The one where I get distracted by everyday household dangers

So I’m currently laid up on the couch with a pulled back. I have been sitting here in this same spot for the last 30 hours as any attempt to move causes me to shout out a barrage of curse words, obscenities and general Jesus related profanities. Basically not only do I have a pulled back, but I have also developed tourettes because of it. There was a point sometime last night when I decided to take my sister’s advice (a native to back related injuries) and took to lying on the floor. The problem was that unlike the couch which gives me some height leverage to moving again, I could not get up from the floor. I was stuck. I was like a flipped over turtle. There was some moaning and arm flailing and more obscenities and even some tears before finally (with an extreme amount of help from Andy) I was able to get upright again. It took around 20 minutes of effort. I have since taken the stance of a 7 year old who imagines the floor as a hot cavern of flaming lava. I have special shoes to walk on said lava. That’s a lie – I just use the cat to get about – when she holds still enough for me to get the saddle on.

You really have no idea how hard it is to get one of these strapped on the cat.

If you are wondering just how I pulled my back out (which I can’t imagine that you would really care, but it’s my blog dammit) I will have to mutter incoherently under my breath that yesterday morning when I bent over to dry the underside of my luxurious locks, it went out. That’s right – I pulled my back out drying my hair. Andy laughed at me when I first told him about it and told me to tell everyone that I really pulled it out by saving kittens from a burning fire – which I tried doing yesterday at work before it became too painful walk around and went home – but then they laughed at me too. Rude bastards, the whole lot of ‘em.

Not to be used in bath tubs or in or around actual hair.

Pulling out my back from drying my hair just adds to the list of stupid injuries I have accrued over the years. Not one of my injuries is from something cool, like a rabid tiger attack or tobogganing off of Mount Everest. Seriously, you’re going to love this list. If nothing else, it might make you feel a bit smarter.

----I broke my left toe while drying off a cutting board. The board slipped out of my hands and landed on my barefooted toe. I had a stick shift car at the time.

Cutting Board vs. Toe.   Winner: Cutting Board

----I broke my left handed “fuck you” finger catching a football. When I told people about it, they seemed happy for me, “Oh! I didn’t know you were playing sports.” Which I then had to mumble incoherently under my breath that I was drunk and tailgating outside of a Chargers game and it was dark and thank god my finger got in the way as I almost caught the football with my face.

Football vs. Finger.   Winner: Football

----I sprained my right ankle walking to a Mexican restaurant on St. Patrick’s Day two years back. The concrete was even. There were no stones or rabid tigers. I tripped over my own shoe.

Shoe vs. Ankle.    Winner: Shoe

----I developed tendinitis in my left foot walking on a slight downhill street in Leeds. I remember the exact moment it happened. I was walking. My foot went PING! I was WALKING. That’s seriously one of the lamest injuries ever. It’s the equivalent of saying, “Well you see, I was sleeping and suddenly my left leg went missing. I have no idea.”

Leeds vs. Capacity of my walking ability     Winner: Leeds

----My all time favorite stupid injury though was back in 1995 when I was working as a waitress at this Italian restaurant. I went to the Ladies Room to wash my hands. This particular restaurant had one of those huge cloth towel things – you know the ones - where you pull on the cloth a bit, dry your hands, then pull more so there is more fresh towel? Yeah, so I was pulling on the cloth bit and it might have been a bit stuck so I pulled a bit harder but I had muscles of fucking super steel back then (I was a waitress after all) and the force of my tug pulled the ENTIRE towel dispenser off the wall and onto my face, specifically my nose. To say I broke my nose is an understatement but what was even more pleasant was waitressing over the next week looking like I went three rounds with a pimp.

Towel Dispenser vs. Nose    Winner by a country mile: Towel Dispenser

I would like to say (because I like to give credit where credit is due) that Andy has been a complete and utter sweetheart while I’ve been laid up. I’m a horrible patient, I really am. I have a constant feeling like I have to do something at any point in time (“That coffee cup needs to be closer. I have an itch on my foot. This is a stupid movie; I’m going to change it. My arm is cold, I have to get the blanket. Oh, my coffee is empty I need to make more. GOD MY FOOT ITCHES! I should put cream on that. Gah, my arm is too warm, get this blanket off. Now that I think of it, I’m hungry. I have to pee. That cat toy shouldn’t be on the table, it must be removed…” the list goes on) so having to stay still is the closest thing to torture I can imagine. It’s a challenge for Andy to make sure I stay put too. And then there’s also the guilt involved in having someone do everything for you. I always feel like I’m walking this thin line of having someone taking care of me because I really should rest and feeling like I’m a slave driver. What usually ends up happening is that if I need three things done, I’ll ask Andy to do one of them and then when he’s off doing it I will stealthily get up and try to do the other two things myself before he catches me. It’s a bit of a dance really.

Geez, this was supposed to be about my brother’s wedding….what the hell happened there? Looks like you all are getting a few more posts than normal this week.