Thursday, July 9, 2009

You Should See the Other Guy

So last night, I'm sitting on Chinda's couch watching Norbit for the 80th time, when her dog, Blu, jumps in my lap. Blu's a skinny little pit/lab, and while I was scratching his ears, he tossed his head back and whacked his forehead against my eye, so hard that I saw stars. And when I said, "Oww, Blu, you asshole!" he didn't even look sorry.

I now have a black eye. From a dog.

It would be cool if it was from a dirty girl fight, though, right? This is only my second black eye, ever. The first happened when I was in college and living in my first apartment. My roommate, Sara, was out in the hammock, and I was in the bathroom, plucking stuff. Sara called my name suddenly - "KRISTA!"

Thinking there was an emergency, I dropped the tweezers and bolted out of the bathroom.

I misjudged where the doorframe was, though, and ran full-speed into it.
There was a horrible cracking noise, and instantly, blood started POURING out of both my nostrils, like a faucet. Stunned, I looked down, and my shirt was sopping wet - blood was pooling warmly around my bare feet. It was slow motion.
I sank to the (white-carpeted) floor.

"Sara," I croaked.

"Dude, you've got to come see this, there's some girl out here with, like, no pants on or something," she crowed from the deck .

"Sara," I whispered, crawling towards her on my hands and knees, leaving a thick blood trail.

"For real, it's like, did you forget your pants? Or is that a shirt you thought could pass for a dress? What is the issue, here?"

"SARA! FUCKING HELP ME!" I bellowed, summoning up the last of my strength.
Curling into a helpless ball, staining the carpet so badly we would later throw it away, I waited to die.
Sara came ambling in from the back deck. She took one look at me and started screaming her head off.

"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! YOU'VE BEEN STABBED!!!! CALL 911! CALL 911!! JESUS CHRIST!!!"

I opened one eye. After feebly explaining that I had not, in fact, been stabbed, and only had a very bad nosebleed, Sara calmed down and led me to the bathroom, where she (very lovingly) sponged the crusted rivers of blood off my face. We looked in the mirror. I had two gorgeous black eyes.

Four months later, during a routine physical, I found out that my nose had been shattered; was, actually, still broken, and would probably never heal. I had no idea. I thought I just got headaches a lot.

(To this day, if you hit me in the nose exactly right, I crumple to the floor in a heap, sobbing. Btw, that's where you would aim if I was a superhero and you wanted to "take my power.")
My current black eye and the gore-fest from a college are my only experiences with what it must feel like to get in a fight. I only wish someone would try to fight with me. It's been a life-long dream.
Now, don't get me wrong. While people don't actively try to fight me, I am clumsy as fuck, and that's damaging enough. In my 26 years, I've broken:


a) 6 ribs

b) 9 toes
c) 4 fingers (the right pinkie twice, goddammit)
d) my nose
e) my right shoulder (and dislocated it, too!)
f) my arms 4 times (that's twice on the left and twice on the right)


but all through my own disregard for things like "wristguards" and "shoes with toes."

It's all so unfair. Getting in a fight should be a piece of cake for me - lesbians looooove to be in fights. They fucking love it. They look for excuses to start 'em when things are too quiet at the girlie bars. Here's the recipe for a good Dyke Fight, in case you can't find it in your copy of The Joy of Cooking:

Ingredients:

1 "ladies' night" at any club
1 new girlfriend
1 ex-girlfriend
6 sporty dykes (fresh from a game)
15 cases of Michelob Golden Light

Mix all ingredients onto a tightly-packed dance floor, adjust temperature to mid-90s, add:

1 secret affair
Tbsp. unresolved drama
Sprinkling of girls who like to fight (i.e. thugs and bike punks, but use whatever type angry girl you have on hand)

Bake (thoroughly saturated with alcohol) for 2 - 3 hours, until "Bitch, you better back the fuck off" is heard.

Enjoy your delicious Dyke Fight.

I wanna real black eye. One that didn't come from an excited puppy. If you see me, will you please chest-bump me or something?

5 comments:

  1. This is great... I laughed so hard when I was reading this that I almost cried. I love your blog!

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  2. Fuck that, I DID cry! Dear Lord I love your blog.

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  3. I'm amusing myself by seeing how your writing style has changed/progressed in the last year. But, really, 'sall fabulous.

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  4. hahaha damn i laughed so hard! though i had to hold most of it in since I'm in class... its funny because I'm never have gotten a black eye but I've gotten my nose pretty fucked when i was young by my little sister for not giving her the ball... bled for such a long time... enough to make another Carrie movie hehe =D

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  5. this is fucking hilarious..i was crying! love your blog!

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