It's been a rough week for Shawn Corey Carter.
Oh, I'm sorry, perhaps you haven't heard of him by his given name. I am referring to rapper Jay-Z, who was recently accosted by his sister-in-law Solange Knowles.
According to security footage from an elevator in which the two were riding, along with Solange's ridiculously famous older sibling (and Shawn's wife) Beyonce Knowles, baby sis went a little ballistic on Jay-Z and starting inexplicably smacking the sense out of him.
Though no official reason has been claimed for the tussle, which was supposedly just a little familial squabble, I remain convinced that Solange simply finally snapped about how Shawn convinced his wife to name Solange's sweet little niece after a Nickelodeon cartoon dog or a Crayola crayon selection.
Listen, I'd be miffed at my beloved brother-in-law Kevin if he'd persuaded my sister Gina to name my wonderful nephew Orange instead of Scott.
Either way, Shawn seems to be having continued bad luck since his bride has decided to have her wedding ring tattoo surgically removed from the ring finger of her left hand.
Poor Shawn (and I'm speaking figuratively, the guy's a gazillionaire). I kinda know how he's feeling right about now.
No, I haven't received a clandestine clobbering or anything, it's just that, I seem to be a bit off my game as of late.
It all started with my Media Day misstep. Thinking I'd take Kyle for a day of fun in the sun up on the shores of Lake Erie at our favorite amusement park not long ago, I found that I'd overshot the track.
It seems that Media Day isn't conducted in the same format as it was in the Middle Ages when I last visited. Back then, folks could, you know, ride rides and stuff. But, alas, when Kyle and I arrived we discovered, after waiting 40 minutes for the park gates to open, that only the two new rides, one small gift shack and a French fries stand were open.
In the whole park. The entire time.
Did I mention it takes two hours to get there? Oh well, at least I was treated to my first three mosquito bites of 2014 on that fateful trip.
I wrote it off as a fluke - until a series of unfortunate events ensued.
As in, locking my keys in my new car a few days later.
"Simply give me the 8-digit code found on the inside dashboard; you can view through the driver's side door. It begins with an 'E,'" said the OnStar representative - rather condescendingly, I feel, but I digress.
"Am I completely inept? I can't find it," I thought to myself, though I repeatedly tried to comply. The rep clearly shared my self-doubt and even sighed in exasperation a few times. Pretty sure that's not in the customer service handbook but, either way.
Nearly an hour later and having recited the 20-digit code that began with a number and was located on the exterior of the windshield as I'd repeatedly told her ...
That's OK, OnStar meanie, you needn't apologize. (Naturally, she didn't.) However, you also need not take my contact information for purchasing your service beyond the trial period. Thanks, anyway.
And again, hmpf.
I thought those were just two one-off incidents until the next day when I left my house keys on my desk at work and had to double-back to get them during an almost-tornado in order to gain entrance for my child and myself into, you know, our own home.
Ugh, hmpf and a little shudder, by the way.
Lastly came the remark from one of my day-job bosses that an idea I tossed out was, "The dumbest thing I've ever heard. Ever."
"Oh, come on, I don't know about THE dumbest?" I laughed.
"It's in the top two," he said as seriously as a Grand Canyon tightrope walker shuttles across that thin line.
At this point, I'm kind of thinking I may have inadvertently done something that's causing our recent foul weather; I've sort of messed up everything else lately. Stupid bad mojo.
Oh well, maybe the sun will shine literally and figuratively soon; it's a new day and all that.
Hang in there, Shawn. Odds are, we won't get decked again this week.
But I think we should both avoid elevators for a while, just in case.
Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist and a bit of graceless dolt. Contact her in big, bold type at firstname.lastname@example.org.