Twas the Night Before Christmas…

… And all through the house…

Not a creature was stirring…

Except ME!

It’s WoopsieDaisey Wednesday, and what do I have for you today? My most embarrassing moment!

Now, it’s really, truly hard to embarrass me. Mainly because I am doing embarrassing things all day long and if I stopped and took the time to be embarrassed about each and every one of those things, I’d never get through the day… so with that said, I’m going to have to take you back to a time when breathing the wrong way was embarrassing:

Age Fourteen.

What wasn’t embarrassing about fourteen? If you were late for class, if you had to go to the bathroom, if you got your period, if you sneezed too loud… all of it… everyday was just one embarrassing moment to the next. Heaven forbid you fart or something horrible like that. You might just have to change schools if something like that happened… maybe even move to another town.

I wish I was exaggerating.

So to make matters worse, it wasn’t until eighth grade that I actually joined the ‘cool kids’ group and at fourteen, I was doing anything and everything possible to STAY in the ‘cool kids’ group.

I mean, seventh grade was a nightmare. I was just the definition of uncool. It’s just so painfully true. And for some reason, magically, the cutest most cool kid in our grade took notice of me right before our eighth grade year started. I literally think this was one of those miracles you read about. He must have thought that I was a new kid to town or something because there is no way he would have talked to me if he had known who I was in seventh grade.

So when eighth grade started and everyone just thought I was so crazy cool for being the girlfriend of said VERY cool kid, KBlakes, I was willing to do anything to stay cool for as long as possible. And back then, being cool was blending in. Being cool was doing anything that the cool kids did. Based on the crazy ways kids are dressing these days, I am not sure if that is still the way things work in Jr. High, but it still worked that way for us. We did NOT want to stand out. There was no pink pants, or weird hair, or tight jeans. As a matter of fact, KBlakes and his best friend, Hendo, had the exact same haircut. Like exactly. And that was cool. There were no Mohawks or crazy colors. Oh no. That was not how us cool kids did things.

But anyway…

So at fourteen, I was actively trying to be cool everyday.

And it just so happened, by way of another magical miracle, that my passion of acting was the cool thing to do in eighth grade. Theatre goes through phases of being really cool and then the thing for dorks… luckily, my jr. high school and high school career rested on one of those theatre-is-cool waves.

So my boyfriend and his friend, Hendo, the two most sought after boys in our grade, were both in drama class with me. Sound good? It would be except for the fact that on the fateful night of our Christmas show performance, I would have preferred they were ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD else…

Now, it has to be said that by eighth grade, I had developed quite a resume for myself. Most kids in drama class were just starting to get their feet wet with the whole ‘acting’ thing… I, however, had been at it since I was eight years old.

I had performed at the Woodland Opera House, I had worked backstage… I knew people. I was kind of a big deal.

So when the cast list went up for our Christmas production of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’, I was shocked and dumfounded that I had been cast as a Sugar Plum Fairy!

Really?

I mean really??

This was a HUGE hit to my ego. Not to mention the fact that a Sugar Plum Fairy was FAR from cool and my position as ‘cool kid’ had already been compromised. By the time the show went up, I had been cheated on by KBlakes (see the previous blog about my first kiss to learn more) and so I was already hanging onto my social status at school by a thread.

Opening Night.

If you’ve ever been in a show of any sort you know that there is a certain buzz surrounding any opening night. Everyone is excited, all the parents are there, generally the house is packed. It’s a big deal.

Now let me just take a minute to go back over one more quick detail just in case you all are not feeling bad enough for me having been cast as a Sugar Plum Fairy…

As the budget of nearly every public school is zero… especially for theatre… we had to come up with our own costumes.

The Sugar Plum Fairies- and this is clearly where God forgot to place a miracle- were dressed as follows:

Gray sweatpants

Gray sweatshirts

Tool ballerina skirt

And a wand which was made from a glittery, paper star glued to a stick. (And the Tony for best costumes goes to…)

So now I’m just shy of mortified from the moment the curtain goes up… and I wish I could say this is the end of that mortifying night. To any fourteen year old… I’ve already said too much. This would end most kids lives at that age.

