I broke my moderator coffee mug

[lieu]

@seal_cleaner

I reglued the broken handle onto my favorite mug. Later the handle came off and spilled hot coffee into the lap of my pregnant sister-in-law. It was terrible, that mug was irreplaceable.

Oh my gosh, there’s one thing I hope you didn’t yell when that operation went awry.

[Chauve]

@Moriarty

I recall taking a class on Buddhism in my senior year of college. In one lecture, the teacher talked about the idea of impermanence. Nothing last forever. So, when you lose an item (or, as the case here, it breaks), one should not be sad, or lament, but should exclaim with wonder and awe: “I always wondered how it would end!”

That’s one of those “Who Moved My Cheese” tricks: “Oh, my company is laying me off? What a wonderful opportunity to start from scratch again at middle age!”

[Finagle]

This could be a disaster if your doctor told you that you could only drink coffee in moderation.

[gigi]

@Moriarty

I recall taking a class on Buddhism in my senior year of college. In one lecture, the teacher talked about the idea of impermanence. Nothing last forever. So, when you lose an item (or, as the case here, it breaks), one should not be sad, or lament, but should exclaim with wonder and awe: “I always wondered how it would end!”

It’s nowhere near as crucial as an SDMB Moderator coffee mug, but I bought a new car about five weeks ago. I took quite a while until I saw the exact car I wanted; I did not compromise on color or style like I did on my last car, and I was so very happy. I bought him seat covers and made sure to line the cupholders with napkins so they didn’t get that shmutz that you can never really clean out of there. I bought him his own puffy dusting wand to keep it tidy. I mean, my love for this car was almost indecent. I swore I would keep this one nice; my first car was a learning experience and the second one I did a lot better but still managed to hurt it. I would keep this one pristine and uninjured and be able to trade it in for a solid amount if I ever decided to get rid of him.

My adoration of him made me think, this just means something spectacularly bad will happen to this car, something of the magnitude of my love.

In reality, some fuckhead put a nice gouge in the bumper yesterday. I park in a permit parking area and it’s not cheap to park there, so although car insurance is not required in NH, this person could probably afford it. And there’s no way they didn’t notice – it’s a hole with bumper material pulled out, like it got impaled and then Vlad drove off pulled it back out.

Deep breath. I went through the stages of grief:

Denial – Oh no they dit-ent hit my car and drive away! Did I do it? Is there any way I could have done this to my baby?

Anger – Oh yes they did – what a fuckhead.

Bargaining – Is there any way I can pound this out with a mallet and seal it? Does the garage have cameras so I can track this person down?

Depression – This is why I can’t have nice things. All my dreams of a nice new whole car are dashed.

Acceptance – Oh well, it’s just a thing. Slap a bumpersticker over it and call it good.

[Jackmannii]

I am very careful with my 20 oz. beauty.