I have been having a hard time making resolutions for the New Year. After the head trauma that was 2008, I was a bit afraid to aim too high with my good intentions. Breaking any bad habits, improving my health or disposition, swearing never to swear again seemed too lofty. Aiming lower by vowing to shave my legs regularly seemed pointless... I was almost ready to give up. Then as luck would have it the perfect resolution landed in my lap or more precisely on my ass.
This morning as I was trying to write a message on my butt with a purple sharpie I twisted my neck in such a way that it caused a disturbingly loud pop followed by—
Nothing.
I did not die (this was the good news), My head did not fall forward indicating a cervical spinal cord injury that would leave me incapacitated for the rest of my life (better news). I could still speak. (I know this because I yelled “Oh Fuck” so loud I am sure it woke baby Jesus). The bad news is I could not move my neck without seeing stars and experiencing a blinding pain from my left ear to my knee.
Spending the next fifty years looking over my left shoulder seemed less than ideal, I briefly considered seeking medical attention. Then I remembered Big Judes and her cheerful reminders to put on clean underwear before car trips, in case we were unfortunate enough to be involved in a multi-car pile up on interstate 70 en route to Grandma’s house. Apparently, it is important to wear fresh drawers for the ambulance ride to the hospital. A pleasant childhood memory and a life lesson, good work Judes.
Clean bloomers was not really a problem. The fact that they were around my ankles where I could not reach them was a bit of an issue. Well, that, and the bright purple limerick scrawled on my ass in permanent marker- That was the issue.
I managed to lower myself to the floor without losing consciousness. When one is paralyzed on suspect white carpet there is a lot of time to ponder things, many things, such as the estimated time that would elapse before someone would find my lifeless body, or the odds that Vivian the obstinate Toy poodle would gnaw off my pinkie toes before help arrived. Somewhere between planning my imaginary wedding to George Clooney and chastising myself for never using the hand held vacuum attachment under the bed, it hit me. Post It Notes.
This morning as I was trying to write a message on my butt with a purple sharpie I twisted my neck in such a way that it caused a disturbingly loud pop followed by—
Nothing.
I did not die (this was the good news), My head did not fall forward indicating a cervical spinal cord injury that would leave me incapacitated for the rest of my life (better news). I could still speak. (I know this because I yelled “Oh Fuck” so loud I am sure it woke baby Jesus). The bad news is I could not move my neck without seeing stars and experiencing a blinding pain from my left ear to my knee.
Spending the next fifty years looking over my left shoulder seemed less than ideal, I briefly considered seeking medical attention. Then I remembered Big Judes and her cheerful reminders to put on clean underwear before car trips, in case we were unfortunate enough to be involved in a multi-car pile up on interstate 70 en route to Grandma’s house. Apparently, it is important to wear fresh drawers for the ambulance ride to the hospital. A pleasant childhood memory and a life lesson, good work Judes.
Clean bloomers was not really a problem. The fact that they were around my ankles where I could not reach them was a bit of an issue. Well, that, and the bright purple limerick scrawled on my ass in permanent marker- That was the issue.
I managed to lower myself to the floor without losing consciousness. When one is paralyzed on suspect white carpet there is a lot of time to ponder things, many things, such as the estimated time that would elapse before someone would find my lifeless body, or the odds that Vivian the obstinate Toy poodle would gnaw off my pinkie toes before help arrived. Somewhere between planning my imaginary wedding to George Clooney and chastising myself for never using the hand held vacuum attachment under the bed, it hit me. Post It Notes.
If only.
If only I had used a Post It Note, I would not be in this predicament. I would not lay dying on soiled carpet in flagrante delicto waiting for help that would never arrive, worrying that when my friends and family descended on the New Digs after my funeral to divide my possessions, someone other than BFSK S. would be assigned the task of cleaning out my panty drawer.
If only I had used a Post It Note, I would not be in this predicament. I would not lay dying on soiled carpet in flagrante delicto waiting for help that would never arrive, worrying that when my friends and family descended on the New Digs after my funeral to divide my possessions, someone other than BFSK S. would be assigned the task of cleaning out my panty drawer.
Friends should not make friends conceal the evidence. No wonder I was meeting my untimely demise at the hands of a purple sharpie. I am a crappy friend.
Before you rush to defend me (As I am sure you are inclined to do) allow me to say that I am crappy to you too, my Internet friends. Everyday I go to my Google reader and lazily read your posts. I enjoy you immensely. Do I tell you? No, I do not. Not enough, I realized after I read this. That is how my 2009 resolution was born.
I have resolved to use Post It Notes. You will find me in the comments section of your blog. I will be a participant this year rather than an observer. I will never, ever, write on my own butt again.
Five, Four, Three, Two…
Ready
Set
Don’t Go.
Out-T.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/rayfenwick/1616225495/
Before you rush to defend me (As I am sure you are inclined to do) allow me to say that I am crappy to you too, my Internet friends. Everyday I go to my Google reader and lazily read your posts. I enjoy you immensely. Do I tell you? No, I do not. Not enough, I realized after I read this. That is how my 2009 resolution was born.
I have resolved to use Post It Notes. You will find me in the comments section of your blog. I will be a participant this year rather than an observer. I will never, ever, write on my own butt again.
Five, Four, Three, Two…
Ready
Set
Don’t Go.
Out-T.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/rayfenwick/1616225495/
Do I even WANT to know what you were writing on your butt?
ummm, about that, no, probably not!
i. love. you.
i love this mini petite tribute.
and i get it.
well done, you. i so enjoy your writing. you know this, though, yes? xoxo
Thank you,
Karey
For everything.
Really.
I will leave the light on for you.
T.
But when you write on your butt you tell us about it and I get to laugh.
I'm missing karey today too. Hey, I found you through Karey, so one more reason for me to love her.
BS- You see? Further proof that she left too soon. I have a feeling that she is on to new, exciting things.
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