But no…

The only magical thing about this night was that the Faries had very little to do. We came out, did a quick little, hideous dance and then we were supposed to go over to the giant Christmas tree and sit on the presents under the tree until the end of the show.

Well, during our little dance… my little glittery, paper star flew off the end of my ‘wand’ and smacked a man in the face who was sitting in the front row. I wanted to cry. I mean seriously… now what? My wand is broken, I’ve assaulted the audience… I was just done.

So then, we had to frolic over to our presents and take our spots and just wait for the misery to end.

As soon as I sat down on my present, I could feel that this giant box was not reinforced by a crate, which was the plan. But before I could even shift my weight from the box to move to the floor there was this incredibly loud popping noise…

Like it was a show stopping sound… Literally… the play stopped.

And I’m looking around thinking, what on earth could have made such a loud sound? Who would have made that loud sound during the show? How terrible…

And then I realized… wait a minute… I’m now fully INSIDE my present!

It was completely surreal. The only way I can really describe it is if you’ve ever seriously injured yourself… and you have this moment where it doesn’t feel real. You don’t feel the pain and you almost think that you’re seeing the situation from outside yourself…

That was this moment.

And then, all at once, I realized… Oh SHIT! I am the one who made the loud noise. I am the one who is now only visible to the audience by my feet and my hands. I am the reason EVERYONE in the ENTIRE place (onstage and off) is laughing… oh that’s not good.

So imagine me… I’ve fallen completely in the box and it’s a big box. Only my feet and my hands are coming out of the top of the box… and quite frankly… I’m stuck.

It was such a big, deep box, that I was literally wedged in there.

But because I was a professional actor already at that age, and despite the fact that I knew there was no one in Norther California who was not aware that I was now in a box, I was determined to stay in character. What character does a Sugar Plum Fairy really have? That’s hardly the point. I was bound and determined not to cry, or laugh, or run off the stage and leave the country… I was going to stay in character.

That is, if I could manage to get out of the box.

And yes, I did consider just staying inside it, but I knew- the considerate actor that I am- that although the show could go on without me… the audience would never stop staring at the Sugar Plum’s feet that were sticking out of the biggest present.

So what did I do?

I started rocking the present back and forth, attempting to tip it over.

This was not for attention! Oh no… attention was the last thing I wanted at that point. But what else could I do? I was quite impossibly stuck in there. I tried a few times to pull myself out, but that was clearly not going to happen. And no one was really stepping up to help me- probably staying in character as well- and so the only thing to do was to tip the box over and roll out.

And that is exactly what I did.

After what felt like hours of rocking the box back and forth, trying to get the dang thing to tip over, it finally gave way and out I rolled… still in character.

Now, splayed across the floor of the stage, watching everyone on stage literally shaking with suppressed laughter and hearing the audience roar… I could stay in character no longer.

I started laughing.

And I laughed until that damn show was over…

And it was afterwards that I realized, as Hendo and KBlakes came over to me to tease me, that it really was quite funny. I mean, if I were in the audience or onstage as someone else… I would have laughed. I would have laughed hard.

And that’s the point, right? If you can laugh at yourself… no one can ever laugh at you… they can only laugh with you.

And I have never really been embarrassed since that moment. (Knock on wood).

Blame it on the A A A A A Alcohol

Way back when I was twenty years old, just beginning my REAL adventures, I made a bad decision.

Major Woopsie Daisey moment!

