suffice to say there was much lateness and some weirdness, all courtesy of my friend Ivan.

Fast forward to Friday afternoon. Ivan denied any responsibility for the various Thursday evening debacles and prognosticated that I would have a “great” weekend. Apparently Ivan defines “great” as “horribly excruciating” because so far this weekend I have had multiple arguments with my father, I have been late to two events, and I got a SPEEDING TICKET. For going 75 mph on I-285, which is posted as a 55 mph despite the fact that nobody ever drives under 70. I’ve never had a speeding ticket in my entire life. I’ve never had a ticket in my entire life. And I certainly never expected to get pulled over when driving with the flow of traffic in the middle lane… and especially not by a cop who was using neither a radar gun nor a laser gun. This particular member of Atlanta’s “esteemed” police force eyeballed my speed. When I got back into traffic, I had to do 75 again just to keep from getting run over.

I’m probably going to plead no-lo and pay the ticket even though the principle of the thing bothers me. I don’t want to risk having it on my driving record. And I think I may hide out at home the rest of the weekend (I’d wanted to go hiking up Kennesaw mountain as the leaves are changing colors and it’s GORGEOUS outside, but it’s pouring down rain) to avoid being hexed further. Tomorrow, I am going into work with incense, some strings of garlic, and some holy water, all of which I will strategically place around Ivan’s cube.

It seems you can never be too prepared where Ivan is concerned.