Try to pick which of the following dumb-ass moves I made in the past twenty-four hours:
1. In looking for a beloved earring, I managed to smash it underneath my shoe. Even over my own sobbing, I was able to hear my grandmother’s shrieks of horror from the afterlife.
2. While clearing space on the counter for the coffee pot, I managed to knock my beloved Samantha Who? coffee mug into the sink, shattering the handle.
3. Somehow managed to wash all of my white sheets and towels with a black ink pen. I’ve run them three times with bleach and Oxyclean and yet: I’m still the miserable new owner of zebra tie-dyed linens.
4. Managed to change out of pajamas in order to run an errand. Victory is brief! Upon returning, I then managed to drop an entire iced latte all over the front of my new skirt… and splattered coffee Exorcist-style all across the entryway to my apartment.
5. All of the above, because this is not the first entry you’ve ever read here.
If you picked Number Five, congrats! You’re having a much better day than I am.
[Other items jacked in the past week or so include: my iPhone case, my digital camera, a pair of shoes, my elbow.]
I’m covered in bruises.
Not little tiny ones, but the kind where people grab my wrist and go, “Oh, my God. What happened to you?” It started with just a couple, but now there’s a rather large one on the inside of my left elbow that’s getting uglier every day, and one on top of my left forearm that actually hurts. This morning stee pointed out little ones along the back of my left arm. There’s a scratch on the inside of my right arm. I don’t know where it came from. Continue reading
So, it’s official. I’ve lost my mind.
It’s been a pretty stressful couple of weeks around here, and things are about to get pretty hectic, so my mind has been in many places at once. It also happens to be a time when every event that we’ve been saving up to see is now occurring. Over the past week, there were tickets to Warhol, tickets to two comedy shows, tickets to a theatrical show and tickets to a concert all getting delivered to the house.
Also I should note that I smacked my forehead. Twice. In twelve hours. The first time I was carrying glasses into the kitchen. My hands were full so I didn’t turn on the light. I leaned forward too far placing them on the counter and hit my head on the corner of the cabinet. Just smacked right into it, right at the top of my forehead. Man, did that hurt. No bruise, just intense pain.
Then in the shower the next morning I dropped my razor. I spun around too quickly to retrieve it and smacked my forehead on the corner of the shower door, right in the same place. I’m sure even Little Drummer Boy next door heard my wailing, sounding like Sissy Spacek at the beginning of Carrie.
Now I’ve got a very faint bruise, but my head is killing me. Keep that in mind, okay?
clutter in the dark may be more dangerous than it appears.
My apartment is now both disgusting and dangerous. Last night, on my routine trip through the dark to my side of the bed, I forgot I had put boxes and crates in the way, tripped on them, flipped them over, flipped myself over, jacked up my leg and foot and narrowly missed falling on an exacto knife. We quickly applied ice and I put my foot up immediately. It was bizarre watching the blood flow instantly into a gigantic bruise on the top of my foot, and then watch it drain away as I held my foot over my head.
i just need to find someone with a bruise fetish
I am really a klutz.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but I probably don’t talk about it all the time. But sometimes it just gets out of control and I’m just this jerky-freak girl who’s knocking everything over.