Can you believe it? After reading this blog so far, I know you all just can’t imagine ME making a bad decision. But alas, it is so. But I had company in this bad decision. As always, I was riding right along side my very own side kick, MacTen when I made this bad decision. And she made it too. And to this day, we are not sure why…

It was a Sunday of all days, and MacTen and I, and a good friend of ours The Mayor, had just finished watching the second part of a VERY long play called Angels in America. If you are familiar with this play, you can immediately sympathize with the length of the show. If you are not familiar, let me just tell you this much: This play is TWO parts in total. Most theatre companies only ever attempt to do one part, because each part is three hours with two intermissions. Of course my college decided to attempt both parts, and they did this by offering the option to watch part one as a matinée and then part two, three hours later as an evening performance, or you could watch part two the following day on Sunday. This play, however long, is brilliant and I encourage you all to see it if the option arises. I saw the six hour show two times during this run, so you can see how committed I am to my trade. Anyway…

MacTen, The Mayor and I, decided that after such a long day in the theatre, we needed to go right home and embark on a ‘Friends’ marathon. (‘Friends’ like the show). And so we did. Believe it or not, this is not the bad idea! The bad idea is yet to come.

Once at my house, The Mayor put on the first DVD and very enthusiastically encouraged us to join him on the couch. Of course MacTen and I were a little restless. I mean, we had just spent an eternity sitting in the theatre. All of the sudden a ‘Friends’ marathon didn’t sound so fun. So MacTen and I came up with a new and improved version of the ‘Friends’ marathon. And this new version goes like this: The Mayor sits and watches ‘Friends,’ while MacTen and I drink. This is where the bad idea starts. Keep in mind it is about 5 o’clock on Sunday and we have class the following day.

Like I said, I was twenty which means MacTen was probably right around eighteen. So needless to say, we didn’t have a lot of options when it came to drink choices. And despite our efforts, no one seemed to be available to get us any alcohol on a Sunday, so we resigned to drink what we had. What we had to drink that day is the beginning and end of the bad idea.

We drank Popov vodka and Mountain Dew…. Code Red.

And we drank it as if it was going to disappear at 6pm. And disappear it did. MacTen and I did work on this vodka. I really, honestly do not know what our plan was exactly. Naturally things get a little fuzzy in this particular memory, but I seem to remember that her boyfriend at the time was perhaps going to bring us something better to drink a little later on and so we figured we better get rid of what we had in the house… something brilliant like that. So we did. We got rid of that vodka in record time. Literally, I wonder if The Mayor did not enter us in the Guinness Book.

As my memory goes, the vodka was completely gone (split between only MacTen and I… The Mayor was quite enthralled with ‘Friends’) in maybe half an hour. And the next thing I know, MacTen and I are beyond wasted and we are sitting on the kitchen floor, refrigerator door open, stuffing our face with left over CPK pizza. And that pizza was delicious, despite the fact that it may or may not have been in the fridge for longer than its expiration date. This was college. People didn’t throw out food just because it went bad.

And of course… everything we did was hilarious. This fact, has never changed I might add. To this day, EVERYTHING we do is hilarious, but it was especially hilarious on this day. And for some reason, The Mayor just could not quite grasp what was so darn funny. I remember him being rather annoyed, if you can believe that! I mean we were being seriously hilarious.

Well, in the midst of all this hilarity, MacTen gets the amazing idea to go to the beach. And clearly, I can not think of a better plan in the whole world. So we immediately petition The Mayor to drive us there. For whatever reason, he does not think it would be a good idea. I guess we must not have explained it well enough, because of course it was a good idea. It was an amazing idea. And we were not about to be thorted by The Mayor just because he was the only one with the ability to drive. No, no. I can’t remember who came up with our next idea, but it too, was amazing. We decided that we would just run to the beach. Now, I lived in Normal Heights in San Diego. If you know where that is, you’re laughing right now. For those of you who need a little more information… we are talking maybe a 15 minute drive on a good day to the beach from where I lived. But alas, this was not going to thort us either and so we set off.

