Monday, 9 November 2009
I just realized that I should probably post something today... then I was like, “well,what should I post?”
I thought about posting Part 2 of my roommate saga, but I need to ration my high-quality posts because I like to save them for when you guys are starting to doubt my abilities – then I'm like “oh, you think I am selling-out and writing only about boring, inane things now? Well, suck on this post!”
Basically I don’t feel like my blog has sucked enough lately to justify using up one of my “lifeline posts.” So instead, you guys get to read about this. Which is basically nothing. I’m sorry. I'll probably be forced to use one of my lifelines soon enough.
I think my original point in writing this was that I was going to talk about scars, but I don't remember how I was planning on arriving on that subject… oh yeah! I was going to tell you that I was looking around for things to write about and I got distracted by reminiscing about my badass life-wounds. I say “life-wounds” because I wanted tosay “war-wounds” but I haven’t been in any wars. I still wanted to make myself sound awesome, though - and "life-wounds" sounds pretty awesome – like I was attacked by life. Do you want to see my life-wounds and hear the stories behind them? I sure hope so because that is what's going to happen...
1.) Scar on Face:
Mom thinks I'm ready to walk. Takes out of walker and places on ground. Not ready to walk. Sense freedom, run away. Take three glorious, freedom-filled steps - fall face-down in gravel.
I don’t know why my mother chose to teach me how to walk on a gravel driveway, but she did. And now I have a sweet scar on my face.
2.) Scar on Head (Approximate Location):
I am 4. Dad makes a big mistake - he plays “Running on Ice” by Billy Joel. I really like that song. Logically, I start sprinting around the house, flailing my arms. When sprinting and flailing both fail to give proper expression to how much I truly love “Running on Ice” by Billy Joel, I start spinning in circles as fast as I can. I get dizzy. I run into the wall with my head. I am bleeding. A lot. Mom calls 911. I go to the hospital. The doctor (Doctor Crane – Iwill never forget that) says “she needs stitches.” Dr. fucking Crane is holding a needle. I see the needle. Dr. Crane approaches me. I begin flailing and kicking ferociously. I am restrained in a rolled-up blanket. Like a cat. I am yelling “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” and bleeding all over the place. I manage to wriggle free of the blanket. I kick Dr. Crane in the chest. He must have been feeling diplomatic because he offers me a lollipop. My insatiable appetite for sugar distracts me long enough so that I can be restrained in the blanket again. Damn that Dr. Crane and his trickery!
3.) Scar on Knee:
Playing tag. Tried to jump barbed-wire fence gracefully- like a deer. Failed. Tetanus shots soon followed. Probably also rabies. Idaho fences are known for their rabidity. Holy shit... "rabidity" is a word! I don't think it means what I think it means though... whatever.
Okay, I just Google it and apparently, "rabidity" means "excessive enthusiasm."
Basically, I just told you that the fences in Idaho are known for their excessive enthusiasm.
4.) Chipped Tooth
A couple years ago, I impulse-bought a Happy Meal toy from a thrift store. It was a tiny, stuffed armadillo. It had a tag on it. I didn't want the tag to be there. I tried to rip it off with my hands, but I was not strong enough. I used my teeth. To my horror, a chunk of my left front tooth was torn asunder from my face. The tag was still firmly attached to the armadillo's ass. And there it remains.
If that is not the weirdest way anyone has ever chipped a tooth, I don't know what is.