Thursday, September 01, 2005

Another genius move

Man, am I dumb today. I just can't seem to get it together. I'm surprised I didn't brush my teeth with Ben-Gay and wipe my ass with the cat. I'm not sure if it's this unrelenting heat that has finally melted my brain or the thoughts of my weekend trip to San Francisco that have me vibrating with excitement. Either way, you could take great advantage of me just by waving something shiny in front of my face. IQ of a shoe.

Speaking of the cat, we still don't know what the feck is wrong with my Boo. She's feeling better every day but still not 100%, or really with cats it's more like 90 or 85% since they don't expel any energy they don't darn well have to. Her eyes are still cloudy and more opaque than a few days ago, which worries me since I'm afraid her chunky balls are permanently f'd and she's going to go blind. The good news is they've ruled out most of the scary stuff except for lymphoma, which boo for Boo if that's the case. But I'll just have to keep waiting it out. Bah.

I've been super busy today but wanted to post something and hopefully get our minds off the hurricane for a minute. I just got a call from a weeping friend ordering me to order her to stop watching the news. It's so horrible. So, here's a little story I wrote this week while reminiscing about another stellar move I've made in my life. I'd try to blame it on being a kid but the stupid, it never went away, it just dresses better.

The Very Very Very Bad Decision

It had been a long, hot day in the late 1970's. I'd spent the majority across the street at the much coveted 'house of fun' where my friend K lived. You know the one I'm talking about. The cupboards are stuffed with all the junk food a kid could want, (not a box of stale coffee nips hidden in the tupperware cupboard like my house), the front yard is as big as a football field and they have a game closet. OMG, a whole closet dedicated to games! It was better than Charlie and his freaky chocolate factory. I mean really, do you think I want to put any candy in my mouth that Augustus Gloop has marinated in? I think not.

As was the rule, I needed to head home at nightfall to join my family for our nightly fight around the dinner table promptly at 6:00. I only lived a stones-throw away from K's house, hers being catty-cornered to the East from mine. Despite this close proximity, I still chose to ride my big yellow with the girly flowered banana seat bike and white basket (gag) over there. Mostly because my side of the street was the hilly one and I could get enough speed going down my driveway to coast all the way to K's house. Betty, thy name is Lazy.

Because of this fact, the reverse trek home was not a fun one for me since I'd have to actually pump the pedals. Oh. The. Horror. In my pre-teen lack of wisdom, and in an effort to avoid expelling one atom of energy, I thought I'd take a short-cut up my next-door neighbors driveway and just pop through the bushes to my driveway. Thus avoiding the very long and steep S-curve of my own and saving oh, 20 extra feet of effort. Hmm...I wonder why I've always had a weight problem. I just can't figure it out.

I climbed onto my bike and raced towards home. Umm, slowly and begrudgingly grunted and groaned willing my legs to work. Half-way across the street, with a violent yank that nearly catapulted me onto a handlebar, my giant bell-bottom jeans got caught in the chain. Aw fuck. Who the hell thought it would be cool to make the hem of jeans 25 inches friggen wide? And why did it take bicycle manufacturers a million fucking years to figure out the chain should be covered so idiots like me don't get their fashion statements stuck in them?

It's a good thing I was aiming for the neighbors driveway and not mine or they would have found me laying by the mailbox the next morning.

I managed to lug myself and my very heavy bike to the spot where I'd planned on "popping" through the bushes. As soon as I tried to drag my shit-show up the ivy entangled incline of bushes to my house I felt a blinding pain coming from my little pot belly. Christ almighty! What is killing me? I've been speared by a tassel!!

I looked down and saw that the unprotected, unlined stupid zipper of my stupid 70's jeans had just caught a chunk of my stupid tummy skin and was now ripping my flesh apart. So now, not only am I practically fused with my huge bike, its giant banana seat wedged into my crotch, one leg held tightly in place in the grips of the fucking chain, but it feels like the teeth of Satan are tearing into my stomach and I neglected to remember that the "bushes" separating our house from our neighbors are not only contained in a steep slope, but they are inhabited by stiff foliage with unbending branches that I can't get me an my bike past!

And of course the evil bushes jumped out and took me down. Right down to China town. I'm on the ground, under a child-eating bush stuck to my bike and my pants are eating me. Stranded. Marooned. Wrecked.

Like hell was I calling for help in that position and no one would have heard me anyway or my asshole brother would have stood over me like a dick and laughed while doing the spit-string above my dirty and bloodied face.

Somehow I managed to drag myself under the killer bush and catapult myself and the bike onto my driveway amidst the searing pain where I collapsed in a heap of scratches and chain grease. I finally freed myself of everything and slinked into the house where I'm sure I enjoyed a lovely dinner of liver and onions and nursed my wounds with mercurochrome.

The 70's were awesome.

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