I was wearing a pair of pink sleep shorts and a black tank top and MacTen was wearing something equally as inappropriate for outdoor wear. I wish I had a visual for you. I know there is a picture out there and try as I might, I can not find it. MacTen, help me out if you have it…

Anyway, I digress… MacTen and I burst out my front door and take off down the street. Now, if someone were to actually run from my house to the beach, they would have taken off in the opposite direction as we ran, but that didn’t really occur to us. Believe it or not, I think we knew somewhere in our subconscious that we wouldn’t actually make it to the beach. And that became clear about half a block from my door step. MacTen took a nasty spill. I am talking one of those trips that leads to an awkward run where you are trying to catch up with yourself when ultimately you know you’re just going to fall anyway kind of things. And of course, as soon as she hits the ground, I, who am following way too close, launch myself right over the top of her. Now this… was hilarious. At the time of course. The next day MacTen had a bruise that would put a plum to shame. But at the time… Well let’s just say The Mayor had to come and scrape us off the sidewalk and escort us back inside where he immediately returned to his marathon.

Looking back… it’s really a good thing that he was there. If he hadn’t have been, MacTen and I might be dead.

Well, after the fall, MacTen and I decided to finally give it a rest. I had two rocking chairs in my living room (I have a bad habit of rocking… well, I don’t really think it’s a BAD habit per say, but it is strange and it does rule my life a little bit). MacTen sat in one, and I sat in the other. Usually, that is exactly where I want to be if I am drunk or feeling yucky. My rocking chair. But on this particular occasion, the rocking motion really wasn’t helping matters at all. The rocking was making me think about all the Mountain Dew Code Red and vodka I had consumed… and the pizza… and the running… and well I just didn’t feel good all of the sudden. And no sooner had that thought occurred to me, did MacTen say,

“I think I’m going to puke.”

Took the words right out of my mouth.

“Me too,” I said.

And so we both retired into the bathroom together. We took our respective seats on either side of the commode. Ane we began the art of spitting.

Now, I have to take a minute here to let you all in on something. I do not puke. I do not get drunk and throw up. This strange occurence has only happened to me three times in my entire life. So you can understand how far this Sunday had gone. But if there is one thing I DO do, it’s spit. I will sit there and spit into a toilet all night long. I won’t puke, but I will spit. The relief you get from that purge is never mine… just the anticipatory spitting. And so of course, I expected nothing less when I sat by the toilet on this particular event.

But before I know it, a phone is ringing and then MacTen is gone and then nothing…

My memory stops.

It picks up again an undetermined amount of time later when MacTen had returned and was shaking me. I heard her voice first and I felt her shaking my body around, but I couldn’t see. The thought crossed my mind that I had drank myself blind, but that thought did not last long. No, all of the sudden, my sight was back but I could not explain what I was seeing. It would seem that there was a wood floor growing out of the side of my head. How strange. But of course the longer I pondered this vision, the further I could see. And then I realized that a ways down the hall, which I determine was what I was seeing, was my bed. I was seeing under my bed. How was I seeing under my bed? Where was I?

And before I could figure that out, MacTen sat me up. And now I was staring at the toilet again. I was sitting cross-legged in front of the toilet, just like that. Just like I had been before my memory stopped. Amazing. As it turns out, I had passed out and was laying half in the bathroom, half in the hallway (if you hadn’t figured that out yet).

Unfortunately for all parties involved at that very minute, the jarring movement from laying down to sitting up brought back all those unforgiving feelings of nausea. Of course the saving grace in all of this was that I was already sitting in front of the toilet. All MacTen had to do was heed my very quick warning, pull back my hair, and hold her breath. And out it came. My first puke from being drunk. Code Red.

After I was done, I finally knew what everyone was talking about when they said, “If you would just puke you would feel so much better.”

I felt on top of the world. But MacTen had had enough. She put me to bed, despite my insistance that I was fine and despite the fact that it was still light outside, and her boyfriend came and picked her up. Man, one throw up incident and the party was over! After all we had been through. I guess that part of the night was not hilarious.

Suddenly I was all alone, still hammered, and feeling much better. So I did what any other drunk person would do in that situation. I called everyone I knew, sitting in my bed, and I told them that I had thrown up. I felt like I had really accomplished something, and I really felt like people would want to know about it.

