Liver die

Alcoholic hepatitis.
My official diagnosis.

Scary, but...I did this to myself.
I was jaundice enough to look like an oompa loompa. Much of it has faded.
And as of now I am 17 days, 13 hours, and 22 minutes sober.

Be careful friends. Alcohol is not inherently bad, but I abused it.

not weird at all

It's not weird at all that someone got here through a "Texas Renaissance Faire Bondage Camp" blog, right???

Who needs skin on their thumb anyway?

Once upon a time a girl created a piece of art.  It was very mixed-media-y. . . made of wood, bottle caps, lambs wool, and mirrors.  A year passed and, although the girl liked the concept, she became dissatisfied with the way it was put together.  She began deconstructing it, saving as many of the original elements as she could.

Unfortunately, this girl never went to kindergarten, so she was never taught not to be a "glue monster."

She tore the bottle caps off the wool as carefully as she could, but giant,wooly blobs of glue clung to the backs.


In a moment of rare stupidity, the girl grabbed a steak knife to scrape the blobs.  As you can imagine, this didn't end well, but with a few bandaids on her index finger she was back to work.

Then, in an even rarer moment of pure lunacy, she grabbed an exacto knife to resume the glue excavation.

*slip*

*slice*

*panic*

Obviously the concept of learning from one's mistakes was foreign to this girl.

Four words come to mind...

black and blue...ish...

Crafting would be much easier if I had nice and/or fun handwriting...

My knees and other less generic body parts got a beating at polo last night.


Today I rode through the neighborhood...I'm gonna miss summer.

And lasagna.

Let's count the unexplainable bruises...

In college, my roommate frequently ended stories with "and then I found five dollars."
This was usually untrue, but yesterday I realized I could develop a similar, but true, trademark story-ending:

"And then I fell down."

[such is my life]

recent revelation

I may never get married. The longer I live alone the more attractive this option seems.  I think once upon a time I made one of those lists, with the qualities and attributes for the "ideal husband."  Recently, I've decided to start a new list. . .  of "ideals" and "deal breakers."

I have very little as of now:

IDEAL: Willing to cook according to my incredible pickiness (yes, I know, just the cooking is asking a lot, but these are my ideals, so I'll shoot for the stars).

DEAL BREAKER: Expecting me to learn to cook and do so routinely.

Trapped in the Closet: Electric Boogalo

Once upon a time I moved into a slightly ghetto but still amazing apartmebnt.  At some point in the moving process I decided to remove the front closet's door. . . by myself.


Naturally, I ended up inside the closet, trying to support the weight f both doors without losing any major body parts or toes.  I macgyver'd my way out [eventually] but couldn't fight the feeling that I had a better understanding of R. Kelly, due to our shared closet trauma.

There are lessons to be learned from this, but I'm apparently a bad student.  Tonight I learned that metal is probably always stronger than any part of my body, especially my [non-cow milking] fingers.  I was fortunately able to stop and reverse my drill in time to save my precious digits, but they're all going to need a little therapy [especially point, he's prone to ptsd].

So, my friends, do be careful.  Closets are dangerous, and no one needs to relive those 22 chapters or torturous insanity.





Safety never takes a vacation.

Awkward is. . .

...skipping church then biking past with a friend just as everyone is leaving...

I couldn't have timed it better if I tried.


[but I finally had a real conversation.  Too bad I had to look outside the church to find it]


In other news, I have approximately 427 new bruises.  Pourquoi?

your wood and metal are no match for me

Today when I went to work I left through my back door.  The lock on that door doesn't really like my key, so I came in through the front.  Well, I tried to. . . but it was chained.

Brilliant.

After spending what felt like an hour fighting with my key and the back door I gave up.  I figured my options were a locksmith or finding a place that sold decent bolt cutters at 10pm.  Neither sounded appealing.

I went with my third option:

I am part macgyver and part incredible hulk.  Do not get in my way.

clumsy is cute...if you're four

Backstory:  My building has two stairwells.  Instead of a spindeley handrail, these have something like a mini-wall.  The front one I use regularly but the back is mostly storage space [it currently houses a heavy bag, extra closet doors, my bike, and several gallons of paint].

