Tuesday, April 6, 2010

He Is Risen and I Can't Get Up

Ciao, you filthy perverts. 

Remember how, in the last post, I told you about being a little bit, um, accident-prone?

I have outdone myself.

I officially cannot be left alone for even a few hours.

Here's what happened on Easter Sunday:

I was staying for 24 hours at my sister's house in Minneapolis.  But Shelley was in Phoenix, so I was hanging out with Wes, her fiance. 
Real quick - I am so fucking delighted that these two are getting married. 
Because
1) I've known Wes for years and he makes my sister happy
2) I've always wanted a brother
3) Maybe they'll have a baby and then I can buy little useless Puma sneakers for it; and
4) Marriage is great because it increases the pool of people in my life that can't say no to me because I'm family.

Wes made me a delicious steak for dinner. 
Once I got to to the middle of it, though, I saw blood, and that's where I usually draw the line for my steaks.

"Don't be offended here, Westopher, but I'm going to go microwave my steak a little bit,"  I said.  "It's kinda raw in the middle."

"Bah.  Don't microwave it.  Go throw it on the grill again.  It's still going,"  Wes said.


I turned slowly around and gave Wes a withering stare.

"Wes.  I don't have insurance."

He laughed, but I was serious.  You have to learn to make choices when you're poor.

Ruin the char-grilled flavor of your steak OR wind up in the ER with 3rd-degree burns all over your arms and spend the rest of your life paying the bill.

I choose safety.  Every time.

Now, keeping my safety-conscious choice with the grill in mind, fast-forward a few hours. 

Wes had left, and I was doing my laundry. 
Everything in my suitcase was dirty, so I rummaged through my sister's drawers and found (among other things I'm not going to think about) a cute white t-shirt and some shorty-shorts.  

Upon trying on the shirt, I discovered it was see-through.

Who cares?  I thought.  Who's gonna see me? 

I tramped downstairs and pulled out my clean wet clothes. 
Then, outside, to hang my dripping sweaters on the big lilac tree.

As I strained, on tiptoes, to reach an empty branch, there was a soft *click*.

The back door.  The back door that locks automatically.

I was locked out.  Locked out in a completely see-through shirt and ass shorts. 

No key.  No shoes.  No phone.
 
And Wes had already said he wouldn't be back 'till late.

What would you have done? 

I couldn't sit on the front stoop.  I was basically naked.

It was Easter Sunday, and the neighborhood was full of kids hunting for eggs in frilly dresses. 

I couldn't hang out in the backyard.  The neighbors were grilling.
 
I didn't have any money.  I couldn't walk to a coffeeshop and use the phone. 
And also, thanks to technology, I don't know anyone's phone number, anyway. 

Helpless.
It was like being 5. 
Like being a 5-year-old dressed like a slut.

Furious with myself, I sat down where the neighbors couldn't see me and had a good cry. 
How could I have done this?? I had been looking forward to spending the whole day in bed!

But crying doesn't do any good.  Eventually, you have to take action.

I began casing the joint.

How could I get in? 
I circled and circled.  Inspected all the windows. 
Tried to get Artemis, the cat, to use his paw to open the lock on the door. 
That useless bastard.

The neighbors all saw me rattling the doors and trying to push the windows up from the outside.

Obviously, we don't call the police if a white girl is trying to break in.  What harm could a Caucasian female do?

And then!  I saw it.  A window was open.  There was just a screen.  And the screen had already come off a little bit.  I could peel back the screen and get in without even ruining the window! 
Genius. 
Problem-solver.

I grabbed a lawn chair and peeled back the screen. 
Then I pushed the window up a liiittle bit more, eyeballed how much I'd have to jump, and leaped!!!
As the glass shattered around me, I realized I'd done some poor math. 


I broke the window with my great head.
I was halfway into the house, my booty-shorts still out, and I was covered in glass. 


My first instinct was to pull my head out immediately, but it was like I suddenly heard a voice inside my head:  DON'T MOVE.


Gingerly, I shook my head.  Glass shards flew out of my hair.
I realized my hands hurt and turned the palms over.
Bleeding copiously.
Like, stigmata-style.
I reached cautiously around to feel my neck, which also hurt. 
My hands came back wet.  Ohhhh shit.


Slowly, slowly, I pulled my head out of the windowsill and eased back down onto the lawn chair.


I had seriously miscalculated how high I needed to leap to get into the window.


Wes and Shelley were going to be so mad.


But I still needed to get into the house. 
And I'd already ruined the window.
So I wrapped my hand in an old rag from the backyard, tapped out the rest of the glass shards in the window, and threw them into the house. 