When all is said and done, I think that the major Woopsie Daisey moment in this story was the Code Red. I mean, really?

And there he goes…

Welcome back to WoopsieDaisey Wednesdays. I wasn’t so sure how this category would pan out, but quite frankly, it amuses me. Turns out I know lots of people who fall and lots of people who have ‘woopsiedaisey’ moments. So it really works out for all of us.

As a matter of fact, I just recently realized that I have a wealth of fall stories in one new friend: PostalService. If she will permit me, I’d love to tell some of those stories in the coming weeks. She too is a squiggly circle and tells stories amazingly, so I might just have to have her be a guest blogger. We will see. I will check with her and then I will be sure to share with you all, one way or another, her amazing stories that kept me laughing as I was trying to fall asleep recently in Vegas.

But for today, I will tell one of my favorite fall stories; one that has become somewhat of a legend. Yes, it involves my step father. And yes, believe it or not, it involves him being drunk. See, I told you that living with an alcoholic has its perks. Despite the heartache, it has provided me with an arsenal of stories. This one included.

So, this story takes place back in the JayHans period. Pre-LemonBass and Pre-our official proclamation of feelings. JayHans and I were in our early teens (or at least I was), maybe around 13. We were flirty, but then again, we were young so what does that really even mean? Basically, it was clear that we had crushes on one another. This might have only been the third time I’d ever met him, I’m not sure. But regardless, we had managed to find ourselves in his family’s hot tub alone. Let me promise you, it was very innocent. Like I said, we were just kids and we hadn’t even admitted to ourselves, let alone each other, that we liked each other. My sister might have even been in there with us. So pretty much we were talking. The rest of the family was not far away, drinking and carrying on in the garage. Like I mentioned, this family knows how to party.

And out of nowhere, here comes my step dad, stumbling up. Now I have probably described this before, but it warrants repeating. My step dad is a DEAD GIVEAWAY. There is never a question of ‘was he drunk last night?’ He is worse than a frat boy. And I don’t understand it because you would think that after a life time of drinking, one might develop somewhat of a resistance to alcohol. I mean, I guess what I can conclude from that is he drinks way more than we can even imagine. And he is not a little guy. He should be able to handle himself better, but he simply can not. He can’t walk. He can hardly stand without swaying. His eyes close. He licks his lips over and over again in the most offensive way and he makes absolutely NO SENSE. So like I said, there is never a question as to whether or not he was drunk. Now, picture if you will, someone whom I have just described, standing in front of you and telling you that they are in fact, NOT drunk. Can you even imagine how frustrating that is?

Again, I digress…

SO here comes drunk step dad with my mom not too far behind. JayHans and I see him coming from a mile away, so we are waiting for the brilliant statement that we are sure is coming. Even still, Step dad still thinks he has surprised us when he finally arrives. JayHans and I are just waiting for it to be over with, whatever it is. Step dad leans over and says:

“What are you two kids doing in…”

And then he passes out. Yes, he passes out mid sentence. I’ve never quite seen anything like it. And because he is not a small man, all that weight has nowhere to go but down. And unfortunately for all parties involved, down is into the hot tub. And there he goes…

This huge man sinks straight to the bottom. There is just no if, and’s or butt’s about it. He is at the bottom. We aren’t sure if he’s hit his head or if he’s had a stroke or what. And JayHans and I are obviously panicked and we are pulling at his clothes and trying to get our hands under him, but not only is he dead weight, he is wedged at the bottom of the spa. If you can picture a spa, imagine the part in the middle where all the feet are meant to go. It’s the smallest part in the spa. Now imagine a huge man, rolled into a ball, literally wedged down in that small space. And it’s dark outside and he is blocking the spa lights. This man doesn’t stand a chance.