Yesterday, driven to madness by the scratching and scurrying of squirrels, I decided to investigate.  I took a folding chair into the back stairwell and climbed onto the railing so I could lift up the attic door and take some pictures.  This would have worked excellently--I could do some spying without actually having to stick my head into the abyss--but after four or five shots my batteries died.  By this time I'm committed to the search.  I needed to be just a little higher to be able to see into the attic, so I improvised.  I took a couple of the paint cans and stacked them on the railing then carefully stepped up.  I remember looking over the raining and thinking how not good it would be to fall, but I stood on the paint cans anyway.

I'm still not sure what happened.  Once second I was peering into sawdust and insulation, the next I was airborne.  My first thought was "At least I fell on this side of the railing," but that was cut short by a few expletives and the fear that I might never walk again.  After a few minutes I was able to get up and limp inside where I took a hot bath and visualized torching the squirrels.

Now I have a six-inch purple stripe on my thigh, which coordinates with these nicely (from a previous non-squirrel related event):

thanks, but no thanks

Even amazon thinks I should get out more...

so maybe I'm a bit of a druggie

So, I've been a little under the weather. No fever as far as I know, but then again my thermometer hasn't read anything other than 96.5 since college.

Monday it was bad; my throat was on fire. I got off work at 3 and crashed for the rest of the night.

Tuesday I started to get snotty and phlegmy, so I dug through my bathroom drawers until I found some old Claritin. The box had long since disappeared, and there's no room for directions on the blister-pack-things.

Sometime in my 24 (24, right? maybe 23) years I came to the conclusion that pills were pills and are to be taken every 3 to 4 hours. I didn't think twice about it, I just swallowed the pill and chased it with a delicious Halls® cherry cough drop.

Apparently I was wrong. Waaaay wrong.

According to the box I bought tonight, the directions are as follows:
adults and children 6 years and over - 1 tablet daily; not more than 1 tablet in 24 hours

In the last two days I've taken 8.


Ah well, I'll bounce back. You're only supposed to eat one cough drop every two hours, too. I've emptied two bags in three days.

Welcome to My Life

Here's a basic run down of my fabulous Wednesday morning:

• wake up after sleeping approximately 11 hours (boo for narcolepsy*)
• breakfast (mmmm, frosted hay bales)
• shower
• get dressed
• wake up next between the toilet and tub with a splitting headache
• call Kat

I hadn't taken my frequent lightheadedness and semi-fainting spells seriously, and now I have staples in my head. Staples don't belong in heads!

Indeed.

Kathy and Angie are my new heroes.
And my dad continues to be my #1 for dropping everything and driving an hour to take care of me.


Its times like these when I stop and ask myself if this is really my life. I mean, who does this stuff??


I probably should have made up a great story about getting attacked by the killer attic squirrels, or being mugged while helping an old lady cross the street. But the truth hurts, and but "truth" I mean "my head."





*Its just easier to explain like that

Against wasting? Or just a fat kid?

So I'm pouring my cereal and a biscuit* ends up on the kitchen floor**. I picked it up, examined both sides, saw that it was a well-frosted one, and tossed it in the bowl.

Welcome to my world.


*according to the frosted mini wheat's nutrition panel, each 'mini wheat' is actually a biscuit

**what? I vacuumed yesterday (yes, I vacuum the kitchen)

Previously, On...

Life is funny sometimes...

Pieces of fun from the past 24 hours(ish):

• Nothing cures a bad morning like jamming to the Avalon cover of this goodie:

Twila Paris...yes please!
And when I say "jamming," I mean full on dance-party sing-a-long.

• Here's a fun game: call a teacher-friend (or mother in my case) and leave a voice mail pretending to be an irate parent. (I goose-laugh every time)

• "Have you ever heard of kidney stones?"
  (My mother actually asked me this...my response: "Kidney stones!")
  *13 seconds into this:
  

• Things NOT to do when eating lunch with all your coworkers:
• Drop pepperoni down your shirt.
• Remain unaware of said pepperoni until your boss points it out.
• Attempt to discreetly remove the meat from yourself, failing at both discretion and full removal.
• Ignore any pieces remaining in your cleavage until you are safely in your car, then proceed to scoop out most of the crumbs despite curious looks from passing cars.