I brushed all the glass dust off the sill, dragged over 4 more lawn chairs, steeled myself for more carnage, and leaped through the window again.
This time, I managed to slice up my ass, shoulder, and lower back.


I was like a little pink Easter ham.  A little hammy, all carved up.
The most difficult thing about being awesome is not having a body double.

Btw, do you know how hard it is to get glass dust off yourself?  Lemme tell you, a hot shower does nothing.
After I had cleaned up everything, bandaged myself, and thought up a story to tell Wes about how the cat did it, I took a nap. 


And woke up in the middle of it because my head itched. 

When I scratched my head, sluts, do you know what happened?

I pulled a shard of glass about 1/4 of an inch long out of my scalp
No lie.
I spent the rest of my afternoon on the bathroom floor, running my fingers over my scalp and placing the little bloody bits on a paper towel.

Today's topic:  I could have full health care coverage if CJ and I were allowed to get married.

That is all. 
Fuck you, America.

20 comments:

  1. Oh shit. Happy healing.

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  2. This is possibly the most amazing post ever. I only wish it was accompanied by photos.

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  3. omgg this is horrible (although I'm sure you already know). My ex step-mom threw her sister into a huge cactus pile when they were seniors in high school because her boyfriend cheated on her with her sister. She said she was in the hospital for like a week because she was allergic. btw, LOVE your blog, I tell everyone about it. Keep up the awesome work!

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  4. Oh no! Sorry about this. Sorry that CJ's insurance doesn't provide domestic partner benefits (seriously, couldn't the law just make all insurers recognize domestic partners?) Sigh. I hope that you feel better soon.

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  5. That't what I call suffering for your art. Look on the bright side you got a great post out of it.

    Move to Massachusetts--you can get married, get on CJ's insurance. When you're in the hospital she won't be hassled around visitation. Because you will be in the hospital, because you'll be less careful, because you'll have health insurance.

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  6. Krista. Krista! FUCK! I shook my head and winced throughout this entire post knowing that it was going to end with something traumatic. Little did I know, I'd be worried about your precious liddle LIFE! Good LORD. Take care of yourself. And call me about that damned insurance coverage. (Or call Shannon.) You need a doctor to make sure all that glass is out of your head!

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  7. Oh my GOD!!! CRAZYYY. Fuck America. That 1/4 inch glass shard in your scalps is ALL GLENN BECK'S FAULT.

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  8. Shit grrrrrrl!

    The wife and I just got ghey married early in order to avoid running afoul without the insurance of health. This is why you should move to MA - socialists, bull dykes, and ghey murrieds.

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  9. HI. I love your blog, but I've gotta be a bitch and ask an obvious question. Why didn't you just put on your wet clothes? Yeah, you are a little damp...but no short shorts and see-thru tee to traumatize the neighbors. Then you could have at least sat on the front steps, or maybe asked a neighbor if they had a number to contact ur relative. :-) And screw domestic partnerships. You want benefits? You get married. Bfs/gfs don't get partnership priviledges. You gotta walk down the aisle. Good luck! ;-)

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  10. You poor kid. Hope you feel better soon.

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  11. I LOVE YOUR BLOG and this post is insannnnnne! krista, heal well! (but maybe this helped you get over, slightly, your blood aversion?)

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  12. OHMYGOD I hope you're feeling better by now. And I'm feelin' totally screwed myself on the insurance front, for a different reason entirely, but yeah. That one sucks.

    Glass-free head vibes to ya.

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  13. Excellent post. I love the way you write your posts with pictures throughout, and the execution of this story in particular is just great.

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  14. Hi, random stranger here. Love the blog. Love the story. Sorry you got hurt. Sorry America sucks. Sorry you didn't post pictures of you in shirt and shorts pre-bloodbath.

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  15. I just found your blog through a fellow lesbian blogger at http://mighty-ms.blogspot.com/ .... and I'm reading your posts and laughing and wondering how in the world, especially in the rather small lesbian blogging world have I never found your site before? That's it. I'm hooked. You're great!

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  16. Hey, love your blog...so funny/true. Check out www.smartestgirlintheuniverse.blogspot.com (it's my blog) and tell me what you think!

    Keep up the funny posts, you're hilarious.

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  17. I choked on my sandwich reading this. True story. You are so funny I almost died mid bite/laugh.

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  18. yikes! that's terrible! come to canada where you can get married and where everyone gets free healthcare anyway :)

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  19. seriously. we should be allowed to get married. no if ands or buts about it.

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