But even still, Jay and I are pulling and trying to get our arms down into that space to pop him out, but to no avail. And then, as suddenly as he went out, he wakes up. Try waking up in a tub of hot water, I can only imagine how alarming that must have been. So of course when he wakes up, he nearly takes Jay and I out as he launches up out of the water. We are talking arms flaying, gasping for air, drunkenly trying to climb out. And if I wasn’t so relieved that I wasn’t going to have to live with the fact that I was in a spa with a dead man, I would have been pissed!

But don’t worry, my step dad ALWAYS gives me a reason to be pissed no matter what the circumstances.

He gets out of the spa and turns to Jay and I and says: “They were holding me down!”

What?! Are you kidding me? I laughed. I thought he was joking. He HAD to be joking…

Nope. He was quite serious.

He continued his tirade of how JayHans and I were holding him down and trying to kill him. And then he turns on my mom and accuses her of pushing him in. I mean, it’s not like we didn’t have the motive, but come on! We had just saved this guys life. He is impossible. And if his splash and our sceaming didn’t draw the attention of everyone in the neighborhood, his accusations sure did. He was practically ready to call the cops on us. I mean, this went on and on. All night long he stuck to his story and refused to admit that he even just fell, let alone passed out.

To this day, if you ask him about that story, he holds to the fact that my mom pushed him in and that Jay and I held him down. Now, of course, he will say that he knew it was just a joke, and we wern’t trying to kill him, but he won’t admit the truth. He will NEVER admit that ANYTHING is or was his fault and he certainly would never admit to being drunk that night. It still astounds me, even now.

The only consolation I got was in the morning, when I went out into the back yard, my step dad’s leather wallet was floating in the pool, completely ruined. And just the other night, my sister told me that she ran into a farmer in town that has worked with my step dad. Surprise, surprise, this man has a similar story about how my step dad tried to pin something on him that was actually in fact, my step dad’s fault. Somehow, in some small way, this makes me feel better. Small pleasures I guess, but that’s all I have when it comes to him.

The dangers of running indoors

I once witnessed one of the more epic falls of human kind.

It was at the ARC. I realize there is more than one college that use this nifty little title for their gym, but in this case, I am referring to the Aztec Recreation Center at San Diego State University, my alma mater. I worked there for three of my four collegiate years and with my employment came a much appreciated complementary membership. And since San Diego is known as one of the most fit cities in the US, well, let’s just say that being out among the townspeople is motivation enough to spend some time in the gym… and not just the time I spent working there… unfortunately, that did nothing for my figure.

So anyway, it was during one of these after work workouts that the incident took place. The gym is open 24 hours a day, but fate put myself and this unlucky student not only in the gym at exactly the same time, but on neighboring treadmills.

I would like to point out at this juncture that when most of us board a treadmill, we completely ignore all warning notices, especially the emergency cable. I know I have certainly never clipped the cord to my shirt, nor have I witnessed anyone else doing it… and I can promise you that this unlucky jogger did not clip the emergency shut off cord to her shirt. I mean, I think we are all thinking the same thing: What if the cord pulls while we are mid run and shuts off the machine for no reason, sending us full speed into the mirror ahead. That would be disastrous, wouldn’t it? But take a moment to think about the consequences of not clipping the cord to your shirt…

I have a vivid memory of the consequences, so I’m going to go ahead with the story…

So this particular evening, I was jogging along at an uphill speed of maybe 3.5 mph. I had a good clip going, and I was watching some tv that I couldn’t hear, while listening to some music, most likely of the Taking Back Sunday persuasion (one of my favorite running and thinking musical groups).

And suddenly, without warning, the unlucky student jogger next to me misstepped. Now we have all done it. We have all caught a toe on the tread and clung onto the bars for dear life while our heart readjusts to the shock, all the while acting as if nothing at all has happened. But this was not just your everyday toe skid. This was a full out trip.

So the girl goes down hard and fast, smashing her face against the operating panel on the way down. Now if this were a normal jog, say out on the sidewalk or on a dirt trail somewhere, the worst of the fall would be over. She would get up, dust off and hope and pray that the entire human race happened to be looking the other way for that moment… but not when running indoors. Not when on a treadmill. Oh no, this unlucky tripper’s journey had only just begun. Because when you’re indoors on a treadmill, the ground does not stop moving  just because you do.

