"If You Were My Wife, I'd Take You Down a Peg or Two"*

I am many things. Some of these are good, some are bad… and some are just downright entertaining. Not for me, as they inevitably end in my humiliation and/or injury (hence my tag “unidentified drunk injuries”, as UDIs are all too common in my life), but entertaining nonetheless. Allow me to demonstrate…

Random Humiliations and Injuries I Have Accumulated Over the Past Week:

Tuesday: It is too damn cold to walk to work, so I resign myself to fighting the lemmings on the metro during rush hour. After I elbow my way on to the car because everyone refuses to move away from the door INTO the train, despite the nice lady’s request that they MOVE AWAY FROM THE DOOR INTO THE TRAIN, I spot a seat and as I am old now (see below), I go for it. Tragically, I do not notice that Mr. Bootay McBigButt is vying for the seat as well. I don’t stand a chance, and as he explodes into the seat, my bony ass gets a hearty taste of Ye Olde Armrest. You know, up it. Try explaining THAT bruise to your significant other…

Wednesday: So, apparently, I am *officially* old now. Walking two miles to and from work each day is something that I’ve been proud of, that makes me feel good, as the only other exercise I get comes from lifting the tequila bottle, I mean box o’ wine, I mean one twee beer to my lips each night. Only lately, I’ve noticed my body feeling… differently. Making new noises. Every bend is accompanied by a resounding “pop!” of my knees. Each swivel results in a small back spasm. My ankles creak and moan with sudden turns. At this point, I truly believe an accidental slip on the subway grates on the street could result in a new hip and a sweet new ride from The Scooter Store.

Does this mean I have to start fishing now?

Thursday: I have a terrible (read: incredibly satisfying) habit of cracking every joint in my body. Back, neck, fingers, toes, you name it. Usually it feels amazing, and I revel in my ability to be my own black market chiropractor. Sometimes, though, like Thursday, I twist my head to the side… and everything goes black. Blinding pain is slowly replaced with stars and little Disney World birdies chirp around my head, until the paralysis wears off and I am eventually able to utilize my own head once more. But for a couple minutes, I’m like an adorable stroke victim. Except more of a “liability” than “adorable”, as this time it happened at work. “No, I’m fine, I just suffer from sudden quadripleg-ism sometimes. No biggie. Pass me that TPS Report.”

Friday: Lemmonex, Hey Pretty and I had a helluva girl’s night over at Shannon’s, which included the consumption of more dip, wine, prosecco and gin than I’ve ever seen in one place (my belly). We met a group of lovely women; women who are in the “married and thinking about getting knocked up ON PURPOSE” bracket. They were charming, they were mature… they had no idea what they were in for. After enough wine to take out a horse, Lemm and I quickly started swapping our most horrifying sex stories… like this one. With plenty of hand gestures and graphic, graphic imagery. We either completely estranged ourselves, or made a buttload of new friends. Seeing as they now know A LOT about my hoo-ha, I’m rooting for option two.

Saturday: We’re vegging out on the couch when I look over at the love of my life and see that he is digging for gold. I promptly start half-cheering, half-mocking him to “Go for the glory”. Moments later he is nursing a nosebleed as I delight in teasing him. Fast forward a half hour: I am surreptitiously nursing my own nosebleed from doing the SAME. EXACT. THING. He shows no mercy as he mocks me relentlessly. We are pathetic.

Sunday: While at the grocery store buying a case of beer and champagne to nurse our hangover, one of the employees whips around with a giant box and catches me square on the arm and the face. “Sorry,” he mumbles before returning to his all-important turnip stacking. Sulking, I make my way to the check out lane… and am rudely informed that there are 10 more minutes before I am allowed to purchase said booze. (But it’s CHAMPAGNE. For a MIMOSA. Shouldn’t there be a special law for that??) B and I stand and wait, humiliated, by the Red Box and the decoder ring dispenser with all the employees watching, until we get back in the same line and are allowed to purchase our beverages under the teller’s Evil Eye. And then we ran.

Monday: While definitely NOT reading blogs all day long, I accidentally scratched my ear while sitting at my desk. It, of course, immediately started bleeding. By the way, this was immediately after a very audible fart that echoed throughout the office… and was immediately followed by all the “Important People” walking back in from lunch. No… that’s my lunch… I swear… it’s this new health craze, “Old cheese and spoiled milk”. You gotta try it…

So far, Tuesday has been uneventful, and I’m trying to keep it that way. Excuse me while I go change the toner in the printer. I’m SURE this will go just fine… just like last time…

*10 points if you know what movie that’s from. No? I’ll give you a hint: “Want me to punch-a-size your face, for free?!?”