So the poor girl gives a valiant effort at crawling in pace with the speeding tread, but obviously, this is a losing battle to say the very least. So after a second or two, one of her arms buckle under her, which causes her shoulder to catch the tread, which in turn, spins her on the tread. So now, after the fall, the crash of her face, the crawl attempt, now she is perpendicular to the tread, facing down tread with her neck and thighs keeping her pinned on the machine where the safety hand rails come down and meet the tread floor. The tread is just running under her body, giving her one hell of a tread burn, I’m sure.

Finally, she maneuvers herself just enough so that her neck is clear and she is literally SHOT off the end of the treadmill. She lands on her knees, facing me, completely in shock at what has just happened to her.

Keep in mind, this entire tragedy takes place in the space of 20 seconds, and although I am perfectly willing to help in any way I can, namely hitting the ‘off’ button, I am committed to the speed of my machine. So in an effort to help her, I nearly suffer the same fate. And by the time I find the button to slow me down, she has already been expelled, unceremoniously, onto the gym floor.

And just as she begins to cry and examine her wounds, which are numerous, her friend comes running from across the gym to rescue/remove the unlucky jogger from the scene. I don’t know if this friend was a welcome sight to this girl though, because although it was nice to have someone to play nurse, the friend’s appearance was only confirmation that her little mishap was not only visible from across the gym, but it was actually attention grabbing.

I have to be honest, and this goes along with last weeks WoopsiDaisey story… watching people fall is funny. Sure at the time I was horrified for the girl. I wondered if she was okay. I wanted to follow her out to see if she was okay, but I figured that wouldn’t help anyone. But once I was back to my own work out- at a much slower pace I will point out- I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. And to this day, every once in a while I will picture that unlucky student take her tumble, while I struggle to figure out how to stop my own jog to help, and I giggle to myself. Sometimes I laugh out loud. It’s true: LOL.

So I hope that girl is okay, and I hope she can look back now and laugh at her own misfortune. But more than anything else, I hope you all reconsider that emergency shut off cord next time you decide to face the dangers of running indoors head on.

Just me and the hole

When people fall, provided they are not badly hurt… but even then, it’s one of the funnier things that happen in life. I can say this because I fall fairly regularly. The best thing about people falling is the way they look when they fall. The look on their face, the way their body tries to balance itself out, the way everyone else around them responds… it’s all just hilarious. I mean, think about the last time you saw someone fall, whether it were a friend, a stranger or even yourself. Did you laugh? Maybe just a little? Admit it! There is no shame… that is funny stuff!

Ellen DeGeneres even discussed it on her ‘Here and Now’ dvd. You might remember her joke about when people trip, they look down at the ground as if it is the ground’s fault. Or they start to jog for a few paces to disguise the fact that they tripped. I can relate. We have all done it. She hit the nail on the head.

Well, one fateful night back in or around 2004/2005, I fell. I fall hard. And I hurt myself.

Let me set the scene for you.

I was home with one of my roommates just watching tv when my other roommate, KayTown, called me needing a ride home from school. For one reason or another, I had borrowed her car and therefore had to pick her up. So I told my roommate that I would be right back and I grabbed my keys and headed out the door.

This was when I lived in San Diego on 33rd street in Normal Heights if any of you know where that is, and so KayTown’s car was parked in front of the house on the street. Our front yard was somewhat strangely set up. We had a wooden walkway going from the porch to the street through the grass, and the rest of the yard was inclosed with rope. I think it was supposed to have a ‘dock’ type style to go with the San Diego thing… not quite sure. But that is neither here nor there. So if you made it down the wooden walk way, there was a narrow side walk, another patch of grass and then the street. This is pretty common in older areas of most cities.

I made it down the walkway. I made it across the side walk, but that last patch of grass was hiding a surprise for me.

SO when I grabbed my keys and headed out the door, I was kind of jogging. There was probably a great show starting soon, so it could be said that I was in a hurry. I jogged down the walkway and across the side walk and just when I should have been to the car door, I found myself laying down under the car. It was the strangest thing: one minute I was jogging to the car, the next I was laying underneath it, watching the contents of my purse roll across the street. I was so jarred that I didn’t feel any pain, nor could I find any logical reason to explain what had happened.

I figured, well, I don’t know why I’m under the car, but I’m pretty sure I should find another place to lay down…

So I tried to get up. That was when I realized that my right leg was in a hole up to my thigh. My right leg was burried in the ground up to my thigh! And of course, then the pain came. I tried to push myself up with my hands and I realized, both my wrists didn’t want to work. I looked at them. Blood.

I don’t do blood.

I quickly tried to get up, despite the pain happening everywhere, and realize there was also blood on my knees and left foot, and once I was able to pull my LEG out of the unforseen hole, I could see that there was quite a bit of blood streaming down my shin.

Oh hell.

So I hobbled back to the front door of my house, unable to put my full weight on either leg or support myself with either arm. I opened the screen and hopped into the house again.

My roommate, who had just seen me 30 second before, looked at me and immediately started laughing. Bless her heart for seeing the humor right away, because her laughing made me realize how ridiculous the situation was.

“What the hell happened to you?” she asked.

I wish I knew.

I plopped down on the couch and she got me the needed supplies to tend to my multitude of wounds while she finished my original errand of picking up our other roommate.

While she was gone, I figured out what I think might have happened to me: I was jogging. I somehow fell in a hole that I had never seen before and certainly didn’t see that night, and my leg fell into it, slamming me to the ground instantly. That would explain why both my wrists were swollen and bleeding: impact. That would explain my other foot bleeding: Drag factor. That would explain the shin wound: Scrapage. And that would explain the fact that my leg was in a hole. And after all this, I realized also that the hole had claimed my monkey slipper! Bitch!

SO when KayTown got back, she was laughing too, having been filled in on the ride. I tried to explain, but there was no explanation.

We tried to treat my wounds the best we could and although so much of my was swelling, our main concern was the shin. It kept bleeding despite putting pressure on it, cursing or wiping.

If I were to describe my wound to you it would be a hole. Falling in a hole gave me a hole in my shin. It was like a puncture wound. It was deep and it was fleshy and it was disgusting and painful. KayTown wanted to take me to the Emergency room, but I did not want to be over dramatic. I am a self proclaimed hypochondriac, but when it comes to real injuries or illnesses, I keep my mouth shut and downplay. That’s good medicine.

I decided that I’d ice my puffiness, put a band aid on my leg and wrap it in an ace bandage, and call it a night.

I woke up the next morning the discover that the blood had seeped through the band aide AND the ace bandage. Shit. So I went to student health services. As it turned out, I should have had two stitches but it was too late at that point to do it so the doctor put a tape type stitch on my shin wound to keep it closed. And I got a tetnis shot. And she wrapped both wrists, both feet, one ankle, one knee and my shin and gave me crutches.

I was a theatre major in college. I had a performance final that day. I walked in looking like a zombie on crutches and what happened? Everyone laughed. But I was given another week to do my performance final… so I guess you win some and lose some.

I limped for weeks after that fall. I still have a small hole scar that won’t tan. And although I did end up getting my monkey slipper back from the holes grasp, I was never able to fit my foot in that hole again. My foot must have contorted just so in order to fit because the size of the hole and my huge foot were no match. Not to mention, the hole was not nearly deep enough for my entire leg to fit in it.

It was a Harry Potter hole.

Be warned: This ‘hole’ I fell in was covered in cement before I broke through it. It was one of those ‘water’ holes… do you know what I’m talking about? It says water on the cement lid, which I guess is supposed to prevent exactly what happened from happening. So beware! It’s a battlefield out there!